Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Peanut Butter ALMOND time!

My last day doing the graduation thing at Princeton.
I'm bummed out.
I'm going to miss it.

This last week has been a crazy dream. Sure, I fought A LOT with my parents (mostly Dad. Especially today. He slammed our rental car door--which is blue-- against a parked car--which was white-- right before we headed for the commencement ceremony. I cussed out loud, "Tremendo chingaso le metio!" roughly translated to "Huge fucking hit you did there!" He didn't take too kindly to my vocabulary, and so publicly called me a "Cantinera" aka bartender, which is quite offensive to call a Mexican female), but the time spent was great.
It was a little (more than) overwhelming meeting all these important/ridiculously intelligent people... but they turned out to be some of the kindest humans ever (that's not considering the parents of some of the undergrads. The folks we had to surround ourselves with today were major fucking pricks. Ivy league elitists who probably only got into that school because of all the money they have. "Oh Jason, are you heading back to Yale this weekend?" "Huh?" "Your mother told us you were heading back to Yale come the weekend." "Oh, California? Yeah. I'm going back to California on Thursday." WTF?).
What I most enjoyed was the fact that everyone here-- students, teachers, administrators, janitors, you name it-- referred to my brother as "Rafa." EVERYONE. Not "Raf," "Rafi," or "Ralph," but what our family really calls him: Rafa. It meant a lot to me... and my family.
And the look on my brother's face, it was seriously priceless:
I've never seen him so happy.
He deserves that and MORE.
And the love and support offered to him by his friends and their families was genuine.
Great group of guys!
Too bad only two of them are single, including my brother. Boo!
I liked the one who looks like a future president. That fine, really tall specimen.
I also melted when his friends would know so much about us.
They all told us the same thing: You must be AnoMALIE, the writer/biologist (my brother said whaaa? Awwww!) and you must be D, the little sister. He is always talking about you guys!

I'm really going to miss it here.
Incredible times.

And now, for a bit of comic relief:
I'm going to marry the owner of this loft.
That guy...
As I was rummaging through his fridge, looking for the JIF, I decided to read the labels on all the cans in there.
I bumped into these:
Ok, the Nutella was in the cupboard, not the fridge
And then... once I had toasted my bread, and had spread half with the almond butter, and the other half with the PB (while Nutella IS a gift from the gods, I opted out. Too much sugar, especially these last three days. Brownies galore for me... which I'm going to have to kill myself at the gym for the next month to try and recover from this bullshit), I decided to look for jam.
What did I find?

Seriously... this boy is... really, REALLY scary.
Each time I find these creepy similarities, I have to wonder if someone's playing a joke on me.
This shit can't be real! Jesus Christ!
Ohhh! And when I opened the PB and the almond butter, I was even more creeped out to see he doesn't just dig in to the jar, but he evens it all out.
Me: Oh my god, Mom! This kid's my fucking soulmate!
Mom: You're crazy.
Me: Ah shit... look at this.
(I show her the perfect condition of the used peanut butter and almond butter)
Me: I'd be the fucking barbarian in this relationship. Man! It isn't going to work out
(I then proceed to nearly break his toaster... like the real fucking brute I am. Gosh)

Also, yesterday when I was telling Rafa about the guy dropping by, he made me laugh.
Me: Oh yeah, that kid dropped by. I looked like such a fucking bum.
Rafa: What kid?
Me: The kid whose place we're staying at.
Rafa: Darren's not a KID... freakin' guy's 30. "Kid."
Me: Better for me. I was over here thinking I was cougar-ing shit again.

Goodbye, soulmate... soul-twin... whatever you may be.
...
I don't wanna leave!!!

Monday, May 30, 2011

Lint Remover

While yesterday I was beaming with pride, today was contemplating suicide.
Well, not THAT drastic... but I was sad.
Today was the hooding ceremony
The shadow of a broken spirit.


and while yes, I was proud of my brother and I was cheering like a soccer mom, I also wanted to run out of there while sobbing violently.
These people are so damn smart... SO DAMN SMART. I feel like a huge dumbass and total waste of space.
Goddamn... I wasted my life... I wasted MY BRAIN!

Aside from that feeling of inadequacy, I've also been extremely frustrated.
My dad is such an ogre.
Ok, I'll explain it:
We're renting out my brother's friend's loft. The boy is a PhD student whose on vacation this week, so he rented the place out to us since it's very close to campus.
The guy, very kindly, told us we could use anything in the place, eat anything in the fridge... and just make ourselves at home.
Dad has taken that to a whole new level.
He's rummaging through this kid's fridge and pantry like a motherfucking ravenous bear goes through busy camping grounds. It's an atrocity.
Dad is going around eating Klondike bars like some shirtless hillbilly... strolling around the CARPETED AREA... where he drops chocolate scraps on the floor and doesn't bother to pick them up, so they melt onto the carpet.
It makes me CRINGE!
Dad also doesn't like tea... but what is he craving all of a sudden now that we're in this poor guy's apartment? The guy's tea! And I mean, it's ok to drink some of his tea and everything... but Dad has opened EVERY SINGLE BOX "bear-style." HE RIPS IT APART AND JUST SHOVES IT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD!
He's farting everywhere... and my dad's farts are no joke... NO, SERIOUSLY, they are NO JOKE. A man who has survived colon cancer AND a hemorrhoid operation releases gas that should not be inhaled without the protection of gas masks. He's fucking up this kid's furniture and covers.

I don't know what his problem is... he just refuses to use his brain... I don't know... but I'm really close to suffering a cerebral aneurysm from all this pent up anger and frustration.

Maybe I'm overreacting a bit... although my dad really is acting like a wild animal trapped in a closet.
But I MAY be a little more protective of this kid's belongings because I'm totally in love with him. Ha!
Based on his belongings... this homie is SO my soulmate.
First, his bookshelf:
The key to my heart is in there.
There are more than FIVE books in there that are... they're deal-sealers with me. I'll leave them to your better judgement.
The DVDs in the shelf are also homeruns in my book (if you didn't like "The Lives of Others," I'm sorry, but we CAN'T be friends. If you own the DVD, will you marry me?!).
I was already vibing with this kid when I saw his PhD mug... then I saw the bookshelf and I was smitten... then I saw ONE book... and I was shocked. Totally in love with him:
I'm sorry, but now I HAVE to marry him.
This bro can't be real. He just can't be. There are really men out there like this? Holy shit!

I also checked out his spice rack (ha. Pun-y) and ALL of the spices he owns are like... PERFECT! Nutmeg, cardamom, turmeric, curry, all spice, cinnamon-- ground AND in sticks... I was damn near getting an orgasm each time I pulled out a new little jar.
AND HE HAD FAT-FREE FETA CHEESE in the fridge!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN'T BE REAL! Have you been reading my blog? Do you have a mic in my room? WHAT'S GOING ON?!
Even his appliances are fantastic. THE UTENSILS AND SPATULAS are perfect, for crying out loud.
He also likes the same tea I like (Celestial "True Blueberry").
We use the same conditioner (And no, he's not gay-- I asked).
And the artwork on his walls... ALL HIS, which he framed...
?!?
And he's Australian.
My Thunder From Down Under guy!!! Ahhhh!


I met him this morning when he dropped by the place to grab a few things he was missing (my money's on condoms and medication, because he quickly went to his bedroom and then bathroom, something that took him two minutes and then he was out) for his trip.
I was seriously debating on whether or not to greet him on bended-knee, ready to pop him the question right then and there. I was home alone... I could have done that... or you know, just raped him.

But no... I only opened the door with a smile, introduced myself, and allowed him to do his two minute thing while I removed the cat-hair (my little companion while in NYC was this funny black and white kitty that liked to play with me) from my clothes with my lint remover.

And no, that last part, I'm not joking. That's how it worked out.
I live in a fucking sitcom, I swear.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Goodbye NYC, hello NJ

Well, as suspected, I was devastated to be leaving New York.
We had time to fuck around in the morning, since we left the city at 2PM.
We had brunch at a cozy, yet very chic French restaurant (when aren't those motherfuckers "chic," I ask). 20 bucks to be treated like royalty... unlike in REAL France, where I doubt we'd be treated like royalty if we walked around dressed in 14k gold.
We had a slight shit time at Penn Station (or however that's spelled. It's the damn train station), where people were useless and didn't help for shit. We had to ask a poor custodian lady who spoke very little English, and SHE was the only helpful one. Sweet heart.
After an hour of shooting the shit in the train, it was finally time for Sister and my dream vacation to come to an end.
We were no longer two single girls in the city... but two very sheltered Mexican girls hanging out with Mom and Dad in college town, watching Big Bro graduate.

I tripped myself out when I noticed my change. I was still ME, me as I stepped out of the train... as I stood on the curb... and as I hugged my brother before getting in the car.
I looked in the car, saw Dad sitting passanger side, and the moment my foot entered the car, I was once again submissive, good-girl AnoMALIE.

It's not that I was wild when "alone," but I'm... me. I talk, I smile, I crack jokes, I take as much time as I want to admire my surroundings without saying a word, I listen to dirty conversation, I have a filthy mouth, I hold eye-contact with strangers, I SMILE at cute boys, I don't give a FUCK what ANYONE will think of what I just did or said... I'm AnoMALIE.
The moment I see one of my parents, it's this involuntary retraction into submission. A self-inflicted lobotomy, if that makes sense.
It's freaky. And sad.

ANYWAY! I'm at Princeton now. It's gorgeous, of course.
I get this crazy sense of pride in my brother when I see how his peers treat him. They're really fond of him. Apparently he's the jokester of the bunch. They have nothing but love for my broski.

Rafa caught me snapping a photo once he took us into campus.
I was mesmerized. My brother? Not so much.
Rafa: Why you taking a photo of that scrub-ass building?! Wait until tomorrow when I get hooded at MY building... now THAT'S a building.

We went to his Latino graduation ceremony today.
There are only... 30 Latinos graduating this semester.
A few were missing... 
Ain't that crazy? I thought so (only one guy was getting a PhD in Spanish and Portuguese languages... of course, the real title is much more elaborate than how I just said it. Three others, including my brother, were getting their masters. The rest are little Bachelor Babies).
And all of those kids had some incredible accomplishments (one boy was getting three degrees in the most random shit ever. Biological Engineering, African-American Studies, and International Relations. How fucking random is THAT? AND he minored in NEUROBIOLOGY AND PORTUGUESE! IS THIS A NEW DEGREE OF A HIGH-FUNCTIONING SAVANT? WTF? YOU CAN'T BE REAL! These fuckers leave a person feeling more than inadequate), and their speeches were so touching. I cried with three of them. The guy getting his PhDs was SO eloquent, and expressed exactly how my siblings and I feel about our parents (Rafa's excuse for being one of the few who DIDN'T give a speech), another girl dedicated her awards to her single mother who never went to school (you KNOW that story will make me cry EVERY. SINGLE. TIME), and the third was the son of a single mother who migrated from El Salvador all on her own at the age of 15, via the train-tracks through Mexico, and worked to get him through college (I was needing to take deep breaths after three seconds of his story).
Are you guys going to show me a World Vision commercial now or what? Please stop! I don't want to cry any longer!
It was a very emotional night, needless to say.
Hermanito!
Now I just need to rest... because I have some long days ahead.
I feel retarded as fuck amongst these Einsteins.
The boy whose loft we're staying in owns this mug.
I'm falling in love with him by the minute.
First this mug, then his book collection... Jesus Christ.
Interestingly enough, this also served as the DD for today.
... these FUNNY, witty... charming Einsteins.
(Pacemaker "recommended" I look for a guy in these short days. "Imagine how well off you'll be! You know those kids are smart AND filthy RICH. WIN-WIN, AnoMALIE!" Yeah... ok...)

Saturday, May 28, 2011

NYC Adventures Cont'd

Last full day in the city and it was AWESOME.
Of course. What else is expected out of this town?

Last night had the potential of turning horribly sour.
I decided to not be a Negative Nancy and just join the group to the damn bar hopping.
It was ok. I wasn't in too great of a mood because my stomach was hating me for eating pizza and ice cream in such short notice.
Also, the bar was full. Yes, it was full with a skewed number of boys to girls... in my favor... and the boys WERE very cute (that's what I've noticed here. The men are beautiful creatures... most of them... even the damn construction workers, for crying out loud. How the fuck is that possible?), but as we all know, the moment boys pay attention to me, I do the opposite of what a NORMAL girl would do, and I turn into a mean-muggin cunt (why do I do that? I don't know. I love self-sabotage?).
I was also upset because I wanted to be doing something outside... you know, not something like sitting at a bar, drinking something that would only further upset my tummy.
So as I was standing there, watching my sister and her friends drink and be social, I stood there, damning the day my parents decided to copulate and procreate me.
Goddamn weakass combination you two came up with... look at me!
I was also trying my best to make boys dislike me and NOT approach me. However, it appears New York boys like bitch-looking girls with NO liquor in their hands, because I had to shoo away three different dudes.
Just when I thought I was going to be dealing with a fourth, I turned around to see what tool was grabbing me by my elbow, and I saw it was Pacemaker.
Me: PACEMAKER! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU FIND ME?!
Pacemaker: Your sister's check-in on Facebook. The best way to get stalkers, dude.

Once Pacemaker saw how upset and uncomfortable I was in the bar, she took me out.
Pacemaker: Come on, let's go to the Empire State Building. They close at 1AM.
Me: YES!!!!
I was out of that club so fast, I tripped out the front door.

So I went to the Empire State Building... with Pacemaker and no D.

After being in complete awe for an hour up at the top of the building:

We decided to see Times Square.
It was completely deserted... only a few kids celebrating prom... so it was nearly PERFECT.

I was being a jerkoff and took the photo all stupid.
I found a Wallgreens that sold $2 1.5L bottles of water... and I was elated. In all the photos Pacemaker took of me, I'm standing right there, huge smile, huge water jug in my hand.

Anyway, since my day ended at 2AM, I decided I was going to stay with Pacemaker, and we then had a much needed slumber-party-esque pow-wow session.
I was a happy camper come morning, I returned "home" to change, and we all left as a huge gang to get some legit NYC-style bagels. What did I get? LOX! Wooo!
I'd have photos of this day, but since I slept at Pacemaker's place, I had no time to charge my phone, so my phone was dead the entire time.
Anyway, we ate the bagels at a park, headed to the MET once that was done... and I was just... I doubt I've ever been so happy.
I saw a few exhibits before seeing the main attraction: Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty.
It was... SO good. It gave me goosebumps from start to finish (there was one particularly BEAUTIFUL piece that nearly had me in tears. Strange, because I HATE showing emotion in public). I was so impressed, I purchased a book, a BADASS book of his collection. The cover is this hologram of McQueens' face which turns to a steel skull once you move it:
kind of see his real face
SPOOOOKY!
Just awesome, I tell you.
Anyway, from there we met up with one of D's Spain friends, a boy who brought a lot of comic relief to a somewhat tense situation because we were all tired, hot, hungry... you name it... and since this kid had fresh feet, he was still cool.
We went to check out Central Park... and Jesus... was that... it was awesome... but I was ready to kill myself after 20 minutes.
We were there for HOURS. I guess the best part was the Strawberry Fields portion. We sat by the makeshift memorial for a couple of minutes... I even sang along to a portion of my favorite Beatles song (Norwegian Wood).
When we finally left the park, it was for the rest of the gang to have hotdogs while I fought the urge to barf with the smell (I'm acting like a pregnant lady, I know).
I was upset by now, but D wanted to go to Times Square... so Pacemaker parted ways, and I joined the rest of the gang to Times Square... a very packed Times Square.
By now... I was ready to stab anyone who touched me... or spoke to me.
Each time I heard tourists speak French, I'd very loudly say "Fuck FRANCE!"
Obviously, I become incredibly pleasant when tired and irritated.
I almost cried once they asked me if I was ok.
NO! I WISH THIS WHOLE TIMES SQUARE SHIT HAD NEVER HAPPENED!
They knew how to cheer me up... because they took me to an All-Peanutbutter restaurant in Greenwich Village.
I was happy... but when we left... and as we went further down the road... I read a sign... I saw a beautiful building... what was it?
NYU.
NYU!
THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT OF NYU!
I wanted to cry.
As we walked some more, we were further into NYU, like the foreign language part, which is BEAUTIFUL... and it was like someone was stabbing my heart.
Sister: God, even I want to cry now because you didn't get into NYU... this place is AMAZING!
Me: KILL ME!!!!!!!!!!

Well, there were many more shenanigans... like being down at Rockefeller Plaza and doing more touristy shit and fighting and then eating Halal... going into five different porn shops looking for "I <3 NY" condoms, seeing the "Friends" apartment complex...
but I'm tired and sleepy... and I have to get up early tomorrow to stuff my face some more before I head out on that train ride to Princeton, where I'm sure my suicidal tendencies will make their return.
So... until then...
buh bye.

Friday, May 27, 2011

New Yawk!

New York City is...
so fucking awesome.

I love it. LOVE. It.
There's one problem: it also makes me sad.
I'm so bummed thinking how rad my life would have been if I had been accepted into NYU. It's all I can really think about as I stroll the streets here (so much of that--walking-- I got a gross blister on the ball of my foot, which eventually popped, but I kept walking on it anyway, and so my foot is beyond fucked up... but I'm still loving my stay).
Yeah, I'm doing the touristy stuff... but it's so much fun... and so many good photos too!
Wanna see?
Ok.
Here's the bull of Wall Street (I think that's what it's called)
A friend told me I always needed to cup the balls.


Waited for an hour to get in here... I would have waited another three.

Yeeee, boyyy! Fuck not eating carbs for today!
When I first arrived in Brooklyn... expecting to get mugged (instead, I just saw some dude getting arrested)
Hello, Brooklyn! 
Lovely bridge. Lovely, lovely bridge.

My blister just wanted me dead by now.
Did I bore you to death?
I wish I had the balls to take photos in the subway, but that's just dangerous.
When I first got in the subway from the airport yesterday, some girl sat next to me in Queens, and started chewing her nails... then she started spitting them onto my pants. Did I say anything? HELL NO. She's from motherfucking Queens! She could have spit her damn nails into my mouth and I wouldn't have said shit. I'm not a fan of needlessly endangering my life like that.

However, even with all that ghetto-hood shit, I'm loving it. It's character. Awesome character.

Also, I'm in an awesome mood because I was informed JC is going to be living in Berlin next semester. I've officially been invited to drop by and visit him.
AHHHHH! Another country off my list!
I'm loving life right now... popped-blister and all.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Sleepless night #??

Guess who's not sleeping tonight.
...
This girl.

I just finished packing all my shit, food prepping (can you believe I do that now? Un-fucking-real), and showering.
I still need to do my hair, do my makeup, and make my breakfast (I believe I leave at 5:30AM, so sleeping is kind of pointless now).
My feet are in so much pain. So. Much. Pain.

I was up and down the city today trying to collect everything I needed... and it wasn't until about 9PM that I could finally sit down and put everything in the suitcase.

I hope this next week doesn't suck.
I'd be incredibly upset.

And hopefully there's WiFi all over the place... 'cause you best believe I'm going to be writing.
Something tells me there's going to be plenty of material. 

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Humidity?!

Seriously, fuck packing!
I have a terrible headache.
Here I was thinking (and packing as if) the weather was going to suck dick with nothing but rain, and now I've learned it's going to be sunny, humid, and hot in NYC... but it's supposedly still going to be stormy in Princeton.
I feel my right eye pounding... I'm so angry, irritated, and tired.

I'm going to walk around in yoga pants and a tank top. I don't give a fuck anymore.
But the goddamn shoes... what the fuck do I do about the shoes?!

I already hate the east coast.

I can already imagine my angry tweets come Thursday afternoon.

And yeah, this counts for today's update... because I'm sure I'm just going to want to shoot myself throughout the rest of the day.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Lips-N-Tittays

I'm hell of short on time today.
I'm freaking out because I have SO much to do and only today and tomorrow to prepare because come Thursday morning, I'm off to see the most hyped city in possibly the world... and I'm also sort of freakin' out because I'll finally be running a legit chance of getting mugged... because you haven't really been mugged until the day some hustlers in some shoddy part of the Bronx hold you at knifepoint.

Anyway, here's my post:

Men, you have it ROUGH when it comes to finding chicks on the internet.
Girls are SNEAKY when it comes to their profile pictures. Granted, I have been known to contort my body... well, no, not my body... but I did have that phase where the Myspace photo would find its way to my profile.
But NOT like this girl.
Remember this cunt from the baby shower:
The girl who forever ruined florals for me.
Well, I found her on Facebook.
I was... not surprised, but more like... amused... by her FB photos. She's a master of disguise.
Wanna see?
Remember, I'm only doing this to help out my boys who might... have a weakness for big titties and thick lips.
tittaayyys
you deceptive little hamster!
tits rule the world. Seriously.
Ladies: CLEAN YOUR FUCKING MIRRORS!
I might... steal this move...
sweaters...
gotta give it up to her, she knows how to work it...
CAREFUL HUNTING, fellas!

Monday, May 23, 2011

I Love My Sees-tuuur Day

With less than a week to be prepared to hit the East Coast, I really needed to get my act together today.
Sister's on the same boat, so we decided to turn today into another "I love my sister!/We are sisters!" day and spend HOURS together.
What can we do for hours... what do we NEED to do for hours? Shop.
Since she works at HnM, we kept the shopping strictly there, for her employee discount.

Here are 3 highlights from our day:

1. "Worst"
Getting out of the car, we talk about how level 5 of the Caesar's Palace parking garage ALWAYS smells like meat.
Sister says it smells like bacon, I say the smell is too disgusting and insulting to bacon, and that it's probably sausage.
D: Ah, dude! Talking about that... no matter how hard I try, I just can't like sausage.
Me: Hahaha....
D: No, I mean the food. Each time I go to Holsteins, I think I should give it a go, and maybe I'll just magically like the flavor... but no... I fucking hate those damn... what are they called... they're... like... those sausage links you know... the German ones.
Me: German sausage... ??
D: They're... I can't even say the name... something about "worst."
Me: Bratwurst?
D: Yeah! Those shits! For some reason, each time I'm drunk, we head out to Holsteins and I ALWAYS order that shit! And then when they bring me the order, I accuse them of giving me the wrong thing, and everyone else reminds me that it really IS mine, and that I always order it. I always end up angry for ordering that shit!
Me: That's what you get for drinkin'.
D: I turn fucking German when I'm drunk! But I can't even say the fucking word when I'm sober... so I don't know how THAT happens! They have so many options... and I order fucking blah-worst. So fucking disgusting.

2. Out!
The HnM Sister works at is that giant Forums Shop one. It's pretty radtastic.
I've only purchased accessories from there, and an undershirt... but who needs to try on an undershirt?
Anyway, this time around, I had to purchase a dress because I don't want to go to Princeton looking like a slutty hoodrat. So when I found a dress, I HAD to try it on first.
Sister had about three dresses to try, while I had one.
She knew the guy working the fitting rooms... and they bantered about how she "knew the drill."
Drill? What the fuck? This IS a fitting room, right?
I stood and watched this said "drill."
He walked sister to her dark fitting room, he opened both its doors at the same time, walked her in, then closed the two doors behind him.
Simple enough.
He then walked me to my room.
It was pretty, roomy... I was so busy marveling at everything, I didn't notice him walk out.
Ok, so I try on my dress, love it, then I'm ready to walk out, all in about two minutes.
I turn around and stare at the doors.
Do I push one before the other? Do I have to open them both at the same time? Wait... where do these... doors latch?
I sat there staring at the doors for about a minute, trying to figure it all out.
Push the door?
I pushed one of the doors and it wouldn't budge.
WTF?
Both?
I put a hand on each door, then pushed again.
No luck.
WHAT THE HELL?! Do I have to call the damn guy over to get out of the fucking room? What is this? Not even BeBe has this shit at their store.
I decided to text D.
Me: Um... how do I get out?! Hahahaha!
However, I had forgotten how SHITTY reception is inside dressing rooms... and the text wouldn't send.
I was irritated, I felt stupid, and I just wanted to get out of that goddamn futuristic box of doom.
I did what is second nature to me: I put some motherfucking shoulder into it.
I linebackered that shit and broke free.
Do you know how hard it is to look calm and collected in front of the "cool" H and M workers after you've broken free from captivity?
Very.
I calmly reached for my golden little garment number thingy hanging by the side of my room, and walked toward the kid... handed him my "One" and walked away... making no eye-contact.
What happens when you exit the fitting rooms? Reception returns.
I remember about my text to D. I try and stop it from sending.
Too late, I see "Sent" on my screen.
I HEAR her two seconds later.
D: HAHAHAHA!
The text ten seconds later:
YOU CAN'T GET OUT?! HAHAHAHAHA!
I text back:
nm. I broke free. hahaaaa!

I'm not stepping foot in that store EVER again.

3. Meeeeow!
Sister was telling me of her crush on one of her managers. I guess last night (it was a press party she had to work, so she was all dolled up and whatnot) he grabbed her by the waist and complimented her.
D: So I felt a hand go on my hip like this.
::D stands behind me and then grabs my side tightly::
D: and I freak out and turn around, ready to elbow a motherfucker. I see it's him and he tells me "I didn't think there could be anyone who could rock that dress. But you look beautiful in it."
(the dress is a black, long tank with a giant, white tiger in the front. All the coworkers laugh at the shirt when they have to fix the store. "Now what idiot would buy this?!" and Sister bought it to shut them up)
D: I stood there and just... my God... my crush is entering the crazy level.
Me: But I thought all your male coworkers were gay?
D: I thought he was gay! But... not after yesterday. What gay man does that?

After this conversation, we bumped into him at the store. Sister saw him from behind.
D: The manager who grabbed me yesterday is that guy with the mohawk!
MOHAWK?! This guy HAS to be cute! MUST. SEE.
Me: He's leaving! Speed up! I'm not leaving this place without seeing him!
(we pick up the pace and he seemed to hear us, because he turned around)
Guy: D! Shopping AGAIN?
D: What can I say? I love it here. What time did you leave last night?
Guy: A little after one. Girl, you were ROCKIN' that dress last night!
D: That poor little tiger no one wanted...
(This is where the manager MEOWS at her and lifts his right hand as if it's a paw and he's lashing out at her)
Guy: You looked FIERCE!
We all laugh.
Gaygaygaygaygay.
Guy: Next time don't duck out on the nightclub.

As we were leaving, sister turned around and I just smiled and talked through my teeth.
Me: ... yeah....
D: SO cute, right?
Me: So gay.
D: Aww... see... I was telling myself there WAS a chance.
Me: D, he's gay.
D: But he GRABBED me last night.
Me: D, he MEOWED at you.
D: But he wanted me to go to the club with him
Me: D, he imitated a lion while saying "fierce."
D: (sighs) He's so fine. I don't care. The crush is staying.

The guy was cute. Looked like an Indian/Puerto Rican mix. He had thick eyebrows that were nicely groomed... probably threaded. He had a nicely trimmed goatee. He was really skinny. His mohawk was tall and AWESOME. He was wearing a red flannel jacket tied at his waist. His shirt was a sleeveless shirt that could have been worn by A.C. Slater back in the Saved by the Bell days (as if it were. Since it fit this kid extremely baggy). I didn't get a glimpse of his pants. I was too busy trying to process everything else going on above his waist.
Cute guy... who could totally join Sister at Holsteins and show her how to properly down a bratwurst... without chewing... in a single try... without gaging. Must I keep going?

Sunday, May 22, 2011

PERFECT Sunday

When I have bad days, they're BAD days.
My good days? They're fucking amazing.
Today has to go down in AWESOME DAY history, though. It was... great.

This last week was good for the most part. Throughout the week, I smiled and laughed a lot... I even found myself dancing around for no particular reason.
I was just a happy girl.
Today capped it all.

The day started off... well, like any day can start at 5:30AM after going to bed at three in the morning, drunk.
I woke up still buzzing, but a blissful buzz that made me nonchalant about everything. I only cared about my pink eyes-- not the gross conjunctivitis kind, but the dry-eyes kind.
I also had a terrible stomach ache.
Yesterday's food, while viciously delicious and thoroughly enjoyed by my gustatory glands, was not appreciated as much... actually, it was downright detested, by my intestinal lining.
Fucking Jalisco food... deceivingly delicious only to damn near murder you the next day.
I sat through church, almost falling asleep during various times, but that damn alien fetus in my stomach kept me awake.
THAT was the only downer to my day.

In an attempt to feel better, once I arrived home I decided to run intervals and hill climbs.
Wake up and forget about your stomach being a weak piece of shit! Also, get 100% sober, loser.
My day became brighter.
I then showered, which always makes the day that much cooler.
THEN I saw how Manchester United received their trophy.
CHICHARITOOO!
CHIIIIICHAAAAARIIIITOOOO!
THEN I watched PUMAS get their 7th championship.
7, suckaaas! I love these guys!
I was just kicking back, completely elated.
Of the three soccer leagues I follow (Spanish, English, and Mexican), my three teams were champions.
No, I'm not a bandwagoner. I have proof of my lengthy fellowship for each one (ManU was thanks to Beckham... because he has ALWAYS been ridiculously hot. Barça because they had a successful Mexican on their squad, Rafa Marquez, then Gio dos Santos. And finally, UNAM I've liked since high school, when I had that university as one of my top choices. So those who accuse me of jumping on a bandwagon can go eat a dick). I've been there for the good and the bad. I refused to participate in the "empañolada" when I went to the Barça game. They were 3rd place that year, yet there I was, supporting the dudes in Camp Nou.
Visiting the place where magic happens.
Only slight distress is trying to come up with a team to support for the Champs League final. I'm cool with whatever outcome, because if ManU is to lose to anyone, I'm glad it's Barcelona. I'd go ballistic if it were Madrid. And if ManU wins? Ok, I want THEM to win... because they have Chicharito.

Anyway, the awesomeness continued... because I went shopping. Well, shopping sucks... but I did get some new shirts. New shirts are always applauded.
THEN, I wanted some raspberries, so I asked Mom if she could go to Sam's Club and buy a bulk package of them. When we went, we saw this for 10 bucks:
Oh. My. God!
I was on that in a heartbeat.
You have NO idea how... FELIZ cherries make me. I am not exaggerating when I say: Cherries MAKE MY LIFE.

But the REAL magic? The REAL awesome news that made me... freak out?
Ready for this?
Ok:
Thanks to my mom, I've been asked to be a regular columnist in a magazine!
NO. SHIT.
When Mom told me, I nearly fell over. I thought she was joking.
(Sister's reaction was: LAME! ... ???)
The magazine has a very... specific target group.
It's a magazine that will only be distributed here, LA, Chicago, and... I forgot the other city. I tend to go deaf when I'm excited.
It's for people living in the US, but with Durango roots.
Aha! The catch!
I'd write short-stories based on my experiences IN Durango, traveling TO Durango, being AWAY from Durango... just... memoirs of a Durango chick, I guess.

I haven't accepted... because I KNOW this will get me in trouble. I'm misunderstood as is, I can only imagine the bullshit I'll face once I start writing shit and my sarcasm/humor won't connect.
I don't care about getting paid. I don't care that the magazine will not be widely distributed... I just... dude, I get to write!
And the weird thing was that Mom was super excited for me and... she thought of me when they asked HER to write the column (she's a poet/essayist... although not professional, since she never pursued it. But she's INCREDIBLE with words).
My mom wants ME to write. Is that... does that sound crazy to anyone else?

Fucking perfect Sunday.
I don't know... I'm still... taking in the weird feeling that is being asked to write for people. It's so... bizarrely exhilarating.

... OK, I'll quit being optimistic now, since that always wrecks shit.
Shhhhhh! I'm not mentioning another word of this again.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Babies R Everywhere

So uh... I'm still here.
I was so upset about being left behind during the rapture (as I had previously predicted) that I:
1. Massacred a slice of Devil's Food cake (it's CHOCOLATE! You think I'm not gonna touch that shit? Get off that cloud, homie)
the remnants remind me too much of skid marks... yet I still damn near licked that fucking plate
2. Got drunk as shit at a baby shower.
(luckily, no photos of THAT available, at least not from my behalf)


You mean I've been a virgin all this fucking time and I STILL get left behind to endure the motherfucking apocalypse?! FUCK THIS, MAN! I need a drink... or two... or ten. This is BULLSHIT! And give me a slice of that fucking monstrous chocolate cake, it's going down into my belly... fuck milk, I want another mojito, NOW!

Yeah, I'm being sarcastic here... for the most part.
I DID massacre a piece of DFC, and I DID get drunk at a baby shower today... but it was obviously not because I was upset over the rapture. Duh.

Today was all about babies.
First off, there's one friend who currently has me in her pregnancy scare crew.
I find myself being on period watch. It's not that I WANT to... but I feel so horrible for her, she's been crying all day. I just... I've never been this interested in knowing whether or not a girl has bled. Gross, I know... but sheesh... I'm worried for the poor chick.

This brings me to today's baby shower.
I was going to write about it sooner... but I just never found the point in it.
Remember my little cousin from that one summer... the one who was "in love" with my godson. The cousins, remember? I was freaking out and trying desperately to break that shit up... 'cause we ain't from West Virginia, so you put that shit in check QUICK.
Anyway, turns out I did a terrific job in separating those two lovebirds (they were still going at it this past summer, no matter how much I'd complain), so much so, that when she came back from Mexico this past summer, she got knocked up by her brand-new boyfriend.
I was bummed when I first found out, because I can't believe that in 2011, we still have idiot girls getting knocked up.
You had unprotected sex, you fucking moron?! What is WRONG with you?!
However, I didn't judge... or chastise, because I'm sure she got plenty of that.
Instead, my weird maternal instinct made an appearance and I let her know that I'd always be on her side.
Ok, so that's settled.

So, today was this girl's baby shower.
I love this kid like a baby sister, so I very gladly attended, regardless of how much I dislike being around kids.
Something extraordinary occurred: for the first time EVER, I was extremely comfortable at this party.
I was surrounded by nothing but my mother's cousins.
Now, some of these broads might be pains in the ass when in other situations, but since the MOST annoying woman of the clan is the soon-to-be-great-grandma (how fucking bizzare to say that. I imagine great-grandmas as 90-whatever year old ladies, not 60-year-old ladies who still shop at Forever21), she had to eat a GIANT slice of humble-pie... so she was the sweetest ass-licker in the building.

This is the woman, the now-ass-licker, who always gives me backhanded compliments like:
Oh, AnoMALIE, you'd be SO BEAUTIFUL if you used a girdle!
Really, bitch? I just said hello to you outside church... the HOUSE OF THE LORD! and you're gonna say THAT?
D is such a gorgeous young lady! AnoMALIE... that outfit would have looked AWESOME had you not worn those black shoes with those white socks. Actually, it would have looked FAR better if you wore a dress... you'd look... like a girl!
This lady must be VERY curious to find out the taste of my knuckles.
Well, today, she COMPLIMENTED ME, and not my sister. Yes, she gave me ONE backhanded compliment (she complimented my sister's hair when she greeted us at the door, then when it was my turn to say hello, she "whispered" to D "Convince your sister to do this to HER hair... she'd look GREAT!"), but aside from that, she was all over me. She did one thing in particular that nearly made me pass out from the shock:
She asked to touch my eyelashes... because "they are SO ENORMOUS, THICK, AND BEAUTIFUL! Look how far back they fold! Why didn't my kids get these?!"
This had me reeling because back when I was five (yes, I remember. A kid never forgets when someone is a rude asshole to him/her) she was complimenting my sister (like always) at a birthday party and she wouldn't shut the fuck up over how gorgeous Sister was, especially her beautiful eyelashes, eyelashes she had never seen before. She moved me out of my seat so she could sit next to D and examine her eyelashes.
I remember I very dejectedly took an empty chair across from D--the only chair available-- and thought to myself Well... my eyelashes are KINDA like my sister's... right? and as I thought that, I tried to very discreetly reach for my eyelashes to feel them. But I was caught. And she laughed SO hard... like an evil witch HA!HA!HA! SHE'S FEELING HER'S TO SEE IF THEY'RE LONG! HAHAHA! And I felt so stupid and embarrassed for being called out in front of so many people, that I went outside and didn't come back into the party the rest of the day.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm still heated/scarred over this memory, that this bold move from this lady... 21 years later, nearly made me pass out.

Ummm... what was the point of this post? To talk about the baby shower?
Ok, let me try and get back to it:
I was in a fantastic mood because all these ladies were being such sweethearts, that I felt comfortable enough to eat me some delicious cake.
There was one bad side: the family members of the babydaddy. Those cunts wouldn't stop staring at me and D.
D and I were just chilling inside the house, sitting on a giant, comfy couch, drinking mojitos like we had no responsibilities (oh wait, that's right, we DON'T) and these girls were giving us the evil eye, especially when we were eating our cake.
After my second mojito (remember, my diet's still kinda... on the weaksauce side, so it doesn't take much liquor to fuck me up since I don't have much in my tummy to begin with), I stopped giving a fuck and I turned mean. What did I do? I tweeted a photo of the meanest bitch of all: the cow.
I'm not normally this (openly) rude to anyone, but this girl pissed me the fuck off.
The last straw was when they were going around giving everyone those stupid little party favors--which happened to be See's Candy pops-- and they purposely avoided my corner of the room... the corner with my entire maternal family. I know this because I made eye-contact with the hoe.
OK, heifer, check this out! I'm gonna hate on you on the internets... and I don't care, because I'M DRUNK!
And I'm going to hate on her here as well:
Bitch should be glad I cropped her face out.
I'm considerate even when I'm being mean. 
Grrrr!
Anyway, after I did this, I found I couldn't stop laughing... or drinking... and the room was still wobbling... and I kept on talking.

Then... the night got ugly when the nice ladies of my family decided to start telling dirty jokes. No amount of alcohol will erase the words these woman uttered... especially not when Mom alluded to the size of my dad's penis (it's "huge, but he's SO boring!" in her own words)... or how he's in the sack.
I wish this was all a figment of my drunken imagination... but no... it was uttered... and I'm forever sickened... and embarrassed for my father (see, Momma was a little tipsy as well. Oh, what the hell, we were ALL lit). No amount of alcohol, dude... NO AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL will erase this traumatic event.

Anyway, once we sobered up a bit (or at least my sister did. I'm still sort of drunk and I need to be up by 5:30AM later today for good ol' church. It's already 2:20... church is gonna be AWESOME!) we came home.

Today's take-home message: I'm glad as FUCK that my cookie box is intact... and I'm in NO rush to crack that baby open. I'm good, yo. That shit ain't happening for a good minute (at least not while I can still remember, verbatim, what Mom said about Dad's sexual organ/habits). Biiiiirth control, muthafuckaaas!

Friday, May 20, 2011

Ohhhh yeaaahhh!

Little known fact: When I was little, I LOVED the WWF.
Both my siblings and I would watch the matches faithfully... then we'd try imitating the moves.
It was shit we had to do in order to make Rafa feel like a boy, since he didn't have a brother with whom to roughhouse. We obliged... especially me, since I could beat up either one of my siblings with one hand tied behind my back (no, really, I tried. I was just so much taller and more built than either Rafa or D, I could slap them to the ground with one hand, then I'd immobilize them by sitting on them until they'd quit).
We eventually had to stop once Rafa nearly snapped D's little neck off. Mom prohibited us from ever watching wresting again. A real bummer.

So... knowing this, it's more than obvious that my heart broke a little this morning when I saw my twitter and FB feed covered in shock over "Macho Man" Randy Savage's death.
Ohhhhh Nohhhhh! :(
I LOVED YOU, MACHO MAN! (not as much as Hulk Hogan, but you were up there, you eccentric little rascal!)

My guess is he left this world at such a relatively young age in order to kick some ass during tomorrow's "rapture" event.
That has me laughing. People's freak out, that is.
"THE WORLD IS ENDING TOMORROW?! I might as well live it up, then! PAAAARTY!"
No, idiot, get your shit straight: tomorrow is the supposed rapture, where all the "Good" people will... get beamed up to heaven, and the evil people will remain on Earth to endure... I don't know, a shitload of pain?
Your plan is to be BAD before God comes down and takes you away? Shit... you's crazy, brah. I'd do the polar opposite (now, if a doctor were to tell me I had a month to live, THAT'S when I'd go crazy and just go about fucking anyone as often as possible... and I'd snort coke... I'd probably try a little bit of heroin... and I'd bungee jump and skydive. I'd go CRAZY. Then if I were still alive, I'd ask for forgiveness and hope hope hope I'd get into heaven).
Of course, this is all according to some dipshit dumbfuck fanatical Christian who somehow predicted the date. He did the same thing back in '94 (I STILL remember this. It's thanks to him that I'm so traumatized over the end of the world. Fucking crazy asshole fucked me up for life), yet here we are... all of us. No rapture, no end of days.
Fucking lunatics.

My guess is I'll still be here come Saturday night.
I suspect my nails will be partly to blame... because no saintly girl wears black nail polish.
I live in wifebeaters like some sort of 1994 East LA cholo
Oh well, I tried.
(same could be said about that goddamn manicure. Excuse the middle finger, that poor baby got burned by a cooking pan last night because I'm an idiot... but the feather on the ring finger is WEAK and unacceptable: 


Yeah, it's a FEATHER. It's fucking terrible. It's worse in person. So shameful, yet it remains on my hand because those damn feathers were expensive-- no they weren't. A batch was only 3 bucks, but still, I'm too stubborn to just throw the used feather away. It needs a minimum of three days before I'm ok with that procedure)

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Siempre fue otro

"Con palabras sencillas hoy quiero decirte:
me gustas de pies a cabeza.
Que es mas claro que el agua que te necesito,
Me gustas todita completa (toditO completO, since I ain't into chicks)."

"Me gusta todo de ti:
tu sonrisa, tus ojos, tu cara.
Y esa forma tan dulce de hablarme."

"Me gusta todo de ti.
Eres única (únicO, because once again, I don't like girls), por dentro y por fuera.
A tu lado todo es tan perfecto.
Eres más de lo que yo merezco, y sin duda alguna, cuanto me gustas."

When that song first came out (sweet and short. Perfect)... I had a particular dude in mind... his name might start with an M... and he might currently be going through some romantic turmoil.
I'd hear that song and he would be all I could think about.

While driving Mom around town today (that woman abuses me when it comes to having me drive her around. I drove her around for FIVE HOURS today! ...the shit I do for some free canvas, paints, and feathers-- hey, I have PLANS!) I heard it again today, and I was happy to see he's no longer the first dude to pop into my head.
Hay otro que siempre me hizo sentir así. Que yeah, sí me gusta todo de el, y no, no es MGH.
Awww! Qué tierno! Ya regreso la niña cursi de siempre! Welcome back, AnoMALIE!

Anyway, it's been a long day... there was tripping involved, a gutted phone, my head getting banged on a shopping cart... a Babies R Us, a Walmart, even a Michaels... then my return to kickboxing (AWESOME!!!!! GOD, I missed going hard at the gym. I'M BACK!), I'm exhausted.
I'll just show you a funny... and weird e-mail I got today from a friend I hadn't spoken to in a VERY long time (I was so confused and amused by this e-mail, it was partially responsible for me nearly eating shit as I walked out of the Babies R Us):
Subject:

random question

Her:
Hey girl! Hope all is well. Hey I remember reading one of your posts a while back about a cream that was great on blackheads.I hope it was your post! LOL! If so can u give me the name of that product. Gracias

WTF? Um... uh... whoa... what? Why did you think of ME of all people? Wait... DID I post something like that? Have I... talked about Proactiv on Facebook? Fuck... I KNEW I HAD TOURETTE'S!
Me:
lol! nah, that wasn't me... unless I was hacked or something. what i use on it is proactiv, if that helps. haha
Her:
Oh man! I was really hoping it was u :( ill try another *AnoMALIE*. LOL! Thank u anyways!!


I'm baffled... because I've never had an acne problem... well, not until VERY recently when my body decided to go all fucking retarded-development on me and it broke out ... but I nipped it back in January when my threading lady asked me "what is wrong with your face?!" She put it so lightly, I was persuaded to do something about it. Anyway, she didn't see me when I had this unsightly problem, so why would I be the first girl to pop into her head?
Pshhhhhh! Get outta he'ah with that shit!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

His Saddest Night

Last night, I was minding my own business, checking my FB for the last time before going to bed.
The instant I signed on to Facebook, I saw MGH had just updated his status.
He was upset.
I went to his page to see what was up... and saw he had also just changed his relationship status to single.
WTF? What the hell is going on here? 

He did that a while back, change his relationship status, but it was a joke. I didn't even pay attention. I know that kid like the back of my hand, I knew it wasn't real.
This time around however, something told me this wasn't a joke because I saw his "tagged" photos were dwindling at a rapid pace.
WHOAAAA! Something massive just went down!

I refreshed and saw even MORE photos were missing.
The common ground? They were all photos that Heather had tagged of him, or photos with her in them.
Oh shit... wow. Someone is ANGRY.

I fought the urge to get on any messenger... hotmail, FBChat, Skype, any of them. I wanted to reach out to him and comfort him, but I just knew it wasn't right. It was pretty difficult to sit there and watch his heart getting beat before my eyes. I felt like one of those possessive moms who fights her kid's battles. I sat there convincing myself to just let the kid solve the problem on his own... although I REALLY wanted to just reach through the screen and hug him tightly.
It was obvious he was hurting... and not saying a damn thing was killing me.
I eventually caved and I commented his status.
That was tricky.
I have mutual friends with MGH and his girl, so I couldn't be all... offensive. I also didn't want to seem like a fucking hawk, ready to swoop in and get MGH at one of his most vulnerable moments.
So... I was just supportive and let him know I was there if he needed anything. That was all.

Well...
The drama began to unfold some more.
I was sitting there an hour later just watching the soap-opera roll between MGH, his girl, and their mutual friends.
I woke up, and it was still going on.

So far, it's still pretty ugly. She's the guilty one.
What the... I thought this was... this was rock solid. WHAT THE HELL?! There were no warning signs!
Actually, there were some warning signs... like the fact that MGH was randomly contacting me again. I can't help but be slightly suspicious when his text messages start coming in or when he starts commenting on my photos.

And so... here I am, watching the embers of this wild fire die down.

Heartbreak, anyone's heartbreak, really sucks.

So weird how life flips the script on people.
I was so miserable not too long ago, and now I'm pretty damn... comfortable.
MGH was living in the clouds just... yesterday, and now the poor guy's pulverized.

I love him, but I will not scoop down and rescue him.
Luckily, I don't have to repeat that in order to believe it.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

... but a bitch ain't one

I believe I have nine days before I head out for good ol' New York (Manhattan, Upper East Side... ? This has me feeling like I'm in the fuckin' Great Gatsby or some shit... where I'd go looking for Daisy to kick her fucking ass. Sorry, that story has a special place in my heart).
My sister and Pacemaker are stoked (oh yeah, Pacemaker's meeting us out there. It was strange how that worked out. She's getting a free birthday dinner from us. I know, I know, I complain SO much about the kid and here I am rewarding her... but what can I say? No matter how wrong you do me, if you've managed to weasel your way into my heart, you'll stay there forever. It's a trait I can't kill... hence why I take a minute to warm up to people... I'm in deep shit once I accept a person), me? Eh. My excitement wavers.
Yes, I love traveling and discovering new places. That's AWESOME and it completes my life.
But then there are those awesome arguments I have with my sister in regards to bar-hopping (yup, still having them. I've tried compromising by promising to get hammered on Friday, because all the shit we consume during "Happy Hour" will be free. I agreed I'd take advantage of it... to the fullest, but she's still set on drinking every. single. night. It's beyond frustrating, so I try no to think about it or else I get violent).
There's also the overwhelming sensation of... incompetence when it comes to planning. It leaves me frazzled, because these two girls (Pacemaker and my sis) are leaving all of the planning to me. You can't make me do that! I'M INDECISIVE!

I also have to go shopping.
I have clothes... but most of it is a hand-me-down from Sister, since she's dropping weight like a high school wrestler.
Sister and I have two completely different styles (though she rummages through my closet for my shoes and she often asks me to help her build her outfits. Stylists ain't got shit on me, even if MY attire consists of the same fucking jeans, white Vans slip-ons, and solid-colored V-neck. Really, can that EVER be considered bad? It's a laid-back, I-don't-give-a-shit-what-you-think-but-PLEASE-don't-pay-attention-to-me outfit. It's perfect. Well... there ARE days when I wear my quirky stuff... but that's for when I'm happy), so I tend to wear what she gives me only when I'm in a real jam for outfits. Nothing against her style... I just feel like... I don't belong in that sort of clothes (I've always sworn I'd never wear pre-torn jeans... because I make fun of them. I find BUYING torn jeans counterintuitive: leave the tearing up to me. My massive thighs take care of that shit REAL QUICK. I also fall down and eat shit almost as often as a fawn learning how to walk for the first time. I acquire rips in jeans EFFORTLESSLY. But now I'm the owner of a pair, since Sister handed me some of her jeans. The pants are cute... but each time I look at myself in the jeans, I want to slap myself for being such a hypocrite).
So, as much as I hate the process, shopping I must do.

Then I have the last dilemma: my hair.
I've been measuring my hair for months. I know I said I was going to cut it around the first-second week of April, but it wasn't quite long enough.
Ideally, I want to donate 18-inches. Back in April, my hair was still around 16 inches long (what I was OK with cutting, that is) .The perfectionist, stubborn ox in me just didn't let me cut it until I reached the proper inches.
Well, I measured my hair last night, and I clear the 18 inch mark.
I'm left with this: Do I cut it now, and head out to New York/Princeton with the new short do I'll still be trying to master... or do I wait until I come back home in order to chop my hair?
Both styles are a pain to handle. The long hair gets on my nerves because I'm constantly washing it and it takes FOREVER to dry. That shit is pretty high-meintenance. However, if I'm ever in a hurry, I can just pick it up in a ponytail and call it a day.
The short do is a breeze in the sense that it takes a second to wash and dry. However, it's a MUST when it comes to properly taking a straightening iron to it. If I don't straighten my short hair, I look like a bum. My nappy hair doesn't cooperate. And then there's also the most worrying aspect of the cut: what if my hair looks like shit? I don't have enough time to correct it. I'll be looking like a moron--YET AGAIN-- in the photos of my bro's various graduations (high school graduation? I looked like a whore-ish moron. Bro's Basic graduation? Looked like a scared moron. Bro's Advanced Training graduation? Looked like an angry, stressed--AP exams were two weeks away-- moron. Bro's Notre Dame graduation? Looked like a frustrated moron. Princeton graduation? Possible pumpkin-pie-hair-cutted-freak Moron [favorite "Dumb&Dumber" reference right there]? Oh man).

I got some problems to solve now.
Because we all need a little comedy in our life
P.S. and totally off-topic: I lifted semi-heavy last night... Jesus Christ, I had missed that SO bad! I woke up feeling freakishly invigorated. Hooray for strong girls!