Sunday, July 31, 2011

Adult fight

4th grade.

Scene A:
After getting cornered in the girl's bathroom, my "friends" Michelle and Jenelle (I swear to God, those were real names. I don't joke when I tell you my life could be turned into a sitcom) start beating the shit out of me... for the second time that school day, the third day in a row.
It's the middle of the school year, and it's been the same story for the last two months.
Jenelle stops with the punches, stands still, ponders something, then finally speaks up.
Jenelle: AnoMALIE... WHY don't you ever HIT BACK, you dumb ass?
I look up, stare her in her eyes, and very sincerely, but quietly say
"Because I don't hit my friends." (even writing that line now, 17 years later, my eyes get watery)
Jenelle: You don't hit your friends.... HAHAHA! You hear that, Michelle? She doesn't hit HER FRIENDS! HAHAHAHAHA! Well, we're NOT ::punches my stomach:: YOUR FRIENDS!
And the two continued kicking my ass until recess was over.

Scene B:
I'm in line in the cafeteria, waiting to have lunch. I notice one of D's friends tugging on my shirt.
DsFriend: D wants to talk to you... she's crying in the bathroom.
DsOtherFriend: Angelica made her cry.
I forgot about being hungry, I forgot about possibly getting in trouble for leaving the cafeteria before being dismissed by the teacher, and I just ran to the bathroom with the two friends to find my sister.
As Sister sobbed and told me her story behind her tears (Angelica teased her about how she cried when it rained and she then made fun of my mom), I felt my blood boil.
After calming my sister down and walking her to her class so she could sit outside and wait for her teacher, I went ahead and looked for Angelica.
It didn't take too long to find her, she was the only blond amongst the little hispanic girls.
I walked up to Angelica, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and very quietly, but sternly warned her
Me: You make my sister cry ONE. MORE. TIME, I'll fucking kick your ass. You hear me? ONE. MORE. TIME.
I went on with my day, got my ass kicked by my "friends" one more time, but I was called over to my sister's class a couple of minutes before the school day was over.
Angelica had been crying all day, her teacher--who was also D's-- wanted to talk to me because she said Angelica had told her I had threatened to kick her ass.
Teacher: Did you really do that, AnoMALIE?
I looked over at Angelica.
Me: The girl crying over there? I don't even know her.
The bell rang, and the teacher let me go.
I rode the bus with Angelica. I walked behind her all the way to her apartment complex, and as she was turning around to close the door to the gate of her complex, we made eye-contact.
Never. Again. Leave my sister alone.

Angelica wasn't the first or only peer of D's I threatened/fought. I fought boys who physically hurt her (I walked by one boy and made that throat-slitting gesture with my thumb the moment I heard he had made her bleed. I then found him a little later and body slammed him before lunch was over), and I even dropped whatever I was doing the moment I would see her in trouble (I was once eating an ice cream cone as I walked out of my house to see my neighbor/cousin dragging my sister by her hair. I dropped my cone and ran at that chick's back and started pounding on her face so she could let go of my sister. Once that happened, I continued to punch her until she stopped trying to defend herself). I turned into a heartless monster the moment I'd see tears in my sister's eyes. I made motherfuckers pay for every tear she shed.

When it comes to me getting hurt, I'll stand quietly and take the punishment... especially that year in fourth grade.
People would always ask me why I'd put up with it... and the best I could come up with was a shrug.
I never fought back. Not even once. (I still don't even fight back, for the most part. I'll swallow my rage until I'm physically sick, vomiting all over the place from the built up bile)
And NO ONE stood up for me (well... ONCE, someone did... just once, and I don't think I've cried that hard in public... just because it meant so damn much to me to see someone finally try and stop the violence).
However, I will fight anyone or anything who tries to hurt the ones I love. I go ballistic.
It has always been that way, and it still is that way.
I fight for my loves like I wish someone would fight for me.

I only mention this because last night, right after I finished posting my entry, Sister walked into my room with a shaky voice and said
D: I got in my first adult fight just now...

I didn't look over at her, because I was busy with the laptop WHILE trying to catch up on my DVR shit.
However, D just sat on my bed and I could hear her breathing was shaky.
Me: Wait... what? "Adult fight?" Like an argument...
I turned around, and saw her eyes were red, the right side of the bridge of her nose was purple, and her left arm was bruised and bleeding.
Me: What... the... what the fuck?!

Last night was a stupid "concert" in town, very similar to the rap-olympics or whatever the fuck that's called. Bunch a dudes go on stage and "spit rhymes."
Woo. Hoo.
We had all been invited by none other than the Boys... from Europe.
The main person interested was 30thBirthdayBoy, because he's kind of seeing D's BestieFromtheBay.
Since I don't dig that scene... AT ALL, I chose not to go. It was just D and her bestie, with the stupid Boys who think they know anything about Europe.
I guess 30thBirthdayBoy has been seeing many other chicks, and one of the chicks he has been hooking up with lost her marbles when she saw him making out with DsBestieFromtheBay.
The ghetto hoodrat swatted at 30thBdayBoy, he decided to bounce, grabbing DsBestieFTB to take her away, and D followed, not knowing what was going on.
Next thing she knows, D gets sucker-punched in the eye.
It was the stupid crazy hoodrat.
Two different GUY cousins of ours saw this go down, yet they did and said nothing... even if they DID know the bitch.
D realized her phone had gotten lost in the scuffle, and so, she and Bestie decided to go back into the venue (The House of Blues... that magical venue).
They bump into the crazy hood rat.
Hoodrat goes for Bestie's hair and they scuffle.
D tries to break up the fight, but Hoodrat's friend pulls D by the hair/earring. Since D has short hair, she slips out of the grasp, and she manages to connect a punch with the bitch pulling her hair.
These four girls are brawling... at a rap-olympics... the only latinas in the venue are providing the real entertainment.
Anyway, security comes and breaks up the fight.
D leaves with her bestie--who has a busted lip and a scratch running from her right eye down to her neck-- and the boys, OUR cousins (actually, 30thBdayBoy is the son of my sister's godmother) who witnessed the whole thing? They do nothing.
NOTHING.

I was furious about this last night. I was sending texts back and forth, demanding a name... but OF COURSE everyone was telling me to drop it (they know I may be a quiet girl, but the moment someone crosses me, I become ruthless)... and they were acting as if they didn't see the fight.

I'm no longer fuming. I'm just "disappointed," but at the same time glad I found out the worth of this so called "family."
Two days ago I would have thrown down with any cunt who'd try to hurt them...
Today? I won't lift a fucking finger if I see them dying of thirst on the street.

Yo, I'll fight tooth and nail for my loves if I have to...
but the moment you prove to me that you won't do the same for yours... well, you just become a stranger to me then.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Darts

So, there has been a slight change in plans.

Looks like I'll be in DC from the 24th until the 30th of August. I had to change my itinerary because Rafa really wants us to go to his graduation.
Rafa: If you go that week, you'll get to see the Department of State! (or something like that. I don't pay too much attention when I'm on the phone)
Me: ... um... ok. I guess.
As much as I tried to avoid it, it looks like I'll be taking a two week break.
Sucks balls for my gym regiment... I'm pretty sure I'll be vomiting on my first day back... but you gotta do what you gotta do.
The good thing out of it is that I'll be traveling with my little momster... so I'll always have company. While that little lady often drives me insane, I have to admit that most of the time, just looking down at her makes me want to squeeze her. She's so little and cuddly, it's hard to contain myself. Plus, Mom's the one who gave me my bitch face... so her "bitch face" is mine multiplied by five. You don't fuck with my mom... and my usually-soft self loves it, because Mom can intimidate ANY criminal. HA!

That two week break (I'm dreading it a little, because I'll get back from chicago the 23rd at midnight, and leave for DC seven hours later. I'm going to be fucking dead) almost turned into a three week break, because Mom was trying to convince me to accompany her to Hometown. We were seriously going to book a trip for the 3rd through the 11th, however, yesterday, out of nowhere, Dad told us of that one lady at his church-- the psychic one. She had a "vision" and told him we were "in danger... in the mountains. I see people shooting... huge darts at all of you. Many, many darts."
?????
Dad kind of laughed at her. "Well... we don't even go to the mountains, so... I think we're good."
When he told us about "this crazy lady," Mom and I just looked at each other. This Mexico talk was strictly between us two... Dad had no idea we were even considering it.
How the fuck does this lady know all this shit? Where the hell does she get this information?!
So yeah, NO Mexico.
... darts. DARTS! How fucking dramatic is that mental image? Enemies shooting darts at the photograph of their enemy... sheesh.

Speaking of darts, Darcy will be in town while I'm away. I think I'll only be here for the first week of his visit.

You know, when it comes to astrology, they are on point when they say Pisces retreat to their imagination to cope with their reality.
I've done that since I was... a baby. Ever since I can remember, I'd get past tough times by resorting to my imagination. Well, not always "tough" but just scenarios that weren't what I wish they were.
Sorry, I know I've mentioned this before... but it's a coping mechanism I use a lot (in case you haven't noticed). In this case, it's no different.
I'm just going to use this as an excuse for not seeing the guy, again.
Well, it's not like you'd hang out with him if you WERE in town anyway.
Shut up! Let's ignore that completely. Let's just say it didn't happen because I'm out of town. Shhhh!

But don't worry, I'm not SO deluded to actually believe it. It just makes things... easier. 

Friday, July 29, 2011

Quick hits are addicting

-Tyson passed his tests with flying colors.
Vet: Tyson... just got old... finally.
:( No!! NO! My little cow is a young buck, you hear me!
My 102 pound little cow finally got old... but he'll be keeping all four of his paws.

The news had me chirpy all day yesterday.

-I finalized my travel plans for DC. I'll be starting the month of September out there... until the 6th. There's only one downer to it: I'll have to find my way to Rafa's place on my own once I arrive in DC.
Always a blast.
Woo.
Right.
I've decided I'm only taking a carry-on... adventure, guys, adventure.

-Remember that deal that was taking place back in '05-'07 and finally fell apart when the economy went to hell? My "new rules" thing? Well... it appears it's back on. Now we're all weighing the pros and cons... and the only one for it is my dad. I don't know what's going to happen, all I know is that it gives me a stomach ache when I think about it. The news pretty much flipped my world upside down... again.
Is this... really happening... AGAIN?

-I love my haircut... but it's garnering a lot of "that type" of attention... from both guys and girls.
It appears girls are attracted to me when my hair is done up... and guys are attracted to me when my hair is soaking wet.
I don't understand the phenomenon... but it's getting a little weird.
When girls holler at me... it's... weird, as usual, but they're typically really nice about it. I stutter and smile my way out of it. They don't push the subject, they just give me that "Oh, ya know, I just thought... my bad. No hard feelings, girl" shrug thing while winking.
Lesbians are always so nice.
When guys holler at me... I turn into the typical asshole I really am. This especially goes down when I'm walking out of the gym. My hair is DRENCHED when I walk out of the gym... and so, my clothes is as well. All I want to do is jog to my car and jet out of the place. I give people a wet-t shirt contest preview each time... it's embarrassing.

Take for example, yesterday, as I was walking towards my car, this really, REALLY cute black guy checked me out then made a witty remark... and I reacted in the only way I know how:
I gave him the stink eye then acted as if I was deaf.
WHY DO YOU DO THAT, ANOMALIE?!?! ARE YOU RETARDED?! You have to be... you have to be! That's the only fucking explanation I can find. Jesus Christ!
Once I got in my car, I kiiiind of chastised myself--a lot like I did just now-- as I realized I'm definitely going to die alone.

Social anxiety/awkwardness is no joke, kids.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

i don't even know

-Booking my flight to DC because I quit giving a fuck if I'll be alone or accompanied, or if my brother will have time for me or not. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. I'm doing it. Period.

-I'm tired as hell. I waited at the airport for two fucking hours like a dumbass since my folks didn't have their phones on them... and they didn't tell me what flight they were on. The only instructions I had were: "Pick up Mom and Dad at 6:45."
O...K... ?
I wandered around aimlessly, looking like a fucking terrorist.
I eventually found them at passenger pick-up.

- Tomorrow is verdict day for Tyson. I'm scared, but hopeful. His paw is about 3/4 healed. He'll be ok. He'll be ok. He'll be ok.

- I can't feel my back... is that normal?

-Luke Wilson: he is so fine and witty and smart... that I just don't give a fuck if he's a monotone. Really. I came to this conclusion last night as I watched him on Old School for the third time. He really does it for me. Fine specimen... at least in '03 he was.... he was... mmmmm.

-I just wanna sleep... forever... ok, that's me being melodramatic... but I do just wanna sleep.

Brain no work. Bye.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

El cielo y las estrellas

In this week without my parents, I've heard from them a total of ZERO times.
When I'm on vacation, I get calls/emails from them about twice a day.
Irresponsible adults.

Anyway, I've been very nostalgic for Mexico this week. Knowing my folks are out there--not exactly in Hometown, but still, just being in the actual country-- makes me frown with envy.
I've never been in the country this late into the month of July (well, in the last ten years, to be correct)... and so, being here is so fucking foreign.
It's not helping that my neighbors have horses, cows, and chickens.

Last night, I was so nostalgic, I started to cry as I sat outside, watching Tyson eat.
The accumulation of three Hometown memories made me cry:

1. The humidity and slight warmth.
Last night the weather was... unusually pleasant for Vegas.
The weather in Hometown is BY FAR the thing I miss most. It's the most pleasant combination of warmth and humidity... it makes me consider moving to Hometown for life (then I hear of more decapitations and whatnot, and that thought quickly vanishes). Once I think of the weather, I think of the night sky in Hometown. That TOO is phenomenal in Hometown. Whether it's a clear night, where every single star in the sky is visible (and I end up laying in the bed of a truck, staring up at the stars... until the bats start getting a little more fearless and fly closer to me), or if it's a dark night with the most incredible lightning storms (I'll never forget last year's storm... I sat in complete darkness, staring out the door, enjoying the show. Moments like those help me appreciate being alive)... the Mexico sky is my favorite sky on Earth.
Every inch of my being misses it.

2. Food prep.
I thought of Hometown as I prepared Tyson's food.
Since the vet gave us some medication to help heal Tyson's paw, I have to sneak the three different pills in his food.
Jesus... if you only knew, Tyson... if you only knew!
This made me think of Hometown because back in the day Mom's Dad used to accuse Grandma of trying to poison him. This little "joke" of his would be a joke more often than not, but sometimes, he was so fucking serious. He'd make my grandma try the food off his plate-- and not try a single bite until she did-- on his really bad days.
War veterans... such a trip.
He'd inspect the dish and all that shit. He thought this would entertain us, and granted, it sure did the first couple of times... you know, when I was seven and I thought What are you doing, silly? You're not supposed to play with your food! But as I entered my teen years, it got tired and old, and it started to irritate me to think he would suspect my poor grandma of such a heinous crime.
Grandma: Trust me, if I were trying to kill you, I would have done it YEARS ago... and not as easily as slipping some poison in your food, asshole.
Esa grandma!! :) ... :(

3. Rooster singing (is that the correct term? I ask this every. single. time)
As I sat down, outside, to make sure Tyson finished his food, I heard my neighbor's rooster singing (cock-a-doodle-doo-ing?). Roosters ABOUND in Hometown. When I think of waking up in Hometown, two things come to mind: the smell of fresh tortillas and the sunshine gently sneaking into my room as roosters... do their thing.
Glorious, glorious memories.

These three things bunched together in one moment finally made me crack.
No, there was no sobbing involved... but I did sit there, quietly staring at the bright Vegas sky, desperately searching for stars... and a couple of tears streamed down my face.

It's just not the same.
My heart and soul definitely belong to Mexico.

On a funny note:
Honestly, who the hell still talks like this:
HAHA LOL LMAO LMFAO, I GOT HIT UP TODAY AT EASTERN AND BONANZA BY SOME SUPPOSLY CHOLOS JAJAJAJAJA, THEN THEIR LEADER SAW WAT WAS GOING ON, AT THE END, ALL THEM FOOS ENDED UP APOLOGIZING JAJAJAJA, LIL FOOS IF ONLY THEY KNEW AT THE BEGGININ' WHO THEY WAS FUCKIN' WITH ESE LMFAO, REAL SUREÑO RIGHT HERE ESE, BIG FUCKING CUATRO FLATS KNIGHT OWLS CLIKA HOLMES VEGAS CHAPTER ISLAS 13 CLICK!!!!
???
....
I have a college degree... in BIOLOGY.... why the FUCK do I still attract cholos?

Monday, July 25, 2011

Know Me.

I've had a journal since second grade, when my teacher in Mexico (it was that year where my folks thought they were going to move and raise us there. That would have sucked dick) made me start jotting down what I did each day.
Back then, all my entires would end in "Fin." I don't know how the fuck I got credit for that (though I never did the epic assholery my brother did in his school journal. His second grade teacher would collect the journals at the end of the week, so when she finally got to read Rafa's, there were about three days in that one week where he filled up two pages worth of "Hoy no hice nada" translates to "Today I did nothing." Now THAT is awesome at another level).
I wish I were this concise today.
I AM happy my handwriting improved... a little.
(viernes 25 De septiembre De 1992. Almorse un licuado y me fui a la escuela y estudie y sali de la escuela y me fui enque mi madrina Rosa-alisia y me fui a la casa y fuy a ser la tarea y me fui a dormir. fin--- sadly, I MAY write longer run-on sentences NOW)

Commemorating Rafa's birthday in writing since 1992
(domingo 27 De septiembre De 1992. Almorse serial y me cambie y me fui a la Iglesia y sali y me fui a el casador porque mi ermano cumplia años 9 años y me fui a *hometown* y llege a la casa y ise la tarea y me fui a dormir fin-- I still don't know why this lady didn't get on my case over the run-ons)

Like how Mom tried to disguise her writing in my little journal?
Props to her. What 7 year old can write that fucking word?
(almorse un licuado y fui a la escuela estudie y sali de la es-cuela y me fui a la casa y luego fui a *Hometown's municipality* y me compraron un helado helado y fui con mi tia Licha y ise la tarea y me fui a dormir. fin-- What can I say? I loved me some licuados [milkshakes] and tia Licha time)

Not much has changed... except I'm far more neurotic now... and I'm not that much of a milkshake aficionado today.

Anyway, I've been keeping some form of journal since then.
I entered the on-line thing because of a high school classmate. She was the... I don't remember if it was the student body president, or just the junior class president, but point of the story was: she was some sort of president.
She was nice... I guess... just very... how should I say... misguided? She was very pretentious. She was very opinionated... but her opinions weren't always very... well thought out. She could be HELL of ignorant... but I think it was only because she was just... brought up that way? She never really meant it to be an asshole, she just didn't know better, I guess.
Anyway, there would be days when I'd get along with her, then there were others where her big mouth would nearly give me a myocardial infarction.
Her: SO... now with this whole... 9-11 thing... like... how is it to wake up a Muslim today... you know a week later?
AfghanFriendofMine: ... the same as any other day... ?
Her: Like... you don't... feel fear of showing up to school? Maybe... think about putting on a little make up so you DON'T look too... Afghan?
AFoM: No. I didn't do it. No family member of mine did it. Why should I be scared?
Yo, Alexis, YOU'RE not scared of walking around the halls being... well... you know... white... and you know... your ancestors once owning slaves and everything... and now with slavery being abolished and everything... you're not scared of walking around town? Maybe try putting on a little blackface... or at least getting a tan... so you know... you don't look too white?

I'd hear shit like that almost on a daily basis, because we had almost every class together since we were part of the tight-knit AP group.
Her comments would make my skin crawl... and quite honestly, I'd often fight the urge to slam my thickest textbook across her face.
Then, one day, as if by magic, I found her on-line journal.
I didn't say shit... I just read. And read. And read.
I got to know her beyond "the annoying girl who asks ignorant questions and thinks she's always right. The girl who will also go to extremes to make others 'admire' her."

In order to keep track, and read her shit, I had to make my own account on the site...
AND SO, my on-line journals came to be (well, the first one. Besides that one and this one, I don't have any more... and I don't plan to, either).

Anyway. I thought of all this because this girl finally became engaged today.
This girl, who most of us had great difficulty dealing with cordially, found a dude who wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

Good luck to you... both of you.
Hopefully she grows as a person and becomes less eager to garner laudations from others (that's me, taking on her voice. She's the one who taught me the term "verbose," and I only memorized it because my brain linked "Alexis = Verbose." I KILLED that word on the SAT)... and hopefully he... has a strong heart and easily-vaso-dialating blood vessels... 'cause someone's gonna be cursing the gods on a regular basis.

And I? Well, Ray Charles has got me covered.


No one bothers to get to know me.
(See what I did there? Well, only if you know my name, that's when it makes sense, I guess)

Even Annoying Alexis could find someone who didn't let her go... should give me hope, but somehow it only makes me sadder. Hmm.

The song IS gorgeous, though. And absolutely 100 percent pertinent to my life... since like... 4th grade.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Phony Ponies

I love watching guys fight... argue, to be more correct.
Dudes physically fighting freaks me out... 'cause it makes me sad for the loser.
But when they argue... HA!

In my social circle, when guys argue, they go for the jugular once someone mentions the other one is a "fake ass bitch."
I'll stand there, GREATLY amused, watching these two guys get worked up because they're trying to prove their "real-ness."

Last night, a huge fight erupted amongst the boys... you know, the ones from "Europe."
It appears there's trouble in make-believe-European-paradise.
Sadly, I was an innocent bystander... and to be quite honest, I still don't know what was said or done to offend whoever was offended first... but I was seriously concerned that I was going to be forced to choose sides in this divorce.
The two parties involved were
1. Birthday Boy-- you know, the one who didn't want to invite me to his epic 30th birthday party even after he invited both my siblings... then he invited me when there was a couple of days left before the big day.
2. Po-- you know, the guy who said he was German and then went off and gave himself a Teletubby name. The dude who shook my tit instead of my hand the first time he met me. The dude who told me the other day that I'd be perfect if I looked like my sister. Yeah, him.

Now, I like both of them, even if they have both offended me in somewhat severe ways... I mean, they've both been responsible for making me cry myself to sleep on a few occasions... which is kind of severe in my book... because I cry for NO ONE.
But...
"A" is my cousin... and we HAVE had some good times together.
"B" makes me laugh, and he's always nice to me... when he's sober... and I've always had this weird attraction for him, but I DEFINITELY don't act on it because I know how my sister feels about him... and he obviously digs my sister a lot, since he told me it'd be dope if I looked like her. Plus, nobody likes me, remember? I refuse to put myself out there for any guy ever again. I'll stare at the bulls from a distance.

Anyway, I didn't take sides... and I haven't had to face any repercussions for it... yet.
I still get to sit there guilt free, and watch both sides try and offend each other with some wack-ass slang terms that often make me laugh.

I'm taking bets until Tuesday:
1.WHEN will they finally get mad at ME
2. What will I finally say/do to get A or B pissed AT ME... and
3. WHO will be the one to get pissed at me FIRST?
I say that... 1. by this Friday, A or B will no longer be speaking to me (though A ignores me as if it were his job... and only speaks up when I say something he deems outrageous or WRONG). 2. I will... I will have told B that I find "Otis" quite an interesting track, which will ultimately piss off A... so the answer to 3 is A. A will be the one who will not be speaking to me. I'll eventually piss off B when I criticize smoking.

It's SO easy to hate me.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Quick hitting

Another one of those moments where there is too much shit going on in my head, accumulated over the last couple of days... that I don't know where to start. I'm also tired from a long couple of days...
So uh... let me try to make it a quick hit.

1. Drunk texts.
They suck... when sent from a self-centered jerk.
I stayed up last night texting back and forth with MGH. He tried making me feel guilty for my trip to Chicago. He's coming down on the 20th with his girlfriend, and he had planned to stay at my place... unbeknownst to me.
He booked the flights, and nothing else, thinking he'd be good with the room to stay because he'd just crash at my place.
I told him I'd be out of town from the 16th until the 23rd, but he leaves the 22nd, so that's useless.
Try reasoning that shit out with a drunk guy who thinks he fucking owns you (because he knows he did at some point, sadly).
I tried to remain friendly... and I did apologize for being so "thoughtless," but I told him I really needed the vacation. I also said that since I had somehow managed to fuck up his girl's birthday, I owed them one for the next time... I mean, my house will always be here... with me probably living in it... until I die or whatever.
But he just started getting vicious on me... using hurtful words and whatnot... so before I started texting mean shit, I turned my phone off and went to bed.
Drunken mind speaks a sober heart, right?

2. Hair cut.
I don't care how many people freak out over the length, I. LOVE. IT.
The joy I get from knowing the haters can't read my blog and see my new haircut.
HA-HA-HA!
If I start feeling bummed, all I have to do is catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I'lll crack a smile. I smile so much, I don't even look like myself.
Good times.
Know who used to play with my long hair? MGH...

3. The Amy Winehouse thing...
It upset me to see how quick people were to joke about the death of a person.
Mooney read me a tweet form RL Stine (I LOVE THAT MAN! He and Shel Silverstein have a special place in my heart. If it weren't for them--and Judy Blume-- I wouldn't have read at all as a kid) regarding celebrity deaths. It pertained to how people tend to mock and ridicule the untimely death of a female (or just their mental instability, a la Britney Spears), however, when it's a male figure, it suddenly turns into a "tragedy" (or they get admired, a la Charlie-Tiger-Blood-Sheen). Which... yeah, it's true. No one laughed or cracked jokes when, say, Heath Ledger ODed... or DJ AM (not saying they SHOULD have), but when Anna Nicole Smith ODed, and now Amy Winehouse unfortunate death, people didn't think twice to mock.
These people had a problem... and no one seemed to be able/want to help them.
That's heartbreaking.
There isn't anything joke-worthy there.
Fuck off and find validation from your peers some other place.

4. Books.
If it weren't for Mooney, I'd be a hardcore neanderthal. I'd refuse to go out and... read a book. I'd be home eating meat, lifting heavy objects, and communicating using only a couple of distinct grunts.
Luckily, I have concerned friends and family who pull me out of the troglodyte cave and reintroduce me to society.

Since Borders is-- sadly-- going out of business, Mooney decided to drag me along to try and BUY a book... since the vast majority of books I own are textbooks which only elicit dry-heaves and some tears from me.
BIOCHEMISTRY! FUCK YOUUUUUU! Oh look! Two codons for phenylalanine!
As we browsed through the store, all I could see was Darcy.
Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, Anthony Burgess... the entire Jane Austen section... the actual name "Darcy" EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE from those... what are they called, Mooney? Continuations? Those books where other authors go on and write about particular characters... which apparently Darcy is quite the dude to make spin-offs about (that's what I'm calling it, fuck it). I was going crazy.
OK, really, let's stop the madness. I'm trying to lead a normal life here... and this is like, the fucking museum of Darcy... awww... but that is kind of adorable... ok, stop with the creepiness, AnoMALIE.
It was the most massive... Mother of all DD's I've ever experienced.
Nothing like the constant reminder of a person who hardly remembers you're alive.

I did end up walking out of there with two books. It would have been more, but insanity ain't something I fuck with, so I was out pretty quick.
Book stores... sneaky motherfuckers.

5. Future series of posts.
I'm getting kind of shitty at sticking to writing every day. I'm telling myself it's just the summer slump. I'd rather be outside playing in the water with tyson... or getting a tan... or just... playing... than sitting at the lap top, trying to jot down whatever the fuck I'm thinking. Plus, the majority of the summer time, I'm honestly not thinking of a damn thing.
But I do have this series of future posts planned out (most are even typed and saved right now)... but I don't have the heart to add them just yet. It's me, 100 percent me... without joking or sarcasm or cynicisms... it's just ME. I don't think anyone enjoys being that truthful and vulnerable in front of the world... so that series might simmer in the back-burner for now... maybe never see the light of day... but... it might... maybe... make it out. Just maybe... if I'm ever not too... depressed or whatever... and if the secondary portion of it comes to fruition (Jesus Christ... "the secondary portion comes to fruition," Listen to me talk. REALAX, it's not so serious).
Being completely honest with oneself is draining as fuck... and scary.
... but exciting.
Bah!

Thursday, July 21, 2011

GI Jane Status

Wow. The fucking backlash from people after seeing I cut my hair.

I didn't even post an "after" of myself... and I'm not going to either (don't get it twisted, this doesn't mean I don't like my haircut. Mooney did a terrific job on it and I'm ecstatic with it... especially since it makes running out to the gym so quick and effortless! THANK YOU, MOONEY! You rock!). If you want to see what my hair looks like now, then find me. Boom.
Anyway, it's always the same song and dance with those people. They freak out the moment they hear I cut my hair. Granted, I DO look like Pocahontas sometimes, losing a beloved Disney character is always tough... but still, they know that the moment they see me walking around with my hair almost down to my bellybutton, I have a special intention for it.
"Before" photo.
That's me, imitating Pocahontas as she watched John Smith sail away.
"BUT I TAUGHT YOU TO FIIISH!"
They may do it as... a joke, or whatever, but it makes me sad, because it's people like them that make such a trivial thing like having long hair, into a big deal. The poor kids going through chemo, or the ones suffering from alopecia, feel subhuman with a bald head because of frivolous comments from people like the ones complaining.
:(
Thinking of that keeps ME from freaking out over haircuts (though I did scream when Mooney cut my braids... I mean... it's a little jarring... and I was in the privacy of my bathroom. I would NEVER do that in public, scream that is).
It's OK, little kids... it's ok, it's ok, it's ok!

Now, I love my friends and everything, and everyone is made different and blah blah blah, but it does irritate me to an extent, even if I do joke with them about the hair.
The outraged girls irritated me, but there was also an outraged guy this time around.
He commented on the photo I posted of my chopped hair.
16 inches...
that could have easily been 18, but I needed to give Mooney some leeway for when she'd fix my haircut. 
But when I was going to respond to him, he deleted the comment... so I went to his page and asked him what the fuck was wrong with him.
Him: Are you GI Jane status?
Me: No... I'm Natalie Portman V for Vendetta status!
Me: Jk. It's up to my chin.
Him: I was shocked.
Him: Dyke.

?!?
It's just not my fucking week with dudes.

A guy THAT concerned with a girl's hair-length needs to check himself.
However, I'm glad it takes something as SIMPLE as a haircut to reveal someone who is not worth a motherfucking second of my time.

It's hair, goddamn it! Hair, HAIR, HAIR!
CHILL THE FUCK OUT.

Horrible, isn't it?

Bingo.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Grouchy Old Low-Carb Lady

Parents? Enjoying la vida calmada in Tulum right now.
Sister? Working.
Me? Cleaning the house from top to bottom AND running my folk's business... like a BOSS!

Cleaning the house is all right. It must be done.
Plus, it clears my head because I start thinking about practical shit like "Why the fuck is Mom storing my 4th grade John S. Park T-shirt in the laundry room? Is she... wearing it? Oh man... elementary school... field days... fuck, those were fun! Man... I REALLY hated the Big Stick Popsicle station... I still do... that MIGHT be the only ice-related goodie that I hate... fuck you, pineapple!"
(seriously, FUCK pineapple. That shit reminds me of piss for some reason. Even a TRACE of it in my food--pineapple, though I'm sure piss will ruin anything as well, but it's not my habit to ingest urine--will ALWAYS ruin whatever I may be eating)

Now the work thing, that DOES suck.
I hate dealing with my mongoloid cousin, no offense to those with Down Syndrome, because they're definitely brighter than this moron.
He does this sort of mistake AT LEAST three times a day:
05-03-12? REALLY? REALLY?!
He did that last year. How do you skip TWO YEARS like that?
I hate him. A LOT.
SO, having to drop by work to check up on this fucking imbecile works me up.
The other day he had set up his motherfucking PS3 to my dad's TV, which is in Dad's office.
I don't know how anyone else would react to that... but that shit made me IRATE.
WHO TAKES THAT KIND OF LIBERTY AT WORK?!
He also continues to take photos of himself holding all the $100 bills FROM MY DAD's safe at work, and posts them on Facebook.
I'm surprised I haven't suffered a heart attack from all that shit.
Talking about all this makes me want to take a baseball bat to his knees. THAT'S how fucking fed up I am with his bullshit antics.
Oh! OH! He also smokes weed ON THE JOB (really, guys... when you're naturally fucking stupid, WHY take something that will only make you slowER and stupidER? REALLY. I don't think I'd resent him so badly if he took speed or any other STIMULANT. Or take Adderall! At least that shit will make you focus, for fuck's sake!)... with his gang of buddies (who go to work and eat whatever the fuck snacks we sell and not pay for SHIT. They're ALL obese... they eat a good 50 bucks worth of snacks... EACH).
It's a truck stop. We have pumps of diesel. We are one of TWO companies that have above-ground tanks in this city.
Yeah. Keep doing that, fuckhead.

AHHH! I have to stop. I'm being one of those people who continuously talk about work problems, and my work isn't interesting like other peoples'. No one wants to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers (unless you're on King of the Hill and your name is Hank). I don't want to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers.

I'm going to chill out. Get mentally prepared to chop my locks tomorrow, FINALLY.
I'm also going to up my carb intake.
I've recently been made aware that all this rage I've currently been experiencing is from a lack of carbs in my life (I've been carb-free since March... it's rough, guys... ROUGH! Though... I was only 100% carb-free form March until May. I do eat two baby tortillas on most days, and I'm eating oats occasionally, so I kind of get my fix some days).
Even Rafa noticed this while he was here, and gave me a new nickname:
Grouchy Old Lady.
And yes, he's on the money with that one.
So, I do apologize for my violent, mean behavior. Luckily, there haven't been any heavy object near my angrily clenched fists... or I haven't managed to bite my tongue as I angrily clench my jaw.
Also, the outcome of the recent Copa America games have been able to mitigate the rage and tame the wild beast inside me.

Ok, this entry has been long enough. Took me damn long enough to write it, too.
Uh-oh... I think I'm getting angry...
Nah, I'm home alone, it's impossible to be pissed off under that circumstance.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

If you looked like...

"You'd be perfect if you looked like your sister!"
I've heard that "compliment" be told to many girls before, and I've always thought it sucked... even if I wasn't the one being told that bullshit line.
Well, today I was finally on the receiving end.

It was that sort of day.

Instead of getting angry and going on some sort of vulgarity-laced diatribe, all I could muster was "Wow."
He tried fixing it, by saying something about me being too tall and whatnot... and still, all I could do was say "Nah, nah, it's cool. It's cool. I get you."

I'm "cool," "funny," "smart," "into sports," with decent taste in music... and still, still not good enough.
That's cool.
I get it. No, really, I DO.
I may be a cool chick, or whatever the fuck you want to label me as, with whom you dig talking music, sports, or any other stupid topic... letting your homies know how "tight" this homegirl of yours is. But I'm just not a "hot" chick you want to parade as YOUR chick... 'cause that's just bad taste. What are you, blind? Yeah, I get you. No worries.
You want a short-ish chick... around five foot five... you know, short so you can look like a massive man standing next to her... also, so she can wear high heels, like all the normal girls do.
She should probably wear a good amount of make-up... at least some false lashes with some brightly colored lipstick. Big, rock-hard titties... which she always shows off because she finds those really low-cut shirts.
This IS Vegas... I KNOW the type of girl you've been exposed to your entire adolescence/adulthood. You know those girls exist-- in fucking abundance in this city!-- I can't blame you for wanting one.

So uh... yeah, we're cool. I get you. Don't feel too bad. I'm 26. I'm used to that shit... not being told I should look like my sister (that WAS a little jarring. Very similar to getting socked in the gut, or square on the nose), but just not meeting the standards of dudes.

26, dude... 26! I should not be emo by this motherfucking age.
Goddamn.

... and people wonder why I refuse to get excited about anyone.
Have I given enough reasons, or must I really keep putting up with this sort of shit because others promise me there's some mythical prince out there waiting to find me?

I'm done.
Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mi. Tan solo e sido una soñadora (pendeja) mas.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

@#$%#$@!!!

I think I may have broken the record for "most vulgarities uttered in a weekend."

Yesterday was the family reunion.
That was... interesting.

I showed up at 7:30, like I said I would. 
For the most part, I was ok. I was smiling a lot because the relatives I care for showed up... and together, we made fun of the occasion.
Me: So... where the tacos good?
(I guess I should explain that I did not have a bite or drink at this party. I brought my own liter of water and I ate before showing up. I still paid my motherfucking share, but I'll get into that in a second)
Cousin X: Definitely not 100 dollars worth.

This exchange would make me laugh (EVERYONE I spoke to had that reaction)... because I did mention we were being charged to go to this shit, right ($100 per family, or $25-$30 a person)? But I do believe I failed to inform that we were going to be eating TACOS at the shindig. 
We each paid $25 for TACOS.
MEXICANS PAID SOMEONE TO PREPARE THEM TACOS... 
The taco man supposedly cost all of us TWENTY-FIVE (some paid 30... poor suckers) DOLLARS PER PERSON.
Tacos you can buy at TACOS MEXICO... you know, the ones with the baby tortillas... THE 99 CENT TACOS.
Have I managed to make my point here?

The two ladies responsible for throwing this FAMILY REUNION tried convincing US Vegas relatives that we were paying the $25 for TACOS (goddamn it, I'm going to say that motherfucking word until you hate it as much as I do). Drinks we had to pay for at the bar. Yeah, that's right, drinks NOT included in the $25 entry fee.

LadyThrowingTheParty (Maggie): These tacos are REALLY GOOD, trust me!

Yeah... no. From what I saw (and heard) I make better tacos... and I've only been in the business of making my own tacos for the last two months or so... so... I better start setting up shop, make some dough off of lazy Mexicans.

What made me cuss and get angry was the fact that I believed this dumb broad about the entry fee... her supposed reasons.
She said the place were the party was being held cost her two grand to rent.
Apparently this bitch doesn't use her fucking head when lying... or at least she doesn't put enough effort into the fucking process, and she forgot the lady who OWNS the place is my dad's 1st cousin... his favorite one. So what did Dad do? He talked to his cousin. He made her believe he wanted to throw a family reunion for their family, the D's, and he was curious to know how much it would cost him to rent the place out.
Dad'sCousin: Oh, I'd have to give you my family discount. For you, it'd be... 800.
Dad: That's cool. I'll think about it.
Dad'sCousin'sHusband: Yo, J, I'll rent it to you for 700.
Dad: Oh wow, I don't want you to lose too much in this. That price is just making me feel bad. A $1,300 discount? I'd be robbing you guys!
Dad'sCousin'sHusband: What are you talking about? We rent this place for a thousand.

... Once I heard that, I was outraged.
I mean, it's one thing to get a profit out of throwing a party for strangers, because it's your job or whatever the fuck. 
But to profit off of your family under the guise that it's a "family function"... ? What the fuck are you thinking? My parents don't bust their ass working from sun up to sun down so that YOU can have a sweet-ass life. Get a real job... or be upfront and say "Yo, this is my job, I need to make money." Don't make my folks, as well as the rest of the family, fork up dough with lies.

What infuriates me most is that the poor folks who came form out of town have NO CLUE this went on. NO CLUE.
They stayed over at the homes of these women and their immediate family, so Out-of-Town family thinks it's all roses with us.
Looking around at the party yesterday, it was obvious who was from out of town-- they were smiling and dancing.
We locals were sitting down, pissed off, usually staring at the motherfucking taco set-up... or the bar... clearly thinking "BULLSHIT!!!"

Now I'm going to stop talking about it, because I feel like I'm going to pass out from holding my breath for so long (I do it because it's the most effective way I hold back from yelling obscenities).

Let's move on to today... which can best be described like this:
FUTBOL.
I cussed, screamed, kicked, jumped... all of that shit, all while watching the female's World Cup finale.
Nothing against the Japanese squad, if I wanted anyone to win this aside from the US, it was them (after watching them rape Mexico 4-0, I knew those chicks were no joke). I agree with everyone who says that country deserves good news after such a tough start to the year. But the US had SO MANY opportunities to take this. It was their fucking match to lose... and that they CLEARLY did. Those penalties... I should have recorded myself, because I doubt I have EVER cussed and screamed that hard in my life. I was furious. Way to suck out, US.

So my chest hurt from that moment on... then I switched it to the spanish channel.
I had been switching back and forth form the women's game to the Brazil-Paraguay game, which was going in the same direction as the women's game.
The B-P game also went to penalties, and by then, the women's game was over.
Brazil missed all of their penalties.
THAT made me laugh... and the heavy weight lift off my chest.
I also cussed when that happened... form joy, obviously, because I dislike the Brazilian soccer team... since Mom, D, and Rafa love them (yeah, when they were killing it in the World Cups. I resisted).

I then went ahead and watched a third match, Venezuela-Chile. I bet Dad Venezuela was going to win, he went with Chile... and I only bet because HE suggested it (he swears he knows more than I do when it comes to soccer. It's like me claiming I know more about cars than he does. I've been watching soccer since I have use of memory... Dad watches it sporadically, when his workers won't shut the fuck up about it and he has to try and act like he knows what's going on. Cars, on the other hand, I'd rather stay away from. I know when I like a car... and I know how to change a flat tire... but aside from that, I'm fucking lost. Dad has been working with cars for two thirds of his life... he definitely knows more than I do). Since there was a bet on the line, I became emotionally invested in the game... and the colorful language began to fly.
This game was pretty intense to watch.
Venezuela's defense is... something else.
Who came out victorious? Venezolanos, baby!
Did I get paid? No. Dad just laughed in my face.
Bunch-a-bullshit.

High-five for dirty mouths! It prevents many (ME!) some mean-ass tachycardia. 

Friday, July 15, 2011

Todos dicen que soy...

Note to self:
Don't EVER listen to this song while intoxicated.
El Triste, sung by Jose Jose


Fuck how old this footage is... this man's interpretation is MAGICAL and timeless.
Ufff!
And the lyrics, well, what can I say about the lyrics besides "ding-ding-ding!"?


Que triste fue decirnos adios,
Cuando nos adorábamos mas.
Hasta la golondrina emigro
Presagiando el final.


Que triste luce todo sin ti.
Los mares de las playas se van.
Se tiñen los colores de gris.
Hoy todo es soledad.


No sé si vuelva a verte después...
No sé que de mi vida será...
Sin el lucero azul de tu ser,
Que no me alumbra ya.
(WAAAAAAAA!!!)


Hoy quiero saborear mi dolor.
No pido compasión ni piedad.
La historia de este amor se escribió
Para la eternidad.


Que triste todos dicen que soy.
Que siempre estoy hablando de ti.


No saben que pensando en tu amor,
En tu amor:
He podido ayudarme a vivir.
He podido ayudarme a vivir.


I relate... oh, how I relate.
I'm one of those giving you a standing ovation, Jose Jose! The video gave me goosebumps TWICE.

Now avoid this joint when you're... even tipsy, you'll make a scene... not that I made one. No, no. I'm good, remember?

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Particles

Rafa: *nicknameIhate* if you could be any subatomic particle, which one would you be?
Me: What the fuck are you talking about?
Rafa: If you could be any subatomic particle, which one would you be?
Me: What kind of fucking stupid question is that?
Rafa: Stupid because I should KNOW what you'd be, or stupid because YOU don't understand it?
Me:...
D: Too easy! I'd be a proton!
Rafa: I'd be an electron!!
D: Aren't proton's like... what determines the atomic weight of an element? THAT'S why I'd be a proton. They're badasses! Fuckin' important!
Rafa: I'd be an electron because I'd be all over the place. I'd be the one determining relationships and shit.
Me: Yeah, whoring yourself out to some while getting violently repelled by others... you're absolutely correct.
Rafa: You only say that because you'd be a fucking boring-ass neutron.
D: Yeah. She'd HELLA be a neutron. Neutral-ass lame-o.
Me: (internally) Yeah... I... WOULD be a neutron...

That was the last "Rafa Question" of his month-and-a-half vacation with us.
I actually shed a tear or two once D took him to the airport.
He's so loud and obnoxious... it's more than obvious when he's gone.
I also cried because I'm pretty sure this is probably the last time we get to spend this long together, in our home, living like we did from 1985 until 2001 (I think it was on the 5th of this month where he celebrated his 10th year of living away from home. That was the day he left for Basic). Now he has to grow up and work... and his work will take him to different countries for very long periods of time... and he'll probably meet a girl and get married... and that's when he'll no longer belong to us.
All this shit got me thinking and it made me cry.
Distance sucks dick.

Anyway, having to say goodbye to my annoying, but loving brother (last night he did that weird hugging thing to me. It's more than obvious that he knows I'm beyond depressed and lost the will to live... and it's strange to see his reaction. He's concerned, but he doesn't know what to say or do... he just hugs me. It makes me sad) had me in a quiet mood.
Tyson is feeling and looking better, so that got a smile out of me. He even let me wash his "really bad" paw with the solution the vet gave me. He probably knows I'm sad and he's trying to make things better... because he's psychic like that. Tyson's magic.

Then I went to kickboxing.
Yeah.
I never run out of stories when it comes to that class.
This time around, we have an old gentleman... possibly in his 60s... maybe... no, yeah, the man had to be in his 60s because 70s is just too impossible to envision kicking and punching like this man. It was like... seeing my old creative writing professor kickboxing next to me. I think he's in his 60s, so I'll say this little man was also in his 60s.
Anyway, before class starts, we all wait in the room that has all the lights off but some decorative neon lights at the top... it's very zen. We're free to stretch, or meditate, or just stare at what everyone else is doing in that class.
I usually stretch and chill myself out... because I'm damn well aware that I'll end the class frustrated as fuck and probably wishing death upon one or two people. This class fucks me up, attitude-wise... I turn into the fucking Hulk and I need a couple of hours to cool back down into my nerdy self.

As I was "calming" myself down... taking deep breaths while closing my eyes... the little old man sat next to me.
He was new to class, so he started to ask me question.
I'm not the most approachable person--I freely admit that-- and so when someone comes up to me and starts chatting me up, I get a little startled.
I smile a lot... I'm kind of chirpy... and dumb. It's the equivalent of having someone sucker punch you in the back of the head... it leaves you... startled... if not totally handicapped.
Ok, so he talks to me, and I talk back. I try my hardest to be very nice to the man, because I know once class starts, I'll be fantasizing about elbowing his temple all because he clumsily invaded my personal space.
I'm a sweetheart, I swear, sir... just... get OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING WAYYYY! AHHHH! TESTOSTERONE! ME HATE PEOPLE!
(No, seriously, that happens. It's terrible. I'm a fucking animal)

This act of kindness from my behalf somehow gets this old man endeared to me... even after I turn into the kickboxing monster for an hour and a half.
Once class is over, he sits next to me for the cool-down and chats me up again.
Look, Quasimodo, I just want to lay on my back and stretch out my legs and arms in silence. Let the estrogen return to my body real quick... I'm still rocking ripped, purple capris here (Hulk reference, for those who don't get me).
Old man: Oh my god... wow! You completely transform once class starts! Your face just ::he moves his hand over his face from top to bottom, as if removing a mask:: changes. You look MEAN!
Me: Oh... ::nervous laugh:: yeah... it's just... the class, you know.
Old man: Are you a boxer? Were you a boxer? I was looking at you, and boy! Your swing is... your form... you box, right?
(I look around nervously, because the old man's voice is loud, and excited... like a little kid who has just been told he's going to Disneyland, and I'm worried it'll call too much attention to me from the rest of the regulars in class)
Me:... nnnno... only with my siblings, I guess...
and the streetz, muthafuckaaa!
Old man: I was looking at you the whole time, because you were the only one who knew what she was doing.

Yeah, there were people staring by now. All I could do was smile sheepishly while looking down at the floor. I just wanted the old man to shut the hell up.
The old man just kept going and going. I grew aggravated, so I stopped smiling after thirty seconds and listened to the instructor as he instructed us on the stretches.

Old man: You know... you should smile more...
I crack a wide smile... staring between my legs (I'm sitting on the floor now), at the floor.
Goddamn it! Here it goes again... I'm going to hear that motherfucking line people tell me EVERY. FUCKING. TIME!
Old man: There it is! You're a beautiful girl. It's a beautiful smile. It lights up your face. If you smiled more, you'd look friendlier and not so scary. You know... all you have to do is tell yourself "I'm going to smile today!" every day, and before you know it, it'll just be a reflex. Your natural demeanor will be that of... happiness.

As we stretched, he magically disappeared (ok, so he hobbled away and I was too busy contorting my body in the opposite direction to notice).

I'd look "friendlier?" But I thought my scowl exuded kindness!
The class is called "kickboxing," not "imagine yourself frolicking through a prairie field in the middle of a summer night, catching fireflies" class.
Wanna see me smile and giggle like a baby? Find me a fucking prairie with fireflies and I'll fucking OOZE happiness... it'll be fucking contagious, I promise.
Kickboxing requires me to punch and kick... and it makes me sweat as if I have a firefighter's hose for sweat glands. I can't be "friendly" when this is going on. I'm envisioning crushing someone's skull with my knee... I'm more than likely not going to be smiling as this happens-- I'm not that fucking sadistic.

Still, that comment left me even more bummed.
My sadness is... really starting to show...

AND WHY DO OLD MEN ALWAYS FEEL COMPELLED TO GIVE ME ADVICE?!
Granted... their advice IS usually good... but I get a little creeped out... and inevitably sad (they sense my sadness and add a kind suggestion. This messes with my emotions and I turn into a caustic bitch as a method to ward off tears. After a few hours, the thought of an old man trying to cheer up a sad, quiet girl makes me frown).
But I guess it's better than old lady advice: Find yourself a good man, AnoMALIE! Time's a tickin'! Your childbearing days are nearing their end! And if you can, find a RICH man! Who cares if you don't love him?!

Oh! Blessed, unsolicited advice.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Compressing

Today was drastically different from yesterday.
In the matter of a day, Tyson's swelling has gone down by at least 60 percent.
That's A LOT.
I hadn't noticed (I'm such a terrible pet owner... I hate myself) how swollen ALL of his paws had gotten until today.
I always thought it was just his poor little hind foot that was swollen and bloody. When I stepped outside today in the afternoon, I looked down at him and I was shocked to see how normal all of his paws looked... well, that super fucked up paw is still rough to look at, but not nearly as fucked up as it was yesterday at the vet's.
Jesus Christ, Tyson! The pain you must have been in! I'm SO SORRY, CORAZÓNCITO!

I'm pretty sure the vet gave me the worst case scenario yesterday as a means to scare my ass into responsible-pet-owning shape.
Sure, I spent the majority of yesterday afternoon crying my ass off whenever I thought of Tyson... or dogs... or animals... or injuries... or... just about anything, but I deserved it, DAMN IT!

He's so much happier (he was even barking like the good ol' days... all loud and vicious. Anybody could be confused into thinking we had a new dog in the backyard or something)... which gives me hope that I won't have to walk around with a gimpy dog... not that there's anything wrong with gimpy dogs-- they own a little piece of my heart-- I just can't live with the thought that MY dog is handicapped because of MY negligence (well, technically it's my mom's fault. I hold myself responsible because I didn't just take Tyson to the vet regardless of my mom's protest/threats).

Today, I spent a total of about two hours outside with him, petting him and baby-talking him... he even did a few tricks for treats.
As I stared at the stale Beggin' Strip, I frowned, realizing how LONG it had been since I paid him so much attention.
And staring into his forgiving little eyes... Jesus Christ... a fucking dagger through my heart.
Why didn't anyone tell me I was going to become one of those pet owners who love their dogs as if they were humans (much better than some humans)?! I just wouldn't be able to forgive myself for hurting my loyal little cow.

I'm holding out for tomorrow before I start performing any cartwheels, though. If that little foot of his is further healed, I'll go out and smile at a baby or something. Until then, I'll just... smile to myself with the knowledge that my doggie doesn't hate me for being such a stupid dumb bitch to him and nearly getting him killed... my poor little guy.
During better times...
Just look at that smile!!
BABYYYYY!
(This joy just added to my initial excitement form the morning, after the US-France Women's World Cup match. 1. I love the attention soccer is getting from the locals thanks to the good performance from the girls, and 2. I love the fact that the US women stomped on FRANCE, of all countries. FUCK that place!)

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Amputation

Next week, they might amputate my dog's hind paw.
I can't even look him in the face... it makes my heart break and the waterworks begin.
I'm so, SO sorry, Tyson...
I feel like the worst fucking human on the planet.

Yeah... today has not been a good day.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Ug!

Guys... it's time. It's time for that fucking family reunion I talked about back in May.
The party takes place this Saturday (from 12PM until 12AM... what can we POSSIBLY do for that fucking long? Delusional fools. I'm showing up at 7:30PM, fuck that shit. Noon to midnight... get the fuck out of here!).
There's drama going on (when isn't there? We wouldn't be Mexican without some goddamn drama unfolding before the fucking party even starts) because we Vegas families are getting charged to attend the mediocre party, and the prices aren't lining up. One family is being told $150 per family, someone else is being told $100... then there's another family being told $30 a person. It's all inconsistent and suspect.
The families coming down from other parts of the country are not getting charged anything... and that's fine, because it is costing them money to make it down here for a few days. What upsets us is the fact that we Vegas families are not getting charged a flat rate. Why lean more on one family and not another, you know? Fucking shady, I tell you.

ANYWAY! This drama has made many of the members decide not to attend.
This stresses me out, because my militant mother is FORCING me to go to this shindig against my will (no one I care to chill with is attending, so if I have to choose between sitting quietly at any one spot, I choose the comfort of my fucking home. Sorry. At least I don't have to be "dolled up" to be chilling there... and I don't have to pay 30 fucking dollars to do it. I'll spend that shit on protein powder and almond/oat flour, thank you very much!).
What does my body do when stressed out (besides vomit until I lose consciousness)? I break out, like almost any other female.
Fucking hormones.

My face has been kind to me for the most part this year, since I finally decided to take care of it (took me damn long enough)... but sometimes, I get a runaway pimple that decides to ruin my face (along with my life!).
The spot will be randomly chosen by my bastard body... and it looks like this time, it decided the most gracious spot would be the tip of my nose.
Ah, yes, the memories THAT brings! It's 1998 all over again.
I felt it coming in on Friday, and I've been trying my best to fight it.
I spent the weekend and today rocking this masterpiece whenever I had the opportunity to be home:
Yet another thing I'm ecstatic about.
Reminds me of Ug from Salute Your Shorts... except my nose-mask isn't protecting me from harmful UV rays.

Keppin' it classy, baby, keepin' it classy.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

NEVER let go, motherfucker!

And the award for greatest entrance into my home goes to...
MY SISTER!

When did this happen?
Today, at around 6:30PM.
What was she wearing?
Floral HnM bikini. White cover-up shirt that was down to her butt. Black purse... that was dripping water.

Doesn't sound weird?
That was ALL she was wearing.

At first I paid no mind to her stomping in the house.
I was celebrating the new U17 World Cup Championship going to Mexico. I (along with Mom and Rafa) was grubbing on some motherfucking tacos in the kitchen and feeling fantastic!
Arriba Mexico, cabrones!!Auuuuuch!

D: You didn't try calling me today?!
Me: No.
Mom: No.
Bro: Were we SUPPOSED to?
D: My fucking phone's DEAD!
The three of us sitting at the kitchen table: ... OK... ?
D: You REALLY don't see anything wrong?!

I took a better look at D.
Her hair was wet... not drenched, but it was obvious it was well on its way to getting completely air-dried. It had that beach look... where the tips are still wet and the hair is in those weird clumps... the strands stuck together. That "sexy beach hair" shit girls always go for.
Ok... so she jumped in the water when she went to the lake... 
(oh... I guess maybe I should have explained she had been at the lake since seven in the morning)
My eyes then inspected her shirt.
The white cover-up shirt was see-through... since it was still visibly wet. It was as if she were only wearing her floral bikini top...
Oh damn... she REALLY got wet.
D: I'M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!! OR SHOES, DAMN IT!
Me: Oh... I thought... that was on purpose... ?
D: I. AM. NOT. WEARING. PANTS! How is that normal?!
Me: Hey, I don't know, fool! You do weird shit sometimes... maybe you forgot the pants and shoes at your friend's house or whatever.
D: THE MOTHERFUCKING BOAT SANK!

We all sat quietly... as if contemplating what D had just said (although I was trying to make faces at her to alert her that her hip tattoos were COMPLETELY visible through her shirt. I was giving her my best "PUT SOME MOTHERFUCKING PANTS ON! Mom's gonna KILL you if she sees the tattoos!" look).
Ohhhhhhh.... ok... wait... the boat did what?!

Yes.
The boat her friend (aka Ex-Boyfriend) had rented SANK.
I'd go into detail... but apparently there's some sort of legal issue going on now... so... it's best if I shut the fuck up about that.
What I CAN say was that D was on the boat as it was sinking because the waves were getting crazy at the lake. She was freaking out because she doesn't know how to swim... and one of her ex-coworkers drowned at the lake a few years ago after he fell off a jet-ski.

D says she had her pants and her shoes in her hand, and when it came down to rescue time "that shit was the FIRST thing I let go of! FUCK THAT! I wanted OFF THE BOAT ASAP. Fuck the pants and shoes! FUCK EVERYTHING! I didn't want to drown!"
D: Dude! It was like a fucking action movie! It was... fucking Titanic! You just see the boat sinking and all you wonder is if you stay on or jump ship!
The spot where they abandoned ship was very close to a tiny island of jagged rocks... and I guess D was the last to jump.
It was D and one of her besties who were refusing to jump off... because everybody's belongings were on the boat... as in: everyone's handbags were in the boat, underwater.
The ex convinced Sis to trust him and jump to safety.
Everyone who jumped got bloody (I mean, HELLO! JAGGED ROCKS!), but D's bestie was reluctant to jump. She stayed on that boat until the rangers showed up to rescue the gang.

The boys of the group tried rescuing the bags that were now rapidly sinking to the bottom of the lake... but since all BUT my sister's bag were beach bags, the majority of people's belongings went to hell (the guys gave many of their belongings to the girls to place in their purses. So they lost car/house keys and wallets... fucking terrible). Sister's bag had a zipper, and it's second nature for her to zip her shit... so everything remained in there... and oddly enough, her bag was the only one FLOATING (trust me, her bag is heavy as shit... I don't know how the fuck that shit floated in water). So, sister recovered everything BUT her pants and shoes... but it was all wet.
The thing that broke her heart most? Her phone. That thing died in her hands when the little guy tried coming back to life.

After this harrowing story of survival, Sister was so loving... and dependent.
She wanted me to accompany her everywhere... even the Apple store (D, be without a phone for more than a day? Are you shitting me? IMPOSSIBLE!).
D: After having my life flash before my eyes... I just really want to spend time with you guys, my family. Today was terrifying... all I could think of was fucking Titanic... the part with Rose and Jack... that "never letting go" shit. Oh my God... it was SO TRUE! *Ex* was so... his voice was... so different. He was so... I was the only one he was protecting. Oh man.... oh my God... I think I fell in love with him as he was saving my life... even if my legs are all fucked up and I can't even walk now.

So... I spent the remainder of my time coddling my sister.
I went to the goddamn Apple store in shitty clothes, reeking of TACOS... with these two, embarrassingly large, salsa stains at the corners of my mouth (unbeknownst to me, obviously), for crying out loud.

The shit I do for my sister.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

punishment: dishes

I hate doing the dishes. I fucking detest it.
However, since I'm a girl, Dad has always made it his mission to drill it in D and my head that it's "women's work." When Mom tried getting Rafa in on the dish-washing action, Dad was outraged, and nearly fought with Mom, because "THAT MAKES MEN GAY! THREE WOMEN IN THE HOUSE, AND YOU HAVE THE MAN DO THE DISHES?!"
Rafa doesn't have this mentality... though he doesn't really give a shit about washing dishes, so he tends to just accumulate them in the sink... then the table... then the living room floor. When he does try to wash the dishes, it's possibly the saddest excuse for "cleaning."
Anyway, Rafa wanted to do his dishes today, because he was going to cook some sort of fish... and he knows that when people prepare fish, I'm dying of a heart attack because it grosses me the fuck out (to the point where I'm fainting and barfing all over the house. Me and fish DO NOT get along).
As he stood at the sink, he brought back a memory I seem to have forgotten:

Rafa: Remember that one time you guys blackmailed me into doing the dishes?
Me: No... when the hell was that?
Rafa: It was that one time... when I was on that junky-ass moped. 
Me:... Moped?
Rafa: Yeah, when we'd go to my aunt's house, and they had that old moped... and we played that game where you and *shortCousin* would try and hit me with footballs. I'd try dodging them as I sped away.
Me:... umm... no... not really... ?
Rafa: I was dodging all of them, but at one point, you and *shortCousin* threw it at the same time. I dodged *shortCousin*'s ball, but your throw clocked me right in the head, and I wound up losing control in that one cul-de-sac and I busted my wrist.
Me: Mmmm... I'm kind of remembering.
Rafa: Then you and D were going to tell on me, since Mom had prohibited me from riding the moped in the first place... so I promised I'd do your guy's dishes for a week.
Me: Hahaha! Ok, I remember!
Rafa: I'd be doing the dishes once Dad fell asleep... trying to be as quiet as possible... doing it all with ONE hand, because my other hand was fucked up, and you guys would just stand there, laughing. You fucking little blackmailing rats.

Ah, yes... good times, good times.

fut fut fut

Surprisingly, soccer has been ruling over my world these last few weeks.
First the Gold Cup... then it was followed up by the Women's World Cup. Within a few days, the Copa America joined the party. The u-17 world cup didn't want to be left behind (so in all, three tourneys are currently going on and it's hard to make time to watch them all).

I must say, while I AM a girl, and I DO play sports, this Women's World Cup is incredibly exasperating.
The pace is so slow, their dribbling sucks dick for the most part, and the power of their shots is weak. I feel like ripping my hair out as I watch... you know, so I can keep from falling asleep.
But still... I watch.

The Copa America is pretty much in the same category. Almost all the fucking teams are tying 0-0... except for Mexico. Those fuckers have lost both matches. Now, I could be ashamed and fall victim to the taunts form my South American friends... but see, this team they sent to play the cup is the scrub team. All under the age of 22. So... eh, whatever. Let them get their practice in.

What HAS been exciting has been watching the U-17 kids go at it. Mexico's squad made it to the finals after an insane quarter final match against Germany. Only with young kids will you ever hear of Mexico beating Germany... because teenage boys seem to be the same build at that age (unlike once they reach adulthood. Poor Mexican guys look like babies compared to the towering Europeans).
I used to know which video was the one where you could only see the last goal-- the bicycle kick-- but I'll settle for this one. Though it's weak quality, it DOES show all the goals scored.

Just lovely.

Let's go, little guys!