Thursday, March 31, 2011

Yes, I live in Vegas because I dream of being a tour guide/taxi.
Some people make me SO ANGRY.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Mi Primavera

Yo aquí entre la nada voy hablar de todo, buscare a mi modo continuar.
Y hasta que los años cierren mi memoria, no me dejare de preguntar:
¿Donde estará mi primavera? ¿Donde se me ha escondido el sol? Que mi jardín olvido, y el alma me marchito.
Like the song says, I find myself wondering where my sun has hidden... when I'll finally have a shining moment, so to speak. Everything seems to be crumbling. During a time when everyone's life is blooming, mine's just... shriveling.

The sky was clear, the sun was bright. I could feel the slightest breeze on my face, while listening the soothing sound of a running stream in the distance.
The water was ice cold... but oh boy, how beautifully it reflected the sun!

My heart still feels like garbage, but going out into nature... and talking ridiculous, random topics with my best friend as we try not to trip on the massive rocks can always drown-out the criticizing voice of my conscience ("Do you hear voices when you're alone?" "...well... there were two occasions where I clearly heard someone say my name in my house while I was home alone." "I'm talking more like..." "It's not like it's 'redrum' or anything like that." "Yeah, that." "Oh, no, not at all. None of that 'Murder your parents!' type thing." Only Kelley and I can discuss life as a bipolar patient, which we aren't, and break out into [non-maniacal] laughter).

I'm SO the reincarnation of Pocahontas.
I'll learn "Colors of the Wind" for next time... that way other hikers will listen to that lovely song as apposed to me running at the mouth over how sick and tired I am of listening to *someone* talk about the beneficial aspects of weed (poor grown man looked terrified when he bumped into us as I screamed "I DON'T GIVE  FUCK HOW BENEFICIAL MARIJUANA IS! QUIT SPAMMING MY NEWSFEED WITH THAT SHIT!" Then Kelley chiming in with "So it doesn't have harmful chemicals like formaldehyde... but you can find that shit on plenty of other items... like that brazilian hair treatment! FORMALDEHYDE is everywhere!" We talk hot-topics, I tell you).


My friends are the best.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011


Using only one hand, I can count how many times a wish has come true for me... actually, I can use no hands.
I've always been optimistic, and cheerful. As terrible as a situation may be, my heart always gives me this retarded hope that things will get better... that things will go my way some day.
I've always thought that.
Even if not a single one of my wishes has ever come true (CURSE YOU, WALT DISNEY!!!).

Why mention this now?
I got UNLV's e-mail.
It was the stupidest rejection letter of all.
It came with a freakin' "PS" for crying out loud (the PS was to tell me that I'm getting ANOTHER rejection notification on the MyUNLV website thing-a-majig. That one will be the "official" rejection. The e-mail was just a "ok, you can quit worrying now" notification, I suppose. Gee... thanks?)!
This happened yesterday, but so many terrible things happened yesterday, this e-mail was only the final slap to my face that I needed for the day.

I was upset from the very beginning because Mom, Sister, and I had a heated argument that broke out because (this is SO embarrassing, but it goes to show how estrogen messes up a household. I hate being a girl) Sister broke my soap (see, I told you). I wasn't the one who lost my head, Sister did. I was in the bathroom, about to shower when I saw my soap in smithereens on the tub floor. I said "WHAT THE HELL?" Sister asked "What?" I asked her why she just neglected my bar of soap like that... and she went ballistic on me (she only grows balls when she can't see me. Had I not been behind a door, in my underwear, I would have been in her face, chewing her out like a staff sergeant).
Mom then got involved, started screaming like.... a mental patient... and she said something that got to me, so what did I do? I told her how I felt. No, I TOLD HER HOW I FELT. I did the same with sister... although how I feel towards her is completely different (I told Mom about my suicidal thoughts--yeah, it got that bad-- but not before telling D how I feel she no longer treats me like a sister).

SO... yesterday was a very tough day for me.
Tears were just rolling down my cheeks regardless of where I was or who was around:
I'd be sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea with Mom, and tears would just start to roll.
I was washing dishes, and I'd catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window, and I'd start sniffling and the heaviest tears in the universe would just plop down into the sink.... I probably could have cleaned the dishes with my tears.
I'd be watching The Bad Girls Club and the tears in my eyes would sting (My future!! I'm going to end up in some TV show because of my anger management problems! I USED TO BE SMART!).
I did my nightly prayer and started to cry then as well (I should just go to a convent and become a nun! But I don't even like to pray... I'm not even good for THAT!).

My eyes were swollen all day yesterday and part of today.
However... that stupid optimistic girl in me came out today.
Sister, Mom, and I patched things up over lunch.
Mooney and my future godson then made me giggle for the evening.
I had a long over-due favorite beer to end my day.

How am I now?
Eh. I'm ok.

I'm still more confused than ever before (I was so upset yesterday, I went out and started applying for jobs... then I looked up volunteering opportunities. I was so... upset). Big time.
But... I'm not crying any more. So that's a positive, right?

Plus, I now get to take that "I'm a %$@*ing LOSER!" tour. Not too shabby... I guess (especially considering the only time I've felt *truly* happy has been the time I spent in Spain. Nothing compares to the way that place made feel).

Monday, March 28, 2011


There are days when I wish I could disappear off the face of the universe.
Today is one of those days.

Sunday, March 27, 2011


Wow. Just wow.
I could have done with yesterday never happening.
It was HORRIBLE. Terrible day.

Let's start off with what traumatized me:
Dad found out about that one notorious blog... written in Mexico... by a person who is in "the know" about the drug war going on down there. I'd link it, but honest to God, that blog will give you nightmares, regardless of who you are (well, unless you're one of the hitmen committing all those awful murders down there). I'm also terrified of even associating my name with that site.
Anyway, the site has brutal photos of the things the cartels are doing down there. I can stomach the photos... as gross and horrible as they may be. I'm only left with a deep sadness from seeing the victims fear and anguish noticeable on his/her face (or whatever's left of it).
But then there's also video.
The Taliban ain't got JACK on these guys. Rememeber back in the day when there was a huge uproar because they posted a video where they decapitated US soldiers? WELL... that video was TAME compared to what is on this other site.
I stay the F away from videos.
But DAD.... dear old Dad found the site yesterday... and guess what interested him.
A video.

The only reason I walked over to him was because there was audio, REALLY loud audio, and he wanted me to teach him how to lower the volume (I should have KNOWN he was up to no good once he mentioned this).
I looked over at what he was trying to watch. The title was "Man gets dismembered."
WHAT THE %$@@?! (needless to say, yesterday my lent promise of not cussing went out the window... BIG TIME)
It was SIX and a half MINUTES LONG.
And I watched every second.
Dad was interested, I stood behind him with my hands clasped over my head and my mouth wide open. I'd occasionally bounce... you know, that nervous bounce of "Uh... mmm... I think I should go right now... but... Oh man! ARE THEY REALLY DOING THAT?! OH MY GOD!"
Not even Hannibal Lecter did what I saw in that video.
The worst part was that all of the people there (at least ten masked men) were LAUGHING. That was what had me most messed up. I was also appalled by how they'd pose for pictures while hacking away at the guy... like a happy grill master making some carne asada. That's how... messed up this whole situation is.
They've lost all sense of respect for human life. It's TERRIFYING.
I've seen all kinds of animals get butchered... and these guys were doing their thing as if the poor human being dangling from his feet (they had him tied from his feet, hanging upside down) were a piece of ham or something.

That's as far as I'll get into that conversation. I don't want to traumatize you guys with the (beyond)gory details.
All I can say is: don't step foot in Mexico for a long, LONG time. I know I WON'T (I love it with all of my being, and I yearn for it every single year like some stupid sea-turtle returning to her place of birth-- thought I was not born there-- but it's just... psycho to put yourself in harms way like that).
Anyway, once the video was over, I angrily told Dad he was forbidden from seeing that site ever again... and I forced him to shut down the computer... and I sent him off to bed, like a very angry mom.
He very quietly agreed (the weirdest part of the whole video-watching experience was that Dad was concerned about me watching the video... but only in the beginning, where the guy hanging by his feet was naked and I could see the man's penis-- the first body part to go, btw-- Dad was like "Don't look at it." REALLY, Dad, really? This man's about to get dismembered limb by limb and you're worried about me seeing a dangling penis? Where are your priorities, sir?!).

I've spent all of today just thinking of that video. Even the poor altar boy at church reminded me of the victim... it saddened me.

Ok... now the bachelorette party... that thing. THAT thing.
All out WAR.

The wedding is going to be... you can't hear me, but I just groaned.
I was way more upset last night... posting it all over twitter and then having the awesome boys in my life calm me down... which lead to me getting rid of most of my scathing updates (unlike my sister. Now SHE went Ghetto Hoodrat on hers).
I can get into detail... and I would, except that I still get worked up. I don't want to ruin my day with recounting what went down last night. Let's just say "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" describes what went down to PERFECTION. Sister and I listened to the entire album while LOOKING for the godforsaken venue (this is where my cussing thing went to hell and I started cussing it up like... well... Kanye) and as I sat there, ready to start uppercutting bitches... I would listen to the tracks and think "Jesus... is this happening according to what song is next?!" One minute we're having a good time, next we're sad... then we get violent... then we feel guilty... then we get arrogant... then sad again.
I mean... it was going in the order of the tracks. Insanity, I tell you!
Line for the night?
"Fuckin' RIDICULOUS!" (must be said in RZA's voice, obviously)

Point of the story: We officially only have a maternal side of the family... and I couldn't care less.

Yes, it got THAT ugly.

At least I no longer have to carry around that mask (you know, the one where I act OK with their slights and whatnot). Feelings are out in the open... something I've been dying for since I was three.

Next week is gonna be ROUGH! (but at least it'll be the last time I have to see any one of them in a very long time)

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Look! A puddle!

I've spent the last two nights trying to patch things up between MGH and one of his best friends.
It's not that I want to, it's that his friend has been texting and calling me at the ungodly hour of two in the morning, incredibly upset with MGH.

Me: Isn't his girlfriend YOUR best friend? Why isn't she fixing this?
Him: Because she sides with him at all times!
Me: What happened?
Him: He pulled me out of his car and physically threw me to the floor.
Me: Oh my God... just now?
(this was at 1:30 in the morning, Thursday night. It was raining in the city, and puddles were everywhere. MGH threw his friend INTO a puddle. How dramatic is that? Boys...)
Him: YES!
Me: Was he drunk?
Him: NO.
Me: Then he must have been REALLY angry.
Him: YES!

I really didn't want to get involved, since trying to "fix" anything between two bickering parties is such a hassle, not to mention a fine line to tread.
MGH is like family to me, so I don't want to throw him under the bus and start talking trash about him with his friend, in hopes of cheering him up (which I could SO easily do).
Then again, I don't want to further insult his friend by placing all blame on him for enraging MGH (which I REALLY feel is what happened... 'cause he's FAR more sarcastic than I am, and he never knows when to cut it out).

What did I do? I tried to make Friend empathize with MGH. MGH is a very chill, calm kid (unless you wake him up from his slumber. Then he turns into a moody punk for the rest of the day), but there are certain topics which ignite a fire in his heart and he'll go ballistic on anyone who taps into them. I think EVERYONE is like that... anyone with a history.
I ended up apologizing for MGH, as well. I told Friend that we're all a little violent when enraged... and that we (MGH and the rest of the family. I include myself, obviously, since I lived a lot of their pain with them) kiiinda have a rough past. For the most part, we do a decent job controlling the rage... but we have  bad days.

Did it help? I don't know. I need to see if I get another angry/irritated call/text today from Friend before I can claim any sort of mediation victory.

I have no idea when I signed up for this job... I could have sworn I passed the baton on to Little Miss Heather. Get your act together, girl!

In other news: something tells me I'm going to be quite the angry panda today. Bachelorette party where I've been advised to "bring cash, the restaurant doesn't split checks?" Uh... yeah... we all know how THAT works out: someone gets SCREWED into paying WAY more than their fair share. And by SOMEONE, I mean ME.
$100?! But I only ate some cheese! What the HECK?!
Quit complaining, Mommy and Daddy pay for everything of yours.
Yeah, you're right... OF MINE. Not half of the stupid PARTY. 
Every single time. Jerks.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Internets

I've been spending the last couple of weeks trying to teach Mom and Dad how to use the internet.
Rafa suggested I get them started on Google Chrome, so I did.

The first few weeks were exasperating beyond belief. Not because of Mom, no, the little lady uses her noggin and remembers things we say. But Dad... holy moly... that man... he thinks we're in Jetson time.

Dad: Ivan (real estate agent) needs a bank statement. Send it to him.
Me: What?
Me: ... how... wha... D!

Dad: I want to see the earthquakes.
Me: What?
Me: Well... uh... ok. I'll try.
(I find the site and then I have to sit there and be accused of not believing in Jesus because I tell him he's wrong in assuming Jesus is coming because of all the marks on the map denoting the 600+ recorded tremors the site has marked. Dad... this area with all the "earthquakes" is the "Ring of Fire." The place is known for high activity... it has a ton of volcanos too... so uh... Jesus is NOT coming, plates are just shifting. Of course, this all went over his head and he nearly forced me to get exorcised for "not believing in Jesus")

Dad: I want to read El Heraldo de Durango (supposed Mexican newspaper).
Me: Umm... what's the website?
(I do this to try and test him. Seriously. The man just invents things and if he really does think it exists, I want to put it in his head that he should probably google things when he gets these urges)
I make him type it in the browser. It doesn't exist. I then, very irritated, google the stupid name.
Me: There. It's not "El Heraldo," it's "El Siglo." Mexico City uses "El Heraldo." Quit inventing things and then getting mean because I can't find them.
Dad: I knew I had heard the name somewhere. I just wanted a damn Durango newspaper.
::I point an imaginary gun to my temple and pull the trigger::

Things have sort of eased up since then. Dad can now check his e-mail, send e-mail, and check out a few sites. That's it. If he clicks on a wrong spot, that's when I usually hear him calling out for help.

Mom's a star, though. The lady is the one usually bailing out Dad whenever he clicks the wrong spot (we kids very stupidly gave Dad a mouse-less laptop which is driving him bonkers 'cause he can't get the hang of tapping his finger. He actually had an easier time with my MacBook than he does with his PC. It's baffling). She also understands how to open new tabs as opposed to opening new windows. Dad just clicks like a bewildered animal, but Mom has her act together, that little trooper.
Mom also turns on and turns off the computer.
Last night she spend SEVEN HOURS checking out Hometown's website before I FORCED her to get off-line.

This leads me to a conversation we had yesterday.
My sister was complaining about having to go to Volkswagen to have her Jetta's headlight fixed.
D: I HATE being one of those nacas driving around with a burnt-out headlight! But I don't want to dish out the 90 bucks!
Me: Umm... yeah... that sucks. I don't know how those fools sleep at night knowing they're charging a poor girl nearly a hundred dollars to change a damn light bulb.
Mom: I've been thinking... is there... couldn't you just... google how to do it? I mean... everything's on Google!

I've never been prouder.
My mom's a genius!

P.S. D googled it, found exact how-to direction, and saved herself some money. An overall feel-good day.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

18 inches

Inner turmoil is always a great excuse to go drastic and chop off all the hair on my head.
OK, not all of the hair... I'm not down with the pixie cut (may look adorable on Michelle Williams, but on me, it'd just look butch), but A-lines are dope.

I can't say I only cut my hair when upset, in all honesty, I do it to donate.
In elementary school, my sister had a little friend going through chemo, and she was too poor to afford a wig. She'd wear a pink beanie at all times. One day, when my sister's class had a substitute teacher, he wasn't aware of this, and when it came to saying the pledge in the morning, the little girl didn't remove her cap. The teacher was furious, and removed the hat from her head himself.
The poor little girl sat crying with her little head bowed, the teacher was left speechless, the boys in the room started yelling obscenities at the teacher, and the girls consoled the crying girl while giving the sub "You're such a monster!" looks.
Her story made me want to just... rip off all my hair and give it to her.
Then, once in college, I watched the most heart-wrenching documentary on four little kids with cancer "A Lion in the House" and it messed me up real nice. I doubt I've ever cried so much.

Every time I feel a little reluctance to cut my hair, I just think of those poor kids and I don't look back.
Me, look stupid? Oh well!

So, while this is always a good reason for me to cut off my hair, the fact that I'm currently having a crisis helps. There's something renewing about cutting off eighteen inches and looking drastically different.
Pippi Longstockings who?
Right now, my braid is only 16 inches, but I'm giving it until around... April 5th to get longer. After that day, Good Bye, Pocahontas!

Hopefully that makes me feel better.
I know my mani sure didn't help in the happy department.
Since the middle finger is unacceptable at the moment
I did that polish in honor of the Tar Heels. I want them to kill in the tourney, now that UNLV, Princeton, and Notre Dame are out of the running.

In similar news (of trying to cheer up), Mom told me yesterday that if UNLV rejects me, she's going to give me a Eurotrip round 2. It'll be my "I'm a $#%@ing LOSER!" tour.
Oddly enough, the news did NOT make me smile.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Bad news abounds.

These last few weeks have been a disaster, to say the least.
My most frequently used phrase during this time seems to be "What happened now?"

Today, in order to just... not think at all, I decided to watch movies.
Good movies (Almodóvar's "Hable con Ella"-- Talk to Her. I didn't think I could feel bad for a rapist, but I was proven wrong), terrible movies ("The Crazies." I thought it'd be better), and then the occasional amazing movie (Good Will Hunting).

The latter, really messed with me. I had only watched it one other time, when it first came out when I was in middle school. It became an instant favorite for me then, but now... ufff! I adore it!
The "It's not your fault" scene... yeah... memories flooded my mind, and just like with the Camus book, I remembered why at such a young age, it resonated with me.

It's not that I ever dealt with such terrible physical abuse as a kid (belt, stick, or a wrench? I never had a choice. It was "la negrita"--the name of the belt-- each and every time). I did get the backhand that cut my lip open, there was that one time Mom hit me so hard with the belt that I had the cacti and burro designs from the belt perfectly bruised on my butt for about a week (honestly the worst beating I received in my life, and I can't even remember the reason for it)... and then there was the time my grandpa hit me, my siblings, and two of my cousins with a whip because we were accidentally stepping on his chile plants one day he was in a really bad mood (his reaction didn't help in getting us off the stupid plants, since it made all of us freeze in fear/shock).
BUT, I do have my own demons... and if anyone were to ever continuously stress that "it wasn't your fault," I'd crack like poor Will.
As a kid (even now as an adult), I yearned for that understanding. In the back of my mind, I always knew it wasn't my fault, but there's always that tiny bit of doubt floating around... thinking "Well... maybe if I wouldn't have gotten in that truck?" "Maybe if I hadn't been so trusting and naive?" "Maybe... if I wouldn't have been so quiet?"
I remember telling Mom about a certain painful past experience of abuse--not at her hands-- and I really was expecting her to hug me and tell me it wasn't my fault, but instead, she flipped and told me I was "an idiot."
So now, instead of telling people what my deal is, I just stay mum and hope they dismiss me as "weird."

Also, like Will, I do that thing where I push people away when I feel they're getting too close. I've always done that. Push before you get too attached and they leave you in a world of pain.
Because everybody leaves.
Result is me living like a nun at the age of 26. Good job, imbecile.

Then we have the whole college thing... the being smart thing and "throwing it away." No, I definitely don't think I'm a genius, far from it, but math and science always came somewhat easily to me (for a girl who rarely read her assignments, I could have been considered slight genius material). Mom always wanted to enter one of these fields as a kid (now SHE was gifted) but Machismo kept her from going further than 6th grade... so she wanted to live her dream vicariously through me. I'm so sorry, Mom... I tried, I really did... but it was killing me.
That ever-present sense of remorse for leaving the science field reared its ugly head and gave me a nice "YA SEE, YA IDIOT?!" beating.

Needless to say, my attempt at "not thinking" failed. In fact, I found myself crying by five in the afternoon.

Can someone just drop by my house and shake me violently, real quick? I need to get back to normal. That infamous wedding is in less than two weeks, the bachelorette is in four days... and if this attitude persists, I'm going to go hanging over Hoover Dam in no time.

Monday, March 21, 2011


Maybe I should stop being so reluctant about dating Latinos... (No. No. No. No. No)
My kickboxing instructor is Colombian. Thanks to this, next time I see him, I can put money on my eyes never leaving his crotch area. Thanks, subconscious!

What surprised me was France. French dudes? Really? Based on their attitudes, I'd guess that country would be painted red. Jerks.

Ok, now I'll quit acting like I give a hoot about penis sizes.

Sunday, March 20, 2011


In efforts to regain my happiness, I've really gotten into this March Madness (trade one madness for another, I suppose).
I originally did two brackets. I did my "dream" bracket... which is basically me being a dummy and going with my heart. I had UNLV going to the final FOUR... that should tell you how THAT bracket went... and how delusional I get when it comes to my "dreams." I blame that awesome HBO special on the Runnin' Rebs for this heightened sense of... whatever that was. Thanks, HBO.

I also made a second, my "Ok, this is me using my brain... and only a little bit of heart" bracket.
In that one, I let my heart dictate an outcome only when I didn't know enough about a team. I asked myself, "which team do I REALLY hate?" and that's how I predicted my "upsets." So far, I'm doing AWESOME. I'm at 99.4% YES, 99.4%. Why? I predicted the Butler/Pitt upset. Yup. I mainly did that because the last Sunday, when they seeded everybody, Rafa made a giant scene at the restaurant where we just so happened to be eating while watching the picks. Rafa screamed at the television when Pittsburg got the one seed over Notre Dame. I had this in mind when I thought "Yeah... Butler's gonna get these suckers and knock down that ego."
So that heart-stopping, unbelievable end to yesterday's game made me massacre in everyone's league.
Rafa, of course, was pretty upset about it and vented on Facebook:

Rafa: Again, sure enough, my bracket will end up in the bottom tenth percentile in the WORLD
Me: (this was while I was sitting in a parking lot, unable to check my bracket b/c my phone's browser SUCKS. But I can sure as heck check my Facebook) i'm at 90%... buahaha!
Me: correction: I'm at 98.5%. I had butler over pitt. hopefully wisconsin wins, cause I have them over ksu
Rafa: ‎98.5. Wow, so I guess you have to know nothing about college basketball to have a good bracket nowadays, haha
Me: preeeetty much... and I did that thinking about how upset you were over Pitt getting a 1 seed. I said "those scrubs ain't gettin' nowhere!" and I was right.
Me: 99.2% now. I'M A BEAST! hahaha Come onnnnn UCONN!!
(Rafa wrote back once the UCONN game was over, and sure enough, I had picked YET ANOTHER correct outcome. By now, Rafa was pretty much IRATE)
Rafa: I need to see a link to this so-called "bracket" of yours. What, do you have Richmond going to the Sweet 16?

I then linked Rafa to my ESPN bracket, where I'm RAPING in the rankings (well, when compared to the majority of the people I know. I'm still getting massacred by 30k people... of the internet). As for me "knowing nothing about college basketball," ummm, excuse me? I played basketball for the school team back in high school... I believe that gives me more street cred than a lot of people who only play ball at the park. I know how things go down, ok (nah, I don't. But I like to make myself seem important)?

Moral of the story: Let a girl make your picks. They sure as hell know more about basketball than paid professionals.
Thank you.
Now I have to collect my winnings, suckaaaaas!

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Got jokes, Life?

And the jokes continue.

Who was the first person to ask me about my plans?
(as you can tell, I'm a fan of the guessing game)


After months of not hearing from him, he contacted me out of the blue.
He was nearly spamming my wall.
It was strange, since I had been thinking and talking about him for a couple of days now. My psychic abilities creep me out.
Anyway, instead of having some sort of soap-opera unfold on my or his wall, I risked running into annoying people on FB chat, and I got on-line to talk to him.

I think, actually, I'm expecting to have him tell me he wants to come to town and stay at my place. I could almost put money on it... especially since his birthday's about a month away.
He hinted about wanting to drive out here, since he bought his first car now.
I just sat there waiting for him to finally go ahead and ask the question already.
Yes, you can come, yes you can stay here. Quit wheedling (I LOVE this word! I found it when trying to find a synonym for the more vulgar words I use, and I fell in love with it. It's hilarious to me) me.

He never did, but to be honest, I really did appreciate hearing from him again. Kid makes me laugh (his current issue is the fact that he is now "211 pounds of pure fat!" I sat there trying to convince him he wasn't a failure because he gained thirty pounds in a year. Luckily that kept me too busy to even go into MY issues and MY current failures).

So... it's safe to assume I won't be able to slap the first jackass to ask me about my plans... because I'm too endeared to the jerkwad.

This no cussing thing... I can't believe some of the things coming out of my mouth.

Friday, March 18, 2011

... que YO forge.

I was a lovely sight this morning.
Actually, it was noon. I woke up at noon, after going to bed at five in the morning... after I had cried hard enough to vomit, get tired, and go to sleep.
What can I say? I allow myself ONE day to cry over an event, whether it's the death of a loved one, the failing of a class, or getting dumped for a twig-girl (who is a very sweet, funny girl... but I didn't know that at the moment that things went down).
ONE day, and then you're no longer allowed to cry about it ever again, weakling.

I had been "fine" all afternoon. I guess I was shell-shocked. I didn't start freaking out until around one in the morning. I don't know what triggered it (yes I do. I called myself an "idiot" for putting a scratch on my phone's screen and then my subconscious just let me have it), but once it started, I couldn't stop. Vomit, the shakes, violent sobs... all that mess.
I woke up with my right eye swollen shut and my left eye in nearly the same condition. My voice was weird too... I only noticed that because D sneaked into my room to ask me a question, and when I tried answering "Yeah, I'm awake, dude" I startled myself with the sound. I still have to speak in a low voice, because it hurts to be loud.

I didn't have breakfast until three in the afternoon... and my breakfast was two hand-fulls of Honey Bunches of Oats because there was no milk in the fridge. Of course I only realized there was no milk once the bowl of cereal was already poured.

I had planned to go out to catch the Rebel game, but my eyes were still not back to normal by 6:30... yeah, I gave myself until 6:30 to be good to go out in public, and it didn't happen!
Good thing I didn't go, though... it would have been too much crap for two days... such an embarrassing game.

I'm no longer weepy.
I'm even trying to laugh... although it hurts to chuckle. I was in a world of pain from laughing so hard when my sister nearly electrocuted herself trying to "fix" her dead laptop this afternoon (I know this makes me seem like a monster... but nothing happened to her, so I was free to laugh until I was short of breath).
Smiles are... they're really forced right now, so I'm not doing much of that.
Hopefully I get back to normal sooner than later.

Oh! Oh! One last thing:
Know how certain events occur in my life where music randomly plays, which eerily goes along with the mood of the scene... as if I'm living some sort of soap-opera or movie? Like that time when I told MGH how I felt about him in CanCun at Margaritaville... and in the middle of getting to the "I like you... A LOT" part, that Amelie song started playing and kept playing as I watched my heart get beaten to a pulp?
WELL, sticking true to this bizarre, inexplicable phenomenon, I woke up to music being played in the living room today.
Just GUESS which song.
Ok, enough time.
I woke up to Étude Op. 10 No. 3, or in Spanish, "Divina Ilusión."
Divina ilusión que yo forje. Un sueño fue, que no se realizo. (Sweet illusion that I forged. It was a dream that never came to be)
No puedo mas. 
("I've had enough" or "I can't keep going" or even "I can't")

My life is such a joke.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Find me a four-leaf clover... NOW!

God has a really jacked up "sense of humor."
I usually see this going on with other people (them having a crappy day where everything is going wrong in the most ironic ways), and I tend to be of the "laugh it off" crowd...
Today is supposed to be about luck and all that Irish bologna... well, not for me. It was the total opposite.

I wasn't going to write today, because I don't remember ever being this upset before. Well... "upset" is a little too strong. I'm... bummed.

I tried cheering up, or at least numbing the pain by killing it at the gym.
No matter how much I pushed myself... I was still heartbroken and ready to cry at the slightest provocation.
I was jump-squatting, wanting to cry from heartbreak, and not because my glutes and hamstrings were wanting to murder me.
I was pelvic-tilting telling myself to "get it together, AnoMALIE!" instead of my usual "I'm going to murder whoever invented these things!"
You're on to something, hamstrings... maybe someone SHOULD murder me!

Reason for being upset?
As many can probably guess by now, I heard back from NYU. AND Stanford. Bad news, obviously.

Stanford was first. It didn't... upset me much. Why? Because I wouldn't be getting a degree from there in the first place. They only offer a fellowship. It STILL would have been awesome... but it kiiinda seems like a slight waste of time. Kind of (I still would have given my right ovary for it).
Their rejection letter was a lot nicer than Cornell... by at least three times.

Then came the horrific NYU e-mail. This one DID mess me up. I was shaking :(
They were SO SO SO nice in the letter, referring to me by my name and all that junk... but it was still really, really sad.
What sucks is that they were supposed to contact me late-February... so the fact that they were holding out on me until MID-MARCH was freakin' heartless... giving me false hope and all that crap only a really mean, abusive boyfriend does to a girl.

I'm not gonna lie... this rejection made me cry (in the shower, but still, I CRIED. I don't CRY over schools).
What I did find solace in was the fact that VERY FEW people know about this endeavor of mine. Because hearing people pity me is THE WORST thing for me. Pity is... despicable in my book. Please, never ever pity me. Just make me laugh and forget. That's all I ask. Leave the crying and lamentations to me and the privacy of my room late at night where I can sob away without anyone hearing or seeing that pity party of ONE.

The toughest part was telling Mom.
I promised my folks that if no schools take me, I'll give up on this real love of mine and just turn into the robot they want me to be, and dedicate my life to science.
AnoMALIE + Science = Dead Inside.
Don't get me wrong, I do love science, and it entertains me... but dedicate my life to it? Blah. It makes me miserable. It's hard to love something I'm forced on to... whether it's shrimp (unless it's in sushi. ONLY exception), pineapple (NEVER an exception. NEVER. I'll punch anyone who "tricks" me into tasting it. It's the most DISGUSTING flavor in the UNIVERSE), or science (complicated relationship. That's as best as I can describe this one)... I harbor resentment for the thing and will gag at the thought.

Anyway, Mom was oddly supportive. She didn't pity me at all. She just said "Ohhhhhhh well! Forget them!"
Heck yeah, "forget them!" At least I won't spend a ridiculous amount of dough to rent a place in the city... not to mention the tuition... on a degree that... doesn't get you much, right? And then the climate out there... PUKE! But... it WOULD have been cool to represent that school. Honestly. I won't kid about that part.

So, now I just have one shot.
Rafa: So what schools did you apply to again?
Me: Stanford, NYU, Cornell, and UNLV.
Rafa: ... and UNLV is just your "safety school," right?
Me: No. It's my dream school, actually.
Rafa: You're WACK, buster!

How quickly dreams get destroyed.
It strengthens my reluctance to EVER talk to anyone about my plans, hopes, and dreams. Is it making sense now? Am I excused for punching the next jackass who asks me what I'm up to, or is that still considered a no-no?

I'm not crying anymore. I'm just really freakin' demoralized.
(AND I STILL CAN'T/HAVEN'T CUSSED! I hate how this is all working out this way! THIS GIRL NEEDS to cuss!)

Wednesday, March 16, 2011


It was a clear black night, a clear white moon
Warren G was on the streets, trying to consume
Some skirts for the eve, so I can get some funk
Just rollin' in my ride, chillin' all alone
Just hit the eats side of the LBC
On a mission trying to find Mr. Warren G
Seen a car full of girls ain't no need to tweak
All you skirts know what's up with 213
So I hooks a left on the two one to Lewis
Some brothers shootin' dice so I said, "Let's do this"
I jumped out the ride, and said, "What's up?"
Some brothers pulled some gats so I said, "I'm stuck"
Since these girls peepin' me I'm glide and swerve
These hookers lookin' so hard they straight hit the curb
Gonna think of better things than some horny tricks
I see my homey and some suckers all in his mix
I'm gettin' jacked, I'm breakin' myself
I can't believe they're taking Warren's wealth
They took my rings, they took my Rolex
I looked at the brothers and said, "Damn, what's next?"
They got my homey hemmed up and they all around
Ain't none of them seeing if they going straight pound for pound
They gonna come up real quick before they start to clown
I best pull out my strap and lay them busters down
They got guns to my head I think I'm going down
I can't believe this happened in my home town
If I had wings I could fly let me contemplate
I glanced in the cut and I see my homey Nate
Sixteen in the clip and one in the hole
Nate Dogg is about to make some bodies turn cold
now they droppin and yellin
it's a tad bit late
Nate Dogg and Warren G had to regulate
I laid all them busters down
I let my gat explode
now I'm switching my mind back into freak mode
if you want skirts sit back and observe
I just left a gang of those over there on the curb
Now Nate got the freaks
and that's a known fact
before I got jacked I was on the same track
back up back up cause it's on
N A T E and me
the Warren to the G
Just like I thought
they were in the same spot
in need of some desperate help
the Nate Dogg and the G-child
were in need of something else
one of them dames was sexy as hell
I said "ooo I like your size."
she said "my car's broke down and you seem real nice,
would ya let me ride?"
I got a car full of girls and it's going real swell
the next stop is the Eastside Motel
I'm tweaking
into a whole new era
step to this
I dare ya
on a whole new level
the rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble
We brings
where rhythm is life
and life is rhythm
If you know like I know
you don't wanna step to this
It's the G-Funk era
funked out with a gangsta twist
if you smoke like I smoke
then you high like everyday
and if your ass is a buster
213 will regulate

That was the first rap I ever learned. I was nine.
This single was also Rafa's first purchase, and we spent that night listening to it on repeat until we had it memorized. We were so excited, we decided we'd perform it for seven year old D.
Rafa was Nate Dogg, I was the more soprano-ish Warren G ("I'm gettin' jacked! I'm breakin' myself! I can't believe... they're takin' Warren's wealth!" To this day, I'll act that part out). D fell asleep before we were done, despite our Academy-award-worthy acting-out of the song.
Good times.

In my heart, Nate Dogg, in my heart.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


Being unable to cuss has really put a damper in my mood.
I'm not myself. At all.

But I think I found a solution:
Not cussing. Not cussing. Not cussing.
While I can't give someone the finger, I can totally just... you know... they can come to their own conclusions once they see my hands.
See that single white nail? Yeah, I did that with YOU in mind.

I'm already noticing a lessening in my stress level.
Someone makes me angry? Eh. I throw my hands up in the air.
NYU hasn't contacted me in any way to let me know I've been rejected or accepted. What do I think about that? White nail polish.
What's that you say? This isn't 100 Words long? Check out my mani!

Chicharito scored the two goals today, which sent Man U to the UCL quarter-finals... how do I feel about that? Dude, no... not my manicure! I'm actually pretty stoked. Mexic-OH! We may not know what it's like to win a world cup, but having a Mexican player succeed in the European league is exciting.

(I love how random my brain is right now. Yikes)

Monday, March 14, 2011

Cotton-Candy at the Flea-Market

Having Rafa home for the weekend has been great.
He brings up a bunch of memories I'd otherwise have left forgotten.
He makes me laugh.
He reminds me why I think guys are... the business.

Some of our moments:

"Remember where we were when the Rebels lost to Duke in 1991?"
I had completely forgotten about this. I only remember a bunch of people screaming and cheering when UNLV won in 1990. I remember doing that whole... biting-of-the-towel thing.
Mom was a fanatic back then, so she'd have her babies decked out in red, screaming "R-EHHHHH-BULLLLLLS!" (except D, she couldn't make the "R" sound until she was about six)
So, you can't blame me for forgetting such a sad event like the Rebels losing to those bastards.
But then Rafa reminded me, and it all came back to me.
We were waiting in the check-out lane at K-Mart. We were eager to get home to catch the end of the game, when they announced the final score over the intercom. Everyone in the store groaned.
Thanks for the reminder, Rafa.

"Do you know what 'buying cotton-candy at the flea-market' means?"
We were watching a documentary on Pablo Escobar, when Rafa started using "drug slang" with me. For the most part, when he starts getting retarded like this, I mumble to keep him from talking to me.
This time around, I was humoring him by taking guesses at his questions.
He then asked me if I knew what "buying cotton-candy at the flea-market" meant.
Me: No. What?
Rafa: Exactly that. Remember?
Ok, so back in the day, Mom would force us to accompany her to the out-door "flea-market" on Sundays.
My only demand would be for her to buy me cotton candy.
Mom would promise I'd get my wish at the end of the outing.
Would I? No. But I was the good kid who would refuse to throw a temper tantrum (unlike D. She'd turn epileptic on us when she wouldn't get her way. It was beyond embarrassing).
So, every week, this would happen to me... and every week, Rafa would make fun of me for it.
All I wanted, was some FREAKING COTTON CANDY!

"It's ya boy!"
This morning, I woke up to see Rafa had posted on my wall.
Why's this idiot writing on my wall when he's right down the hallway?
Then I saw the link.
It was an article mentioning Ken, Barbie's man, and how he's turning 50 this year.
Back in the day, I had a ton of barbies, but no Ken. I asked for a Ken doll for YEARS. Mom didn't concede this wish until one day that I chopped off the hair on one barbie, and "turned her into a man." I guess Mom got tired of seeing me play with the barbies and have this poor barbie play the role of the man. I purposely made my barbies kiss, just so she'd get me a freakin' Ken.
Once Mom gave up and bought me Ken, Rafa and his BFF would steal him from me and finding him would turn into a scavenger hunt... where I'd ultimately find Ken in compromising positions... usually with his pants down, exposing his lack of a crotch... dangling from a tree or something.

Impossible for a girl to remain sad with memories like that.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt."
I'm changing my "no cheese" Lent promise.
I'm no longer speaking.
I'm done with that.

I'm sick and tired of being misinterpreted.
Maybe I should stop interacting with such IMBECILES.

Once again, I landed in trouble for opening my mouth.
It wasn't even something... I wasn't... I wasn't being opinionated. AT ALL.
These were my EXACT WORDS: 
I'm very sorry for your loss, *Girl*. Your gramps always made me laugh.

Ok. So what was so malicious about that?
I said the truth: this girl's grandfather would make me laugh. I would see him at picnics in Hometown over the summers, and I'd always listen in on what he would say. His conversation was entertaining.
I. Would. Laugh. Just like everyone in the vicinity... just like he intended.

Of course, as is ALWAYS my case, my words were misconstrued to mean I laughed AT HIM.
The entire family is now 1- mad at me 2- not speaking to me.

I kept telling myself this was all in my head.
But today *Girl* humiliated me PUBLICLY, the absolute worst thing anyone can do to a timid person.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I was strong and defended myself.
I was caught off guard... so I cried.
The girl is a sweetheart, which is another reason why I was so surprised by her behavior. I'm usually rarely shocked when a person known for cattiness or rude behavior lashes out (which is rare in the first place, since I purposely avoid those people, or refuse to speak in their presence).

I spent the rest of the day trying to cheer up and forget about the situation. When I saw that wasn't working (although I did have many laughs with D and Rafa when we went out for lunch. My siblings are hilarious), I slept.

This is a prime example of why:
1. I DON'T speak.
2. I DETEST apologies.

Yes, I write a lot HERE... but no one in my real life reads it (with the exception of a few). It's an outlet. I can't just sit there and listen/deal with all the drama and BOLOGNA without venting about it somewhere. But to have me speak up and intentionally hurt someone is something I've done very few times in my life.
The ease with which others hurt me... and the malice with which they do it... scares me. I can say that in all the instances where others have humiliated me or have been cruel to me, I've deserved it TWICE. All the other times, which I've completely lost track of, have been... misunderstandings. I'm then left to deal with "apologies."
I'm supposed to forget the humiliation, the tears, the mean words... and go back to being nice... all with the uttering of one very STUPID word.

When you crush someone's... soul... all because you're too STUPID to comprehend what is actually being said, and you go on a rampage and destroy someone's reputation... someone's sense of self-worth... you DON'T deserve to be forgiven.
You were an IMBECILE... pay the consequences.

I'm telling myself it's only a matter of time before she realizes what a mistake she committed, but it still feels like I've swallowed a gallon of battery acid.
To think... so many people now think I'm such a monster...
It's hard to live with that.

I'm a sweetheart. I promise, I promise, I promise. But I hate having to continuously prove it to others, then appear to be gracious when accepting an apology after being repeatedly falsely accused.

I'll go back to only smiling and looking at the floor, now... since speaking only gets me deeper in trouble.
There will be plenty of people who will forget the sound of my voice.

Saturday, March 12, 2011


Did you know "parking" on a crosswalk is a thousand dollar fine?
I learned that the hard way yesterday.
And I still didn't cuss.

Yesterday was BUNK! The party... UNLV losing... And I STILL didn't cuss.

Rafa woke me up this morning by holding my nose.
Yep. And I STILL didn't cuss (he DID get punched, however).

Rafa has taken ownership of my room and television to watch all the college basketball games...
and I haven't cussed.

This weekend is looking to be TERRIBLE.
Oh, and yesterday I forgot to wish.
Now, since these last few months I've jotted the wish down, today I won't. I made the wish last night around 11... now we'll see if it comes true.

Friday, March 11, 2011


Three things:
1. Today marks the three year anniversary of my arrival in Bilbao. It was the best time of my life. You can't see me right now, but I just swooned.
Ohhhhhh Spain.

2. Japan.
I was on-line when I was notified of the breaking news.
It saddened me to watch all the footage live. It was horrible and what nightmares are made of. What made me... well, it made me sad, but it also made me lose hope in humanity, was how many of the people on my Facebook were reacting... especially the very distasteful jokes they were making.
THEN, while I was watching up until about 2:30 in the morning, all I could really think was "Uh oh... Dad is going to frustrate me tomorrow..."
Because Dad ALWAYS mentions how "The end is near" or how "Christ is coming!" whenever a natural disaster occurs. He traumatized me as a child because of this.
Whether it was an electrical storm, a hail storm, a flood, or an earthquake, Dad ALWAYS brought up "end of the world!" being VERY near.
What three year old wants to hear that? I was lucky that Mom has always been a cranky Catholic and keeps Dad's Fundamentalist Christian-self under (some) control. I'm sure if Mom wouldn't have been around to roll her eyes whenever Dad proclaimed Christ's second coming, I'd be quite the... weirdo.

Anyway, true to my suspicion, I was woken up by Dad saying "CHRIST IS COMING!!" after turning on the television and seeing the news. I walked over and watched him trying to act like a preacher (SO irritating. I think it may be the reason why I'd rather be shot than join any protestant denomination. Dad has made me dislike the guys). What I did tell Dad was "Well... it was the end of the world for those hundred of people who were killed, that's for sure."
It's a hassle I doubt very many people have to deal with. It makes me angry, but oddly enough, it always leaves this sinking feeling in my gut.

Now I just have to avoid him for a week or so... until he notices the world is still turning and the sun is still rising.

3. It has been decided. I'm going to the party.
I found a flier for it... :)
SEE what I've been having to deal with for the last... 4 months?!
I now understand why I was invited: two of the three people celebrating like me. Only one wants to see me dead... who is, sadly, the main character of the night.

I'm also going because D ran into problems with Twiggy. Twiggy, surprise-surprise!, doesn't want to accompany D to the party.
My peaceful meditation (read: reading of my e-mail) was disturbed by a very angry Sister screaming at her phone. Twiggy was on the other end... and things were getting NASTY. I've never heard D put Twiggy in her place like that.
Anyway, since I saw my sister so worked up and nearly in tears, I agreed to accompany her to the party. I'm kind like that.

So, I have spent the last hours trying to mentally prepare for this outing. I just KNOW I'm going to come home an emotional wreck.
It comes with the territory of being socially awkward. I have to keep reminding myself that "everything will be ok. Breathe, dude, breathe.... and speak up... and smile." Social anxiety really, REALLY sucks.
The things I do when I love people (even if we fight like cats and dogs).
I do find solace knowing this is what I have to look forward to:
This is why I get sloshed when I visit this guy's house.
Happy weekend.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Bulking up

Sticking to my "manly deltoid" from yesterday's post:

I've never been "slender." I've never known what it's like to be "rail thin." My body just wasn't built for that business. Like I've said before, I was built to survive harsh winters and to be able to wrestle cattle.
I had tiny muscles... and a booty (this no cussing thing is KILLING ME), even in my toddlerhood... up until about third grade, which was my absolute thinnest time:
Thunder-thighs didn't phase me at 2.5 years of age.
I might have been 7 here, and that was the thinest my legs have ever been.
And my brother was being a dummy on purpose
I was sort of lanky, with long arms and legs, but I wasn't frail (except for my wrists. They're such a joke of a body part).
Of course, since being "built" has never been popular for girls, I was always, always, ALWAYS told I "could be thinner."
Even during my anorexic phase of 8th-10th grade, I wasn't a sliver. I wouldn't eat a single thing all day, and I still had meat on my bones. Always.
Obviously it affected me, a lot, to not be the freakin' bone people wanted me to be.
I look back at pictures of my teen years and think "Dude, I wasn't fat at all! I was a developing child with big cheekbones... boobs and a butt... and all that time I let others convince me I was a tub."
It bums me out to know I wasted so much of my time trying to be something I was obviously never meant to be. When I think back to... any time, really, I've always had a distorted image of what I look like. All thanks to those backhanded compliments like "Oh man, AnoMALIE! The other day I saw a girl who looked JUST LIKE YOU... and she... well, let's just say, if you were to lose a little more weight, you would be SO GORGEOUS!" or "You know what would make you look even PRETTIER? A girdle!" ??? Whoa, are you serious?! (she was)

I'm not saying that I was never enormous... no, no, no! I was a f'ing heifer from like... '06 to like... '08... although I REALLY let myself go in '07, which was my ABSOLUTE worst phase. I agree with people who went out of their way to say "Uh... AnoMALIE... you're uh... putting on a little weight there, aren't you?" 'cause I totally was. And it was that which finally got me off my butt and back on a work out regime.
Now, while I'm still NOT a rail... and my thighs are thick enough to feed a person for months if they had to resort to cannibalism, I realize... I got some sweet muscle. Muscle that has taken me YEARS to build.
I'm not a skinny girl... I'm not a monster... I'm just... a beast (who turns into a monster when she doesn't watch what she eats or works out).

I mention this because I've been dealing with an issue for the last few months.
My little sister gained a good amount of weight after coming home from her semester abroad, three years ago.
She had always been the thin pretty girl of the family... I had always been the bulky nerdy one.
People were noticing her new body, and weren't shy in pointing it out.
I'd encourage her to join me at the gym, but she has little patience. She wanted to see results immediately.
So she would skip out on the work outs to go eat with Twiggy.

Well, she has a friend who is a personal trainer... and he got her to try this popular diet.
You eat 500 calories a day. And you don't work out. At all.
What was the result?
She lost weight. A lot of it.

Family is once again noticing, and now they're getting on my case.
Oh man! Look at D! You lost all that weight in a month?! (oh yeah, it was 38 days of this strict diet) AnoMALIE! You should try it!
This of course, only brings about my death-stare.
It makes me furious.

My family wants me to be a twig. NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
It frustrates me how they don't appreciate the beauty of muscle.
Muscle is GORGEOUS.
I'd rather have muscles than the mush your body turns into after a month of eating 500 calories and NOT working out.

I'm further irritated because D has gained this... obnoxious attitude about her weight-loss.
And she's getting delusional.
She started working out TWO DAYS ago.
Yesterday, she was sore and complaining.
What does she tell me?
D: *Trainer* told me I had to lay-off the weighted squats. He said my legs are bulking up and that's why they're so sore now.
Me: What? You're like that because YOU BARELY started your workout regiment again. I get like that when I miss two weeks of gym time.
D: Well... he told me I have massive thighs, and if I keep doing leg presses and heavy squats I'm going to get an excess amount of muscle.
I scoffed by now.
D: AnoMALIE, he's a personal trainer! He knows more than you do!

Woooooop! Wrong thing to say!
Me: First off, this kid was a BUSINESS MAJOR. DON'T come at me with that BULL. SECOND: You need to eat a RIDICULOUS amount of calories to build muscles. "Bulking up" requires a ton of effort and dedication. A weak little diet and a DAY of leg pressing 80 pounds is NOT going to get you bulky. CALM DOWN, Arnold!

As angry and irritated as I have been... D is still walking around like a peacock and thinking she's a gym buff (she tells people she's now a "diet and gym junkie." I nearly choke on my spit when I hear her say this. She might be a diet junkie... but gym? HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!).
Then I have to stand there and listen to my aunts suggest I try this wack diet.

I hate people.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

AnoMALIE: giggling baby

Nothing starts your day off right quite like waking up at 6:30 in the morning on your own.

I woke up early to beat the hoards of terrible Catholics who seem to cram churches only on special occasions.
Ash Wednesday is particularly difficult, because:
1- I fast all day... so I'm already cranky and ready to stab a... moron if they invade my space.
2- The bad Catholics who pack the church only get worse as the ashes are about to be placed on people's foreheads. NOTHING irritates me more than an imbecile (not a cuss word. Deal with it) who only shows up for the imposition of the ashes (I think that's what it's called?) which is at the very end of the hour long mass (really, come on. It's AN HOUR. People spend over an hour mindlessly surfing Facebook, don't give me that bologna!). It's the thing that irks me the most.

Anyway, I went to the earliest mass, 7:30AM, which was in English.
No, I still don't know how to pray in English, but hey, I can read the scriptures and stuff that are in the book... and I definitely understand the priest's sermon. I was right at home... except when praying was involved.
I had a laugh-attack before mass started. I don't know if it was the hunger, or the lack of sleep, but I started to laugh (out loud) when I noticed how old everyone in church really was. No one there was below the age of 60... SERIOUSLY. For some reason, I found this hilarious, and in my lunacy, I giggled like a baby (no, really, a baby)... for about 30 seconds... uncontrollably. The more I tried shutting up, the more I'd laugh... especially when I'd see the poor old people look back at me in fear.
Then I giggled some more when I noticed D getting irritated.
I had to think of a sad memory in order to get some sort of control over myself. I also had to close my eyes and not look at anyone. GRAY HAIR was making laugh.
Way to make my people more likable to the church white folk who are already irritated by us loud, obnoxious Latinos. Way to go, AnoMALIE!

Anyway, besides my irreverent display of... the giggles, everything went fine... because white people behave themselves! Spanish mass is a circus with all the crying/screaming/running babies (I'm such a grouchy old lady).

I came home and decided I wanted to gym-it.
Only one tiny problem: I cussed at a lady as I drove to the gym. I said one bad word, in spanish, and caught myself.
I'm still good, though, because that's the only cuss word I've dropped... no, wait, I cussed in the morning because I got acetone in one of my paper-cuts. BUT, no one has been around to hear me cuss, so I still think I'm ok.
I'm speaking like... almost Ned Flanders. Everything is a "moron," "jerk," or "dum-dum." I'm "sheesh"ing and "crud"ing. There are also a lot of "fudge-sicles" and "hole-y macaronis" in my life right now.
It's... a sight to see.
But of course, this brings me to a topic that almost made me lose my cool, and threatens to relegate me to trucker status:
As if on purpose, I received my invitation to the EuroTrash party last night.

It immediately caused conflict in my head.

I want to go. Why? Because there's this ridiculously handsome guy going. By "ridiculously handsome" I mean "what kind of deal did your parents strike up with the devil... and can I meet them so I can shake their hand?!" The "Hi. I... just forgot my name..." type beautiful.
He looks like David Beckham when Becks was in his 20s. He's THAT good looking.
I don't think he'll pay attention to me, not at all, but hey, I don't mind just being in the presence of such beauty. NO straight girl minds being in the presence of unbelievable male beauty.

Then, once I control my hormones and slap the idiot teen girl that lives inside me, I remember how pretentious the entire event will be.
Uh, hello! You were slighted and only added once you showed humility... well, more like... submissiveness. You really gonna punk out like that, moron?
I won't be missing out on much if I refuse to RSVP.

I "made peace" by basically biting my tongue each time Birthday Boy said something outrageous or... self-aggrandizing (I'm surprised I can still talk). I also talked sports with him... I'm talking "I gave Gorman High School props" type talking (everyone knows I DESPISE their sports teams. They were by and far the worst when it came to proper sportsmanship conduct). That was all, though. That's as much brown-nosing that my stomach will permit.
I didn't do it in hopes of getting a party invite. I did it because--I can't lie-- I felt terrible about knowing I upset Birthday Boy so much, he went to the extreme of publicly... hating on me. This guy, while quite full of himself, never bothers to address the haters... and suddenly you had him getting all "Twitter-War!" on me. It was killing me (with both rage and sadness). I just wanted to let him know that while he did upset me, I sincerely lamented ever hurting HIS feelings in the first place... even if it was a misunderstanding.

I also think he started to feel guilty... 'cause come on, how can anyone be mean to me when all I am is nice? That, and maybe the fact that he invited both of my siblings, and both WILL attend (that's right, Rafa is making a special appearance and flying all the way from Jersey) probably got to him.

Whether it was a guilt trip, or forgiveness... or some hidden, cruel motive (wouldn't that suck?), Birthday Boy decided to invite me last night.
Party's Friday.
I have yet to RSVP. I just stare at the invite and beat myself over the head trying to make a decision.
I don't want to be part of the lofty crowd... but I also don't want to further anger/irritate/insult Birthday Boy by not showing up to his event.

Decisions, decisions.

You know what I didn't have a hard time deciding on? My manicure:
Please excuse my manly deltoid... she's out of control.
Instead, be distracted by how those 3 fingers look like they belong on 3 different hands
I tried showing off the blue, purple, and silver glitter... because they make me feel girly. It didn't really work... but eh.
Which reminds me, I have to explain my reason why manicures made my Lent list:
I don't put much effort in looking girly. I go through phases where I do my nails on a regular basis, but then there are times when I grossly neglect my hands. I find I'm in the mood to do my nails when I'm upbeat and happy. So, I'll keep my nails nice to show the world that Hey, I'm happy, and I care.
But don't worry, I'm just filing my nails and painting them... not giving myself talons:
Neta? Que onda con esto? DAN MIEDO!
Seriously, ladies-- WHY?! You look DANGEROUS (if not deranged) with those things.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


It's that time of the year again: LENT.
It begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday.
Today, of course, is the day of drunken debauchery, aka Mardi Gras.
I'm not participating in the debauchery, however, since my health hasn't been the greatest lately (words I thought I'd be muttering MUCH later in life, but uh... looks like 26 was late enough. Fuck).
Instead, I'm sitting here wondering what the hell I'm going to give up.
I haven't had the BEST record when it comes to this 40 days/40 nights business. My vices are STRONG... although I don't have many.

1. I don't have much of a drinking problem, so giving that shit up isn't that difficult. 
I haven't had a beer in... umm... a couple of months. I do, however, drink a fair amount of hard liquor. Vodka, tequila, and scotch are... well, let's just say I won't turn it down whenever someone offers me something along those lines (I WILL turn down brandy. That bullshit gives me the worst hangover imaginable. I don't like wine or champagne, either, so... eh).
I WOULD give up liquor, but I have to think about the April 2nd wedding... and I already promised a few family members and friends to join them in the celebratory drinking. A drunken AnoMALIE is somewhat coveted by that side of the family, only because they have never really seen me drunk... just buzzed... and when buzzed, I'm pretty fucking social, so they enjoy that. I've agreed to appease the masses so they quit bugging me about it for a while.

2. I don't do drugs.
I've never done any drug. Well, I HAVE almost OD'd on NyQuil... but does that really count? I was sick... and couldn't think clearly, so I went ahead and did it. I was also hooked on sniffing those sharpies back in the day... the dry erase markers or whatever. I'll admit to liking that back in 5th grade.
But I've never smoked weed... although I have been present multiple times while others smoke, and my cousin used to be a big time seller. I was in fourth grade when his kids showed us giant cans full of weed. That was memorable.
Anyway, since I haven't even tried an easy-peasy drug like weed, I certainly haven't tried hard shit like crack or heroin. Coke I'm not interested. That fucking stupid drug wrecked Hometown and my childhood friends, so I have ZERO interest in the piece of shit.
So... giving up drugs is stupid... since I never started, and I never will try it. There goes that vice.

3. I don't smoke.
Don't get me started on this one. I fucking HATE IT. 'nuf said.

4. I don't fuck.
How can I give up carnal pleasures when I don't participate in this either? AnoMALIE, YOU'RE BORING! I can't complain of the itch for a quickie like many of my friends... I frankly don't give a shit about it... so... I can't say I need to give this up. Maybe I should start? HA. NOT.

5. I don't eat fast food.
I gave this up a few years ago... and I did it for a number of years. Now, it's not like I don't eat it at ALL.  On occasion, I'll crave an In-N-Out burger and go ahead and get one... or maybe something from Arby's (yes, I'm 50 years old)... or Buffalo Wild Wings to sober up. But for the most part, I don't eat the fast food. Useless to give it up when I don't care much for it.

I have a rough time coming up with my lent list... until I accept that I'm not perfect, and that I do have some pretty mean vices.

1. I swear... not like a sailor... but like a possessed demon.
I can't help it. It's TERRIBLE. I know. I've tried giving up this stupid vice since... was it 7th grade? Something like that. And each time, I break it within MINUTES. I'm in the church parking lot with the ash cross still on my forehead and I'm already cussing out the dumb animals (i.e. people) who won't get out of my motherfucking way! Before I drove, I'd be fighting with Rafa for flicking my ear on the way to our car... stuff like that.
I've had plenty of guys tell me "there is nothing uglier than a girl with a dirty mouth," and each time, my response is "Does it look like I give a FUCK what you think? You weakass dickface." Well, that last part I'll change up a bit, but seriously, I really don't care what those pussies think.
When I DO get upset is when someone brings up the fact that people use curse words because they lack an advanced vocabulary. It's kind of true. I've tried that thing where you interchange the cuss word with a real word... and it was HARD. It's not hard because I don't know words (I have great vocab skill. My AP exams and SAT proved this point, only to have both the MCAT and GRE back me up on this), it's hard because I can't think up the words fast enough. Often times when I cuss, it's because I suffer a paper cut (just today, I got THREE. What kind of shit is that?) and it's A LOT easier to scream "SHIT!" or "FUUUUUUCK!!!" instead of sitting there and thinking of polite things to say, when all I really want to do is burn down the entire rainforest for being responsible for stupid injury-inflicting paper.
Also, I DETEST using the weak words like "darn!" "shoot!" or "bologna!" Use the real word: Damn! Shit! Bullshit! Or nothing at all.
Word I DO use is "Ouch!" but that's because it's a legit interjection to denote pain.
ANYWAY. I do feel bad about others thinking I'm some neanderthal when I go on my cussing rampages. I wreck the good, smart girl image I originally give off... and that's kind of a bummer.
I could do without cursing so much... even in my writing (a tear rolled down my cheek as I wrote that. It's like my soul is getting ripped out. I'm being sarcastic).

2. I really, really, REALLY like cheese.
It's my life. Ok, not that intense, but it does make me happy. My diet probably consists of maybe... 50% cheese? I don't know... but I'm pretty sure I'd starve to death if cheese were unavailable in my house.
I see this as a vice because I really do exaggerate in my ingestion of this... delicious dairy product.
Now, I could give up dairy entirely, but that would be unhealthy. I'm a girl. I need my calcium and vitamin D. Plus, I'm not intolerant, so I'm scared if I stopped ingesting ALL dairy, I'd acquire some sort of intolerance. Milk intolerance = DEATH for me.
BUT, I have to take this out. I need to let go of... this wonderful creation. It wreaks the most devastating havoc on my diet, and I accept it.

3. I'm really sarcastic.
I love sarcasm... a lot... but many people are confused/insulted/irritated/etc by it. It has caused me numerous headaches with family/friends/acquaintances, because I'm starting to get to that point where the sarcasm-sincerity line is getting blurred.
What would my life be without the sarcasm (besides Emo and lame)?

There are a few more, but I don't want to depress myself any further.
Point is:
I'm giving up cussing, for the billionth time.
I'm giving up cheese, for the first time.
I'm giving up sarcasm, for the LAST time.

I fear I'll be a very frustrated AnoMALIE... especially since I promised to not even write cuss words (this makes me very, very sad).
I won't even say "bitch."
Or "ass" (this one feels like I've been kidney punched).

Also, I'll have my nails nicely manicured at all times.
Just never again this color:
Heroes in a half-shell... TURTLE POWER!
Oddly enough, I was NOT a ninja assassin after trying this color.
(especially not w/those wrists of an 8-year-old ballerina)
But I did look radioactive.
My apologies if the next 40 days will be packed with boredom... depression... and... retardedness (is that a real word? Guess what? I DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUCK!).
Puta madre, que chingados estoy haciendo?! Soy una PENDEEEEEEJAAAAA!
Alright. I'm done with the cuss words.
(lucky for me, it starts tomorrow... had it started today, I would have suffered a heart-attack with that Barcelona-Arsenal UCL game. I was battling with the fact that I love Fabregas... but I ADORE Barcelona... and I hate Van Persie-- his game, that is. As a person, he's quite sweet. The red card, the own-goal, my fucking asshole Madrista friends... I was NOT a nice girl today. The victory? I only got NASTIER. I can't watch soccer without cussing and flicking a few people off)

Monday, March 7, 2011

My "son"

Not many people know me.
Well, yeah, they know me as in "Oh, that's AnoMALIE, I see her around from time to time" but not much deeper than that.
There are some people out there who might know:
-I was raised in the ghetto.
-I spend my summers in Mexico.
-I speak a few languages.
-I'm quiet because I'm shy, not because I'm a bitch.
-I love sushi. But I didn't start eating it until three years ago.
-I love black, but my favorite color is actually green.
-I have a pit bull named Tyson... he's really mean and anti-social, like me!
-I don't dance often because I'm shy, NOT because I don't know how. I can school a stripper in the dance department, if I so choose. (this misconception has to be my fucking biggest pet peeve EVER. The girls who know how to dance NEVER criticize me for not dancing. It's always the bitch who moves like an epileptic who tends to accuse me of not knowing how to dance. It damn near makes me homicidal when the spastic bitch of the group thinks she can out-dance me)

For the most part, the general consensus is: at first AnoMALIE appears to be a mean bitch, but she's a quiet, shy girl who's actually pretty nice.

My godson (not the soon-to-be, but the one who chose me nine years ago) knows me.
You're like this for a reason, Godmom... something happened to you...
Without much effort, he figured me out... I didn't even have to say much. He pretty much guessed.
THAT kid knows me inside out. He knows my most secretive, painful stories, and instead of chastising me or freaking out, he just listened... then gave me one of those bone-crushing hugs you imagine only giant mammals know how to give.
Just the way I like it. Don't talk, just... squeeze me and let me feel like I'll be all right.

I've known him since he was months old.
One of my earliest memories of him is me getting bitten on my arm by him and proceeding to bawl my ass off from the pain AND humiliation of getting bit by a baby and not being able to slap him across the room. A rough start, but we've only managed to sync our wavelengths from there.
He's incredible, he's selfless, downright noble... and 21 years old today.

He may be a monstrous beefcake now
And yes, we were all drunk here.
But he'll always be my little munchkin.
Is it obvious which child is MY godson?
(the one flicking off the camera, duh!)
(also, MGH is the only little one who looks normal)
(JC is the one who is clearly ADHD)
Now THAT boy I love with ALL of my heart.