Friday, September 30, 2011

That's Mah Purse... I don't know you!

My apologies for any past, present, or future sentimental posts.
These weddings that took place in the last week have my feelings all fucked up.
It's like, metaphorically speaking, I dug into my luggage-sized purse in search for my car keys. I turned that motherfucker inside out and some gum wrappers/tampons/loose Tylenols turned up from the very bottom of the purse (did I just call my sentimentality a gum wrapper? A tampon? Sure did. Not because I think it's unimportant, but because I don't think very many people want to hear that part of me... since I do tend to keep it very private. Who I like, why I like them, and how I like them isn't something that will normally come up in conversation, so I tend not to write about it either... and when I do, I'm left feeling kind of stupid/vulnerable).
Sorry about that... but I'm sad to report I can't promise it won't happen again.
SO... if you don't like it... MY BAAAAD!
:)
Now I'm off to the Friday night races.
(I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be action packed with blog-worthy shit... for ONE, I might be helping Musketeer and his wife move out of their apartment. The story on how I volunteered is interesting, but I'd rather not share for fear of being considered a bad friend... which I kind of am, since I don't mind talking shit about Musketeers wife. I only hate because she hates on me first... but if I were a good person, I'd ignore her and stay quiet. But no. I don't do that)

"Te adueñaste de mis pensamientos, de mis sentimientos." See, told you.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

In every way...

The monograms used at Monday's wedding were J and N. They were everywhere.
Their first dance was to "Unforgettable."
Dude sitting next to me was named "Darcy."
A mutual friend of ours was sitting a table away from mine.

Unforgettable, thats what you are. Unforgettable, though near or far. 
Watching the groom, the way he'd gaze into his bride's eyes... it was killing me.
Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me. 
Such sincere... adoration. There's no other way to put it.
Never before has someone been more... 

I've always been cynical saying that sort of shit is impossible... that no one is lucky enough to find someone who will look at one with such... tenderness.
Unforgettable in every way...
But Monday proved me painfully wrong.
and forever more (and forever more)

thats how you'll stay (thats how you'll stay) 
By the end of the night, I was wondering why the hell I wasn't drunk... then I'd look over at Mom and realize Oh yeah, that's why.
thats why darling its incredible
Woman took care of that for me. She was so buzzed, she attempted hooking me up with the bride's cousin... who happens to be a TWICE DIVORCED, single father of two... two separate BabyMommas... and he's only 28.
that someone so unforgettable 
Well, look at that, even Mom has given up on me... Twice divorced, single father of two, huh?... probably really IS the only thing I can find by now...
thinks that I am unforgettable too.

And I accepted this sweet little fact: the only person who can't find someone to stare at her in the same fashion I was currently witnessing... is... me.

I hope he'll... at least... occasionally... think of me...

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Lifetime Moment

First and foremost:
Today is my broski's birthday.
I feel extra emotional this year, since, you know... he's going to be living in the SECOND most dangerous city in the world in a little over a month.
I'm back on that "He might die! I need to let him know how much I love him!" mode.
I missed him a lot today. Had he been anywhere in the vicinity, I would have hugged the shit out of him... possibly even bitten him a few times... 'cause we're barbaric like that.

I'm in a very... loving mood... for my siblings, that is. Overall, these last few days I've felt extremely attached to both my siblings. I just want to squeeze them... and oddly enough, I'm eager to hear their stories-- even if it's just their work complaints.
I think yesterday's wedding has a lot to do with this behavior.

This brings up part two of the post: The wedding.
Good part:
I love the family involved. The girl who got married is the girl I refer to as AnoMALIE05, since we have the same name.
She and her now-hubby are some of the funniest people I know. They're also very welcoming and... well, awesome friends. Their respective families are the same way.
These kids had been dating for... something like seven years? The love and devotion these two have for each other can warm any monster's cold heart. That includes me.
The way he looks at her makes my cynical-ass shut up.
He sincerely worships this girl.
The "Eh..." part:
This was the first occasion some of the MEN of my acquaintance saw me in... about a year?
By "MEN" I mean "Dudes I had a MAAAAAD crush on back in my teens but would only give me a head-bob as sign of acknowledgement."
A good few of them have crushes on my sister (anyone surprised? I hope not, 'cause this is a recurring theme, in case you haven't noticed).
Anyway, as far as they've been concerned, I'm pretty much a dude.
Wellll.....
I'm vindictive, right?
So... I went to this shindig in a tight--but very fucking classy, ok?!-- dress, which had a pencil-skirt thing going on, and a sweetass belt cinching my waist (love my fashion terms? "Fucking classy" "sweetass." Vogue is definitely my bible). I was rocking some five inch Santana heels (that man knows the way to my heart. His style is perfectly synced with mine)... I was six foot one for this thing.
ANYONE who knows me knows I'm conservative AS FUCK in attire... because I'm shy and probably have the soul of some re-encarnated mormon.
But for this occasion, I thought against it.
Fuck this shit. I've worked hell of hard for this body... and I want to show these motherfuckers what they missed out on when they opted for the fucking ghetto, slutty cholas instead of me ten years ago. SUCK MY BALLS, ASSHOLES!
What happened?
The majority didn't recognize me!
It was like a fucking movie, I tell you. Those corny teen movies... the Lifetime movies... those teen dramas where the fat/nerdy/loner chick changes drastically, then all the dudes suddenly start thinking she's awesome.
Ahhhh, come on, guys! How trite can you get?!
Guys were hugging me, kissing me, holding on to my waist as they spoke to me.
I, per usual, was awkward... and I'd bend as far away from them as possible when they'd hold me by the waist... sometimes staring at their hand.
Are you gonna move that or should I move it for you, buddy?
This sort of shit would probably excite a normal girl, or at least make her happy.
But not me. I'm resentful, remember?
I'd find myself getting angry. By the end of the night, when I had finally had enough of these dudes putting their fucking hands on me, I decided to just say goodbye and walk away... leaving a couple of dudes mid-sentence of their "Hey AnoMALIE! What have you been..." as I worked my way to the exit (don't get me wrong, I'd still do the courteous hug-and-kiss thing we Latinos do, I just wouldn't chit-chat and I'd most definitely wriggle out of their grasp).

... the shit I had to do in order to garner other people's acknowledgement as a human being. Marginalized for being "fat"... not up to their fucking standards of "beauty."
Shame on them.
SO yeah, that made me go "Ehhhh..." yesterday (I always thought that moment--"The Lifetime Moment," so to speak-- would be... happier, I guess. Not so rage/tear-inducing).

The bad part:
It was only bad because I allowed myself to get sad.
Seeing so much love... made me sad.
It happens to all of us single ladies.
I couldn't be happier for the married couple, they deserve all the love in the world, but it's still nearly-impossible not to feel sorry for yourself.
The way he stares at her! It's indescribable. It's beautiful. Everybody deserves that...

But don't worry... I ate a box of chocolate-covered "red velvet cupcake balls" (six "balls" per box. They were each smaller than a ping-pong ball... I would have eaten another two boxes, had they been available. WORTH. IT!), I was back to being a complacent bitch two seconds after feeling sorry for myself... because it's impossible to be pissed off after stuffing yourself with CHOCOLATE-COVERED RED VELVET CUPCAKE BALLS!

However... I did wake up with a hideous pain in my gut. I had the balls as well as the linguine to thank for that (it wasn't like I was going to turn down the fucking meal the married couple had paid for. Come on now. It's common courtesy to eat what they serve). I jump-roped like Money Mayweather trying to work that shit off as soon as I crawled out of bed.
And yeah, with that I end the "bad" section of the wedding... as well as this post.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

This one dude

Two of my cousins "eloped" over the weekend. I use the term lightly, since they were already living with their respective concubines (I love that term) for years. No one was surprised.
Tomorrow, I have another wedding to attend (WHO gets married on a Monday?).

This marriage bullshit has brought about my favorite topic with my family and friends:
Hey, AnoMALIE! How's your love life?!

This question has been popping up ALL month.
MGH and Jose asked me at the start of the month.
Jose: So you're not seeing anyone?
Me: (constantly thinking about someone but) Nnnno.
MGH's other friend asked me last week.
Pedro: Are YOU in a relationship?
Me: Nope. Not at all.
Pedro: Good. Relationships are DRAMA.

The girls were all over this question during the bachelorette.
While they were happy to dance with random strangers, I'd immediately end my prancing the moment any dude would approach me.
Is your boyfriend hella possessive or something?
Mine? No. Funny thing is, I'm single as single can be. And I kind of want to keep it that way.
You DO like guys, right? 'cause we can always go to a strip club or something.
Oh, I LOVE guys. I just don't like developing feelings for anyone.
I'm sure a few of them weren't satisfied with that answer... or they're probably thoroughly convinced I'm a weirdo.

But that shit doesn't compare to the pressure from some of my family.
My dad's side is relentless. Mom only has that one sister who continuously badgers me about finding a guy, ANY guy, to settle down with and proceed to procreate.

I could tell them all my reason for not jumping at the first cat-call a dude throws my way. I could tell them why I shy away from the drunk dudes at the club who are overly aggressive and eager to shove their crotch against my lower regions.
I could tell them of the fact that I do like someone. That I've liked someone for a very long time... which tends to be my style. I meet a dude, think he's awesome, never say a word, and just let that memory last in my mind for years.
I could tell them that whenever I meet a new guy, I compare him to this one dude, and he doesn't measure up. The guy either doesn't make me laugh hard enough... or his jokes aren't as sarcastically witty... or he just doesn't like dark comedy. If the guy does make me laugh, then he's usually not as smart as this one guy, or at least not interested in the same subjects. Nothing bums me out more than when I'm the smart one in the relationship-- I love to learn and admire, always have, not the other way around.
I could tell them that when I meet a new guy, I don't feel the blood rush to my face and ears... suddenly turning deaf and only hearing "the ocean" that is the rushing blood in my ears.
The room never turns brighter when a dude walks in... it used to, with this one dude.
I don't zone off into la-la land as I stare at his smile... feel as if my own cheeks are going to burst off my face from grinning so wide as he speaks to me. This one dude had that affect on me, though, so I know it's possible.
I could tell them how there isn't a day that goes by where something doesn't brings this one dude to mind. I don't usually care for what any other guy may be thinking or doing at any given moment, but often--with this one dude-- I'll find myself doing that corny thing where I stare at the moon and wonder if he did that at any point a couple of hours earlier.
I could tell them about this one dude... who was such an awesome dude I once met, but was too shy to speak more than a few phrases to him every other day. He went about his life, never knowing how rad I thought he was, and I went about mine... focused on not fucking up in school (which I still did anyway), thinking some day down the road--once school wouldn't be murdering me-- I'd find someone just like this one dude... that Darcy. But everyone knows there's only one Darcy... I done fucked up, homie.

I could tell them all that, but I just shrug it off and change the subject.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm the weird girl whose quickly working her way to becoming the neighborhood catlady (correction: chinchilla lady, since I'm allergic to cats)Wah, wah, waaaah! Now quit worrying about my future, nosey old ladies and bitchy young girls. I'll be fine.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Attack of the baby spinach

It appears I no longer need sharp objects to cause severe damage to myself:
Happy fingers... all but that sad thumb.
That, ladies and gentlemen, was caused by baby spinach.
Well, it was the packaging of the baby spinach. I was being my usual brute self, trying to remove the plastic, my hand slipped, and next thing I know, my thumb is bleeding profusely (I took that shot after holding a napkin to the stupid finger for about two minutes).
Keep the explosives away from me, guys. God knows what kind of fucking harm I can bring about with that shit.

Great way to start my weekend.

Happy Friday.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

-50

Today, I crossed a special marker.
I'd get into more detail, but that'll just have to wait for a future date... when I'm less embarrassed by it.
What I will say, is that today I passed the -50 mark since I first started with this "I don't care if I die... fuck it. I lost the will to live, so let's just fucking do this shit already" food and exercise experiment.

At first it just started as that-- losing the will to carry on, no longer caring for the joys of... anything, not just food. Only real thing I had was gym time. The endorphins released while working myself to exhaustion were really the only things that brought any sense of... enjoyment in life.

Six months later, and I can say I'm... happy with the choice. It's my new lifestyle, and I dig it... even if I sometimes bark at poor, innocent people who happen to be too slow or loud or... in the same room as I.
If we go back to May of '07, the number actually goes up to -70.

Imagine, this post was actually going to be a gripe about something from yesterday... little did I know Mr. Scale would make me a happy girl instead (but let me clarify I don't really care for numbers. What I'm really working for now is volume... as in, muscle volume... well, tone. I don't want to be a pro-lifter or anything, but I definitely want to be firm... none of that bullshit cardio-queen flimsy, soft body. That shit ain't my style. I prefer the "Don't fuck with me" look... 'cause intimidating dudes is what I do).

I'll be angry some other day.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

TJ

I always complain about being the only D-Family member to NOT have met a celebrity.
Each time I'm showing the city to an out-of-towner, one of his/her first questions is always "What celebrities have you met."
None, man!!

Well, today I had the opportunity to meet a celebrity.
Personally, I don't think he's THAT much of a star, he's just the sweet/badass host of the Challenge shows on MTV. I'm talking about TJ Lavin.

I was doing my usual gym shit, early afternoon. It's my long day, where I lift for an hour, then kickbox for another hour, then finish it up with a half hour of plyos.
I'm tired as fuck by the time plyos come around. Needless to say, I'm not the nicest human by then.

The day had been going relatively smoothly, I hadn't even been hostile to anyone, and then it was time for plyos.
I was comfortably minding my own business in my corner, totally set up. The day's exercises this time around involved setting up a bench, crotch high, so I could proceed to repeatedly jump over it. Now, I'm clumsy as fuck... and jumping isn't my thing, since I've had various accidents of the painful kind when it comes to tripping and eating shit. Being required to do this exercise managed to aggravate me.
I had to do eight sets of the jumping.
As I was on set three, I noticed a chick hustle into the room, and set her shit up... as did her boyfriend.
As they hesitated to pick a spot (this is in a giant room, where there's only five other chicks doing this shit), they made me nervous, because they were standing directly behind me.
I'm like a horse: DON'T STAND BEHIND ME!
I was scared that maybe I'd end up kicking these two people... or worse, that I'd end up tripping on them and hurting myself.
So I stopped, extremely irritated, scoffed, and conveyed my feeling with my body language.
ARE YOU FUCKING GOING TO MOVE OR WHAT?!
The couple decided to set up shop to my right. The dude right next to me.

So the half hour goes by, and I'm calm by the end... because I notice the dude is being extremely nice to everyone. He's very courteous and just... kind. He had won us all over.
The entire time, I had not looked at this guy's face... since I tend to do that with people.
Once the plyos were over, and he walked over to the trainer to thank her for her time, I finally looked at him.
It was TJ.
FUCK. Me.
He then smiled at me, and held the door for me as I walked out.
The whole time, all I wanted to do was bang my head against the concrete wall.

Luckily, I apologized (via twitter... ha), and he forgave (thanks to Mooney, via twitter again).

I'm such an idiot asshole.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Mudslides

I've been having some information-overload days recently.
I have no clue where to begin, so I don't say a thing.

My mind isn't here.
I've also been working hard at undoing the weekend's dietary damage.

But the main story is this:
MGH cheated on his girl while he was in town last week. He fucked numerous girls.
He told her about it yesterday... and a fucking bomb went off.
I was swept in the mudslide... as hard as I tried clinging to stable ground.

When MGH was here at the start of the month, I semi-jokingly pointed out a very skinny white girl who happened to be using the crosswalk as I drove the guys to a restaurant.
Me: Hey, look, MGH! Una guera desabrida! Como las que te gustan! (A bland blondie! Just like you like 'em!)
This was after the drunk scene he had in the car, after Jose mentioned how he didn't like Heather because she was mean to MGH, after MGH said he was single.

This last week, he continued with his... odd treatment of me. I can't really describe it... it was just uncomfortable. It's like... he was trying to... make up for the pain he caused me in the past. He was... taking it all back. Being the guy I WISHED he would have been back in '09. He was just trying really REALLY hard.
But it was like he was trying on a brick wall.
I treated him like a little brother.
I'd catch myself giving him my "pity look." My heartbreak look... the look I gave my TV while watching "Milo and Otis" and "The Bear" when I was a kid (those movies where the fucking shit, but man, did they make me cry!).
All I could really think the whole time was
I'm sorry...

So, as I watched him self-distruct over the week, I did what I've always done when I see him caving to his vice: I walk away.
Instead of arguing with him, or pleading with him to please stop drinking, I just suck my bottom lip, look him in the eye, shake my head, and walk away.
Your choice. It will always be your. choice.

Well, this approach is what got me in the middle of the breakup fight.
Apparently I "didn't do enough to prevent it."
Wha...? Since when am I his mom?
MGH isn't making the accusation, actually he's down in the dumps right now... damn near suicidal... considering himself a worthless piece of shit.
It has also been implied that perhaps it was really just ME he cheated with...
?!? I don't even know where to start... ?

Instead of joining the shit-talking ranks, I've told him the truth:
The shit was already broken. You never would have cheated had your relationship been solid in the first place. SHE belittled YOU first. SHE hurt YOU first. The relationship was dysfunctional. Period. The outcome was not going to be pretty. Cut your losses, apologize--BOTH of you-- and move on.

So... yeah.
That has been my last day or so.

HA! ME have control over MGH's dick... I can't control his fucking mouth, much less his other head... not that I would WANT to. 

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Too old

Eventful weekend? Maybe just a little.

I was drunk up until maybe six hours ago.
That shit was rough... and I definitely said "I'm getting too old for this shit!" more than three times in the last twenty-four hours.

But did I laugh? Oh yes!

I really needed that break... and I'm SO lucky I had no hangover... though I did stuff my face with six pancakes, four slices of french toast, two slices of turkey bacon, and a batch of Cholula-sauce drenched scrambled eggs... at three in the morning. Working that shit off will certainly not be fun.

Why I refuse to drink... or get married

My thoughts while intoxicated:
*Keep your legs closed, AnoMALIE.
*How many calories are in this drink?
*That bitch needs to back the fuck up.
*Look at that predator... creep.
*Seriously... this cranberry juice is like... how many grams of sugar? Plus the vodka... hmmm... I think I'll put it down for now...
*I should probably dance these fucking calories off...
*Great... creepy old guy thinks I'm drunk enough to grind on him... NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, HOMIE!
*I'll just stick to taking pictures for now.
*God, please keep me form being that girl who topples over and flashes the room... I'm not wearing the correct underwear for that scene...
*Wait! I changed underwear before leaving the house. Never mind, God, I'm cool if you let me trip as I get low on the pole.
*How the hell do girls keep their lips looking red? This is my FIFTH TIME reapplying and it still looks like shit.
*Seriously... I'm going to have to run a 5k tomorrow morning in order to burn these fucking calories off!
*A go-go dancer's life must be SO sad...
*Water... I really need water.
*If someone doesn't tell that fat bitch to get out of our fucking designated sofa-area, I'm going to go over there and test out my elbow on her face. NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE! GO AWAY!
*Fuck the cranberry juice, I'm drinking this shit straight. Vodka has no added sugar.
*I wish my legs looked like hers... look at those calves!
*That guy's kinda cute... looks kind of stupid... but eh, whatever... he has nice ears.
*I should NOT have swigged half of that vodka bottle just now.
*WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT WATER?!
*You know what sucks? Being the designated "bag lady." God bless these stow-away tables... whoever invented them is a genius. Thank you, Foundation Room!
*Oooo... this tingly feeling is... awe...some...
*::giggle:: that sounded funny... I think I'll giggle some more.
*Goddamn, I'm great at walking in five inch heels!
*I can't feel my feet.
*Are my feet... bleeding right now? Well... look at that ::giggle::
*Why are you at a club while visibly pregnant, lady? That's just gross. Your vagina is going to be SO FUCKED in a couple of months. But never mind your vagina... you have pretty hair... wait, isn't bleach bad for your unborn child?
*I would SO lick that guy's face right now...
*Please don't let me eat anything... I have to run a 5k tomorrow.
*Pffft! Me? Have a boyfriend? NO!... I'll never have a boyfriend... but you know who was really cute and funny and smart? Darcy. I miss Darcy. I wonder what he's doing... that Darcy and his exciting life. Sometimes I wonder if he was even real, that Darcy. He was really cute... did I say that already? Yeah... and witty, too. Get out of here, you, you're probably not as smart as that dude... so just go over there and chat up the sad go-go dancer chick.
*Never again am I leaving the house sober while wearing heels. THIS IS GREAT!
*I REALLY like pancakes. I want them. Right now.
*Why do black girls love sequins so much? That, or just dresses that show off the crotch. Why don't they just show up naked and show everyone their baby-makers already? I would NEVER say that to a black girl... she'd kick my ass in a heartbeat... well, maybe not HER, I'd tell that one that she should have just not worn a damn thing to the club... damn slut.
*WHAT DOES A GIRL HAVE TO DO IN ORDER TO GET SOME DAMN WATER UP IN HERE?! Show my money maker like those slutty Mayweather groupies? Goddamn, I'm already showing my tits, give me some fucking water!

You're welcome.

Friday, September 16, 2011

An awesome girl

I am fucking OLD, guys.

Well, granted, I did wake up at eight in the morning after going to bed at four in the morning... and I was out of my house since 11 in the morning.
When I don't have decent "chill" time, I tend to grow tired and grumpy.
AND I only had a ("lunch sized") grilled chicken salad in my tummy the entire day... so... I guess I can consider myself lucky for not being in prison after ripping someone's head off or something similarly violent.
Right. Like I'd be able to do that, being so feeble and confused.

All I could really think all day was:
Bro... two years ago, I would have killed to spend this much quality time with you...
I guess I should say I spent the entire day with MGH-- a drunk MGH, mind you, and we all know how much I fucking love dealing with intoxicated men.

I'd find myself admiring MGH... well, more like, looking at him and contemplating.
This time he wasn't being emotional... but he was trying his hardest to be with me at all times.
He'd bump his hand into mine while we walked, he'd be shotgun every single time I drove (back in the day, he'd usually fight not to be next to me), actually, he'd sit next to me anytime I decided to take a seat anywhere.
He also hugged me a lot.
Naturally, I'd quietly sit there and watch him... and think.
It drives me crazy how it took him SO DAMN LONG to realize that MAYBE I was a good choice.
Now that I remember, these last two times he has visited me, he has gone ahead and told his friends, verbatim, "AnoMALIE's an awesome girl..." No sarcasm, no nothing... just... sincere, random shit (though a couple of times he'd kill it by finishing it off with "it's like... she's not even a girl, since girls are so difficult. She's like... a dude." Thanks?).

What makes me most sad, is when I realize--after asking myself repeatedly-- that no matter how sweet he is being to me, or how clingy, or close, or whatever... I feel nothing. Nothing.
No desire to return the touch, no butterflies, no excitement, no electricity, no disgust, no irritation... just... nothing. Well, it's more like... what I feel when my bro bumps into me. Apathy.
Goodness, these fucking shoes are way too big on me, flipping everywhere... need more room, MGH? Here buddy ...How could anyone wear that fucking hat? Tourists.
And when I'd look at him, whether it was as we sat at the sports bar or as we waited in line at the store, all I could do was contemplate how much I enjoyed this activity not so long ago. Anything involving him would get my heart skipping a beat. And now, I just... couldn't feel anything other than tired and sleepy.

And I still feel tired and sleepy.
Enough contemplating.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

On your own

Some people are just meant to be alone (yup, sorry, emo post).

It's crazy, because even when I try to stick with someone, to be close to them, I get pushed away.
I say this because of my sister.
I honestly don't know how...  to express how I feel about that kid.
She uses me when she's alone. Because she feels stupid when she has to face anything by herself.
She isn't meant to be alone.

If I ever... for whatever reason... you know, maybe, just maybe, I feel a little... tired of being so alone... I'll ask her if she wants to do anything with me... I have to brace myself for her cold rejection.
It's like... it really irritates her. She'll scoff... then ask me why I can't do anything on my own.
Homie, I've been doing it on my own since... Rafa entered kindergarten.
She'll hesitate if we're invited to the same event... which, if it's a pretty cool event, I'll act uninterested and encourage her to go on her own.
The same would happen back when we were little. She was the popular cute kid, and she'd go off and do her own thing with the girls at the party... usually running away from me before I had a chance to catch up, so I'd have to rely on the kindness of the boys... who'd let me play whatever the fuck they were playing... or they'd at least let me watch (hence where I learned to be an observer. Never really participating in anything. I just watch everything pass me by).

This behavior has reemerged as of recently... I really don't understand why.
She won't want to do anything with me, but will go off with some friend a couple of days later and do whatever it is I was interested in.
It's an ugly feeling.

This came up because today, since MGH is in town, he invited us to hang out with his friends. I wanted to go... which is a little out of character, but it's just me, trying to get out of my depressed funk. Anyway, I wanted to go, but didn't want to be the only chick there--especially when dealing with MGH (I already spent this afternoon hanging out with him... just us two... and that was interesting to say the least)-- so I asked her to please join me. She brushed it off. So... I'm... pretty much home alone, typing this shit up.

Onto what upset me most today: D has planned to spend her birthday in DC with our bro.
Mom and Dad want to send me out there. They think it'd be cute to have all three of us together.
I was excited, because I had never seen Dad so insistent in me going somewhere.
I brought it up to her... and she became angry.
WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING BY MYSELF?! It's a four days weekend with my brother!
...
And that quickly shut me up. I didn't even argue.
When someone gets that perturbed over me being in their company, I'm not going to force myself.
It only hurts because... I mean... if my siblings can't stand me... how the fuck can I expect strangers to want to put up with me?
I'm sorry I offend you so much? I'm sorry to burden you?
What else can I say?

And that's why I've learned to embrace solitude... because it's... pretty much expected of me.
(And yes, it happened again. The cute kid chose her. Hm. I don't understand why I get surprised or upset when it happens. I SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW)

I'm not always going to be here, you know...

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Thunder, lightning, frightening

I'm really trying to stick to not posting while upset/sad. No one wants to read it, and I don't usually want to leave a lasting reminder of something that disturbing.
I'm also lacking inspiration. It's probably the rainy weather... as beautiful as it may be with it's gorgeous lightning storms I hadn't seen in YEARS, but it makes me want to stay away from my laptop.
Then there's the deja-vu. I've had some massive deja-vu moments recently. They leave me confused (as well as concerned over my neurons dying on me... I forgot who once mentioned that--probably as a joke-- and now all I think when I experience deja-vu is "I'M DYING!"), so when I'm going to update, I think I've already written about the subject or at least mentioned it. No need in being redundant, right? So then I don't write a damn thing.

But relax... it's not like you're missing much, just people being jerks to me, me being overly-aggressive and menacing (I'm slowly-- but surely-- turning into a rabid dog), me dealing with MGH and his deteriorating relationship (these kids... they have such intense fights on Facebook. I've opted to stay off that shit because there's always some sort of catty bullshit going on between those two... whether it's on each other's page, or that of one of their friends that happens to be my mutual friend), and me having very vivid dreams of the Willy Wonka variety (floating on fluffy cupcakes, more inventing of potentially epic desserts, standing in a completely edible room, etc etc).

There will most likely be interesting posts over the weekend, or after the weekend, since I have MGH staying over the house come Friday (something that irritated me because he's not coming alone, but instead bringing a DIFFERENT friend to stay over. Sure, this last time his friend was a good, cute kid, but my house isn't a fucking hotel. My doors are always open to MY friends, but come on! Don't abusing of the privilege). I also have a bachelorette party on Saturday... and we all know how I fare at bachelorette parties.

Good times ahead.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Pinche Caldito Chingon

I've had a rough couple of days... where I've fought the urge to put a CERTAIN IMBECILE'S HEAD through a wall.
But...
instead of going into details, I'll just ignore it... because I still tense up when I think about it... and I give myself a headache... and I rarely suffer from headaches, so I'll just take it easy.

I've painted in order to cool off... which has helped. I have Bob Ross to thank for that, since it appears drawing clouds is what works best for me (repetitive stroke motions of the brush will help anyone, trust me).
Then I also had Rafa text me yesterday... which made me smile.
He wanted me to write up my tomato soup recipe and email it to him, since he had forgotten how to prepare it from the time I gave him my "class" while visiting him last month.
Rafa: Yo, can you send me the recipe?
Me: All right. I'll do that later tonight. I'm with la martiux right now.
Rafa: I plan to make this in like the next two hours though
Me: Ok, i'll try typing it up right now and email it in a bit
Hour later.
Me: Ok, sent.
Rafa: Thanks. I see you didn't include mushrooms. When would you add them?
Me: My bad. Add them w/the onions and jalapeños. D says "ANSWER MY QUESTION!"
Rafa: Wait, add while boiling chicken or afterwards. Tell D to wait! I'm woking out, considering I was drinking the last two nights.
Me: Afterward. When you already have the tomato sauce cooking.
Two hours later.
Rafa: Pinche caldito chingon!
Me: Eiiiii! It came out all right? Niice!
Rafa: Puro Pinche Prejidio a la chingada!
Me: P'oj jiii! Still drunk I assume? JK
Rafa: Nah, foo. Just glad I finally finished the Shit!
Me: LMAO!

I can always count on my brother's ridiculous (Hometown-invented) vocabulary to have a giggle squeezed out of me.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Starts with AN ends in GRY

I'm angry. So angry. So so angry. So So SO angry.
Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry.

People always complain about their job... but they rarely put themselves in the owner's shoes.
Like my godfather said:
The funny thing about firing people is: they ALL think they were THE BEST at their job.

My cousin's a fucking delusional loser... and I'm going to fucking knock that piece of shit out the next time I see him.
Fucking imbecile.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Past 50

Yo, AnoMALIE, wasn't today your mom's 51st birthday?
Why yes, yes it was.

How'd you celebrate it?
By going to a funeral.

...
I know how to party, baby.

My favorite part of funerals?
When the shit-talking perverted-ass men standing outside the funeral parlor check you out as you're walking into the funeral parlor... stare down your cleavage as you stand in front of them... then check your ass when you walk past them.
OF COURSE!
It's the only reason why I even go to funerals, if I didn't make it obvious enough.

...
That right there, was me, being SARCASTIC.
But I DID spend my Friday night at a funeral, dealing with that shit. On my mom's birthday.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Just keep busy

One can always depend on a best friend to help put shit in perspective.
Last night, Kelley's response to what's going on with this mourning issue:

Ignore it. Honestly, you gave them support.. and it's apparent they don't care. They probably have much greater issues than the passing of a loved one.. like you said.. those kids no longer have a father.. why wouldn't they concentrate on that.

When my mom died I didn't expect anyone to stop what they were doing, just because. The one truth in life is.. everything dies sometime. Hell.. my dad didn't want my brother or me to do that because.. life goes on for the living. Tragedies and sad times happen.
As a relative or friend you give your condolences.. and it's up to the primary mourner to move forward.

Whatever you do, do not feel bad.
if you ever need to talk anytime or hangout (late at night.. or in the morning.. silly work) I am ALWAYS here. You do not need this. DO NOT feel bad.


That, my friends, is why she's my bestie.
Back when her mom passed away, we were high school seniors.
I had turned 18 two days before, Kelley was 17.

When I called Kelley HOURS after her mom had passed away, I was being a cunt, totally concerned with calculus homework (I was unaware of what had happened, since I had just spent my weekend at Disneyland).
Well, I wasn't TOO much of a cunt, I was just exasperated with the homework and I turn into a hardheaded mean bitch when I'm exasperated.
However, I noticed her voice was different, and I asked what was wrong.
Her response is something I'll never forget:
My mom died...
I asked what I could do. What I should do.
Just keep me busy. I need to keep busy.
And so, there we were... on the phone... crying (I was sobbing more than she was, because I'm a weakass)... but beasting our calculus homework (I still remember it was a project where you had to calculate interest rates on your home's mortgage, among other things. My house has no mortgage rate... so this was being the worst pain in my fucking ass. It still makes me angry to think about it).
She was trying to keep ME from crying.

I can't imagine living my life without my mom. While my mom was more militant than maternal in the way she raised me, thinking of ever not having her here drives me crazy.
A girl needs her mom, I don't care what anyone says in regards to that.
I doubt anything can be as painful as the loss of your mother... (not considering the loss of a child, but for a 17 year old high school girl? There can't be a pain worse than having your mom pass away) and here my best friend was going through it... AND she was trying to keep everyone else from feeling bad about it.
Her mom. Ok. Not her grandmother. Not her sister-in-law. Not her cousin. Her mother.
She continued living and encouraged others to do so.

Goes to show why I love the people I CHOOSE to interact with, as opposed to those whose circle I was BORN INTO.

However, how Kelley advised, I'm not going to feel bad (about pissing these people off OR about them talking shit about me).
I'm not even going to hold a grudge against these people. I understand a loss makes people's judgement a little... clouded. Grief fucks with people in different ways... I suppose this time around, I just have to deal with being vilified.


Thanks for the words, Kelley. You rock :) 

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Rulers

It's no secret that I've been miserable for a very prolonged time.
I try, very, VERY hard to find a reason to smile every single day... to appear normal every single day.
There will be days where I'll find myself laughing until tears stream down my face... and I'll have days when getting out of bed will be a struggle.

While I can be miserable and contemplating death for days on end, I will be working my hardest to keep my friends and family from feeling the same way.
I will always try to make them smile.
Nothing makes me happier than seeing my loved ones smile.
***
This problem has been killing me since Saturday.
Remember the friend/cousin whose husband died Saturday morning? Well, the guy was also my distant cousin.
I visited his widow after church that same day. I stayed at her house for two hours.
I wanted to let her know, as well as the rest of her family, that I was with them in such a difficult time.
I left because I had promised MGH I was going to be home... and because the sorrow in that house was killing me.
He left behind three kids. A 13 year old, a four year old, and a two year old.
The 13 year old was trying his best to put on a brave face... even cracking a few jokes... but all you had to do was stare at his swollen red eyes to tell that he had been crying for hours.
The four year old was missing. She had been taken to her cousin's house, to keep her from witnessing the depressing scene that would be her home.
The two year old... that one... he was breaking my heart. He would walk around the living room, clearly confused and somewhat horrified over all the strangers in the house. Once he'd forget about the strangers, he'd continue with his search. He was looking for his dad... since he was the one responsible for giving him his nightly bath, giving him his nite-nite bottle, and putting him to bed. Each time I'd see the little boy rub at his eyes... a new crack would form in my heart.

I left the house and continued with my day by doing the whole Strip thing with MGH and J.
OF COURSE this later came to bite me in the ass:
Yesterday I had an altercation with the mourning family... why? Because I went out Saturday night with the boys... you know, right after having dropped by the mourner's house.

Look, there's NO DOUBT my heart is broken for you guys. The fact that a 40 year old man died in his sleep... was discovered by his horrified wife... and left behind three young children, is devastating.
HOWEVER, people die. EVERY DAY. We've all had to deal with it.
To think I should hold mourning... by not going out... or dressing in solid black all day... or not listen to music... is fucking selfish and delusional.
Did I ever expect that out of you, when each and every one of my grandparents died on me?
No.
Never.
Did I criticize you because you continued with your fucking life after hearing some family member of mine passed away?
No. Never.
You're not the first person to lose a loved one, and you're definitely not going to be the last.
The ruler with which you measure others will be the same one with which YOU will be measured. Remember THAT.

I don't understand why people are so fucking hell-bent in having others be miserable.
Honest to God, I feel terrible for the family. I can't get the tragedy out of my head.
I DID show empathy by visiting the family the day of the tragedy... that's FAR MORE than they ever did for me. I was one hundred percent sincere in my sentiment of sorrow for the family... I don't understand how that shit can be misconstrued into me being a morbid hypocrite.

Needless to say, I'm very frazzled... downright pissed off, because of the mourners' outrage and shit-talk.
You'd think they'd be more concerned with how these poor kids are going to deal with the death of their father, instead of being obsessed with what the fuck I do on my weekends (AS IF I DO anything in the first place. I go out once in a blue moon).

I just can't win... ever.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Cinco escenas con mi abuela

I. 
It was 1991, I was in first grade.
My elementary school had a day dedicated to grandparents, and students were encouraged to bring their grandparents to class to celebrate. The day would always land very close to Thanksgiving.
My grandparents were always in Mexico... and they were unusually old when compared to the grandparents of the other kids.
But this year... this year my mom's mom was in town. Mi abuelita Herminia had been in town for months, and this time, she agreed to accompany me to school.
I remember holding her hand and walking her to the cafeteria in the morning. We had breakfast-- scrambled eggs with ketchup.
I then took her to class with me... and we traced each other's hands onto a blank sheet of paper... and then decorated the doodles with glitter and feathers. Our outlined hands turned into colorful turkeys that looked more like peacocks.
For that day, my little cotton-haired grandma was my best friend.

II.
It was 1994. My third grade year was coming to an end.
Mi abuelita Herminia had been in town for many, MANY months.
D and I had to share our sofa bed with grandma... and we were quite frustrated with the sleeping arrangement by now.
We would bitch whenever we had to go shopping with grandma, because she was such an incredibly slow walker.
By now, I was her height, about 4'8".
Mom loved going to the outdoor swap meet. I HATED it, but this day, she had sworn she was going to buy me a bicycle.
I picked out a hot pink bicycle, but Mom wasn't happy with the price. I stomped away, throwing one of the few public fits I ever threw in my life, and made my way to the exit doors of the stupid swap meet.
I remember Mom chasing after me, then stopping to wait for her mom who was slowly making her way to us.
SHE'S ALWAYS SO FUCKING SLOW!!
A second time I turned back to see if I was still being followed, I saw my very angry Mom still trying to catch up to me. I looked past her, to look for my freaking slow grandma. Just as my eye caught the sight of my small, sluggish grandmother, I saw as another shopper rammed his shopping cart into her left hip. I turned around... and laughed out loud.
Once I found Mom's Jeep in the parking lot, I waited... still laughing at the thought of my grandmother getting hit by a shopping cart. I'd stop laughing once I'd think of Mom's assbeating she was going to hand me once we'd got home.
I waited for a long time, and just as I was going to walk back to see where the hell these women had gotten lost, I saw Mom walking towards me with my pink bike. Grandma still walking slow.
While Mom was loading the bike into the back of the Jeep, I was jumping up and down with glee.
Mom: Don't look at me, brat, thank your grandmother.
Me: ???
Me: If it were up to me, I wouldn't have gotten you shit. It was your grandma who felt sorry for you and spent her money on this damn bike.
The whole ride home, I sat quietly in my seat... fighting the urge to cry my eyes out.

III.
It was summer time, 1999. I was freshly out of eighth grade.
Puberty was being CRUEL to me. I was also learning how to deal with PMS mood swings.
Everyone in Hometown had taken to calling me a fatass. The boys who had been crazy about me the previous year, where suddenly making fun of me every chance they'd get... publicly ridiculing me turned into their favorite sport.
Instead of going out with the rest of the girls and endure the verbal abuse from my peers, I'd opt for staying at grandma's house... listening to music as I'd sit on the porch, staring at the horses in the backyard.
I wouldn't talk... and when I did, it would be in English.
I wouldn't eat... and if I did, it'd be at my house, no one else's.
Grandma would watch me, alone and quiet, and she was convinced I was like that because of her.
Grandma: This little girl doesn't speak Spanish... she's ashamed of being Mexican... she's ashamed of me.
Mom: Nah, she's just... shy and quiet.
Grandma: And she doesn't eat my food... because she's repulsed by my food. I gross her out.

I'd just act deaf... lost in my own world of pain, not caring to put her out of her mistake... as much as I knew it was hurting her.

IV.
Winter Break, 2006.
I was nearly done with college, so my spirits were relatively high.
Mom, Dad, Rafa, and I went to Mexico for Christmas break, and we dropped by Grandma's house to say hello.
As we sat in the porch, talking to Grandpa about the happenings since the summer, I looked over to Grandma and caught her grimacing as she grabbed her left thigh.
Me: Are you ok, Abuelita?
Grandma just nodded and left to the bathroom.
She's lying...
In those two weeks, I caught her a few times, quietly dealing with pains.
I also once caught her glaring at her pet cat. The cat was sitting by her feet, and I watched as grandma stared down the cat with a scowl on her face, and proceeded to step on the cat's tail. I saw as she increased the pressure... and as the cat writhed on the floor, in pain, clawing at her foot, and Grandma just increased the pressure to the maximum. The cat began to howl, and Grandma finally released the cat after Mom asked what was going on.
Grandma looked up at me... and I did not say a word as we maintained eye-contact.

When it was time to leave back to Vegas, we dropped by Grandma's house to say our goodbyes. Grandpa opened the door, told us Grandma had already gone to bed.
We walked into her room, and saw her frail little body under her covers.
Mom: Mom? We're leaving...
Grandma: Oh... you are?
Mom: Can you give us your blessing?
As Grandma blessed Mom, Grandpa spoke to Dad, Rafa and me.
Grandpa: She's not doing ok...
Dad: Take care of her for us, will you?
Grandpa: I will. She took care of me all these years... it's my turn now.
I remember looking into the dark room, seeing Grandma propped in her bed, holding her black rosary in one hand, and Mom's hand in the other. Her eyes glistening with tears.
I swore that was going to be the last time I was going to see my grandma... but four month later, it was actually my grandfather who would say goodbye to this world.

V.
Summer, 2007. The first summer without my grandpa.
Rafa was driving Mom, D, and me to Hometown.
Mom dropped a bomb as we drove the long stretch between Chihuahua and Parral.
Tu abuelita se va a quedar con nosotros. (Your grandma is staying with us)
WHAT?! FUCK THAT!!
I threw a terrible cussing tantrum as I sat in the co-pilot seat of the truck.
I bitched. And bitched. AND BITCHED.
THIS IS A VACATION! I'm not going to take care of a SENILE OLD WOMAN!!
I spent the months ignoring my grandma, trying my best not to be in the same room as she.
I remember my ex's mom invited us to dinner at her place... she invited all of us.
When we told Grandma, she refused to join us.
It wasn't until Mom pried that she finally told us why.
Grandma: Es que... me da "gue-guenza"
She was embarrassed.
My stomach dropped.
We reassured her everything would be ok, and that she had to join us. After a little gentle nudging, Grandma agreed.
The day of the dinner party, we were all sitting at the my ex's mom's dinner table... and mid-meal, we heard a noise.
Grandma had wet herself.
Her head was bowed... and she stopped eating.
My ex's mom cleaned up, and tried making my grandma feel less embarrassed... but Grandma just walked out the front door.
Grandma didn't visit a single person after that.
***

I cherish all the good memories I shared with my wonderfully patient grandmother... yet somehow, it's still the moments I was SO mean to her that adhere to my mind the strongest.
Today marks two years since that awful Sunday morning where we received the phone call telling us her heart had finally stopped beating... and in my heart I still feel like it was just yesterday.
Two years later, I still think I'll find her humming "Cruz de Olvido" in her garden. That I'll be able to walk outside and see her grabbing apricots from her favorite tree, as she does (what I can best describe as) acrobatics on her wooden ladder.
She's still on that never-ending trip... where I'll someday, hopefully, join her.
Descanse en paz, mi viejita.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Meth

I was in complete awe and disbelief while sitting next to the beer pong tables on Saturday night.
No, the game doesn't intrigue me that much... the players do.
As MGH and Jose punished their opponents, I was busy staring at the kids in the next table.
talking strategy while racking shit up
To be exact, the kid in profile-- behind MGH and Jose-- was the person of interest. The kid in black.
I've known that guy since he was about eight years old. I think he's around four years my junior.
He used to be a model, as well as an accomplished baseball player (with a scholarship to USC and Stanford), back when he was in high school.
He CHOSE UNLV.
???
I had a class with him my final semester of college, which was his first, and I'd talk to him once in a while.
When I saw him at O'Shea's on Saturday, I didn't recognize him. D was the one who pointed him out, and my jaw dropped.
My heart broke when I saw his current physique... as well as his group of friends-- clear meth users.
Way to fuck up a future.
For hours, I just sat there watching the kid... unable to look away... sometimes fighting back tears. That shit isn't cool.
What would get me out of the sad-stare-trance would be MGH or J walking over and doing some horny drunk-dude shit... like trying to straddle me or squeezing my quads.
***
MGH was too trashed to go home. J was also pretty drunk, so they had to stay with us, sleeping in Rafa's room.
MGH was the unruly, emotional drunk, while J was the chill, narcoleptic drunk.
MGH didn't want to be taken home... and took a piss next to our mailbox once we took him out of the vehicle... and we spent five minutes trying to convince him to put his dick back in his pants. He momentarily walked around all over my driveway with his pants down at his ankles.
Classy.
J was leaned up against my car, where he'd go in and out of consciousness. When awake, he'd compliment the lights... professing his love for Vegas and its beauty.
J: Las Vegas is soooo beautiful ::pleased smile:: (times this by twenty)

The boys woke up at two in the afternoon, having no recollection of the night's adventures.
D had to hang out with her friend, so I was left on my own to entertain the two young men. However, since I'm not very girly, I handled my business like a champ, enjoying the day for the vast part of it. I also took great joy in recounting the previous night's antics... which the boys weren't too stoked about.
The price of getting shitfaced, homie.

Hanging out with the guys for so long, I realized they were BOTH suffering from broken hearts.
J was flirting heavily... even asking me how I felt about dating long distance.
WHOA, bro! Slow down. I met you yesterday.
While I DID find him squeeze-ably adorable (the kid's jawline is KILLER:
 THAT isn't "adorable," it's straight up HOT... he also had some gorgeous pouty lips...), I just couldn't reciprocate. 

One day, one day I'll be ok with it.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Not so sweet revenge


Ok, now that the dust has settled and I've had over four hours of sleep, I get to elaborate on the happenings of last night.

MGH is Fucked. Up.
Well, WAS... I'm sure he's doing better now. 

After coming home from visiting the newly-widowed friend/cousin, I came home and let MGH know I was home and he could drop by whenever he wanted.
He showed up with his friend who brought him to town (a really cute kid, btw. Who is actually really smart. Even when intoxicated, his vocabulary does not take a beating. "I personally hated Tao... very presumptuous" Wait... did he just say "presumptuous?" Holy shit, son, I think I love you!).
They had no plan as to what they were going to do, so we just suggested we take it to the strip and go from there.
The friend, whose name is--surprise, surprise-- Jose (yet I found myself calling him "Pedro" the whole night... and I was sober) remembered O'Sheas and the beer pong... so we went.
Of course, we couldn't hit up the place without getting some yardlongs, so we did that first.
The boys played fours games, four games they won. By the fourth, however, MGH was fucked. up. He couldn't even stand straight.
Getting him back to the car was a fucking hassle. He kept approaching EVERY SINGLE GIRL on the strip... kept trying to hook up.
God, I'd hate to be Heather.
He'd also call black people "Nigger" each time we'd walk past one. I was fearing for my life on that one.

It took us about an hour to get him from O'Sheas and in the damn car. 
I was FURIOUS. 
Extremely uncooperative, annoying drunks are the fucking bane of my existence... especially when they start digging into MY time.
Once IN the car, I kept fighting with him over the seatbelt. I'd try to keep it on him, and once that annoyed HIM, he went ahead and kept undoing MINE.
GOD DAMN IT! I HAAAAATE DRUNK PEOPLE!
After the seatbelt struggle, he passed out on the car door, with the window down.
He was sweating profusely.
When he'd wake up from his blackouts, he'd cry.
What. The. Fuck?
***
MGH spent his more-lucid beer-pong moments walking over to me and squeezing my biceps... or sitting on my lap.
His line of the night was:
I don't want to sound disrespectful... or like... offend you... but... you look... you look so... fit... like, really, REALLY fit... like... you used to be like this (puts his arms on the side of me as if he's hugging a larger person) and now you're... (squeezes my arms together). I don't want to offend you... but you look... really, really good. You've changed a lot. A LOT!
I had to assure him repeatedly that he wasn't offending me. I also had to thank him, because that seemed to shut him up for longer periods of time.

In the parking lot, he apologized for pissing me off.
Me: What would Heather think of you flirting and touching such fucking ugly girls?
MGH: I'm single.
Me: Right now you are, because she's back home and you're here.
MGH: NO. I'm. Single. Right Jose? Tell them!
Jose: Yeah. He's single.
Me: When did this happen?
Jose: Like... four days ago?
Me: What? Why?
MGH: She's just... it's girl stuff. She left me. She dumped me.
Jose: I don't understand why you were with that girl. I fucking HATE Heather. She's so fucking mean to you. I'm glad it's over.
MGH: Yeah. Fucking girl stuff. Her excuses were fucking girl stuff. And she left me. I'm single. I've been single for days.

The cat was out of the bag.
Everything was making sense-- his flirting with every fucking girl in our path, his constant hugging of me... the physical contact he insisted on having with me. His Vegas trip.
It was... pathetically sad.
I felt terrible for him... but there's no way in hell I'd ever... "help" cheer him up.
Our time is gone.
Instead of feeling nothing for him, as has been the case the last few times I've seen him, this time I was feeling repulsed. Not that he was making me feel sick... but I just didn't want to be in contact. I didn't want that type of attention from him.
This will never work, son. Let it go. 

I also felt... well... a little angry. It's that damn resentful trait of mine.
I say we're cool... and we are, for the most part. But the back of my mind will NEVER forgive a person who was so... vain... and didn't give me a chance based solely on my appearance. 
They didn't care how kind I was, how cool I was, or how funny I was... how willing to do anything for them I might have been... how I damn near worshipped them. They threw it all aside because I didn't match their mold for physical attractiveness... and that is something I NEVER forget. It'll eat away at me for life.
Ah, yes, So-and-So... wasted three years of my life trying to convince him I was a good catch... that he wouldn't regret choosing me... but he kicked me to the curb because I was fat. Screw my good deeds, my kindness... how awesome I made him feel... he thought that was useless and went for the shallow bullshit in a girl. Ah. What a shame. Bummer dude. Good luck with that, 'cause I'm sure you'll be hot for life.
I promise you, no matter how much I ever liked you, or how desperate I may have been for your attention... the moment you discard me, is the moment you discard me FOR GOOD. I'll be your friend... but I will NEVER, EVER... EVER take you back in the "romantic" sense. EVER. I won't even let you know what my hand in yours feels like. 
My tears are that valuable to me. Your disdain is that meaningful to me.
Lick my ass all you want, but my resentment and anger will never allow me to let you back into my heart. 
That, and I'm vindictive. If anything drives me in this life, it's spite. I want to see you hurt. I want to prove you wrong. Call it cruel... call it vicious... I don't care. Life made me that way... and I'm down to give anyone a dose of that medicine the moment they hurt me.
***
As I sat in the backseat next to MGH, watching him drool and wipe away giant tears from his eyes... I didn't feel like "justice" had been served. A year and a half ago, I would cry myself to sleep, swearing this new bitch of his would hurt him... and that I'd enjoy every single fucking minute of his pain.
But I sat next to him, making sure he was safe and comfortable... rubbing his back like you do a newborn, constantly reassuring him life would be ok. 
And that he was a great guy.

My heart would drop that much deeper into my stomach the moment I'd see another one of his giant tear drops fall into the palm of his opened hand.
This isn't fun anymore.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Action

I hate "action" dreams. I've stated this before.
My brain seems to be particularly fond of giving me these "action-packed" dreams... that I'd consider more like nightmares.
Last night, I woke up a little past 11PM after freaking myself out of sleep. I dreamt I had to collect a bunch of rare gems from my old high school (bastard Durango... purple and gold every-fucking-where), which was now an abandoned, old building.
Sounds like fun, but there was a catch: the building was going to implode.
WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY?!
And I was locked inside until I collected ALL of the fucking rubies/emeralds/etc.
Things only got worse once I realized the school was ten stories tall... and that my siblings were also scattered within the building... enjoying cocktails, unaware of the situation.
Bro: Heyyyy! Free drinks ALL night!!
Me: ... uh... oh... hmm.. well... gotta go.
No matter how desperately I asked them to help me find the gems, they were zombies... drinking away.

I woke up swearing to never play a fucking video game before going to bed.

Once I was able to go to sleep and enjoy less intense dreams, I was once again startled the fuck awake by a phone call at 6:30AM.
MGH.
I don't know about you, but when someone calls me so fucking early in the day, I suspect someone's dead... someone BETTER be dead.

The call was just MGH, letting me know he was driving to Vegas at that exact instant.
You fucking retard! You scared me!
He wants to hang out all weekend.
After cussing him out for a second, I agreed... because I participate in fucked up relationships like that.

After hanging up, I saw I had two texts from my mom's sister.
Turns out the husband of one of my friends had passed away in his sleep.

Any hopes of falling back to sleep evaporated after that newsflash.

Friday, September 2, 2011

See Mom, See

While in Chicago, I hung out with my goddaughter/godsister practically 24/7. My godbrother Diego, while he was home the majority of the time, I only saw on my first and last days there (well, there were some brief moments where we'd bump into each other in the kitchen, but our exchange would usually be this: Diego: Eaten a peach yet? Me: No. Diego: Good. Know what I found in mine (X) days ago? A MAGGOT! Me: Nice).
Diego would sleep until about three in the afternoon. For the most part, I wouldn't be home by three... there'd be some sunlight to take advantage of. When I'd come home, he'd be out playing golf with his friends (such typical, rich suburb kids) or out drinking with the same friends (a more normal pass-time for 22 year olds, I'd say).
When I finally had my turn to sit down and chat with him, I realized he was... well, depressed.
He graduated in May with a Biology degree... and he too took the MCAT... and he applied to various Medical Schools.
Goes to show how much I knew about him... last time I checked, he was majoring in Chemistry and looking into pharmacy school.
Anyway, I guess he was rejected by all of them.

Initially, he didn't tell me all that. He just told me he was "taking a semester off."
It wasn't until I mentioned one of my friends, currently in her second year of medical school at UCSF, that he spoke up.
Diego: How old is she?
Me: 28.
Diego: SEE, MOM! SEE! Her friend is TWENTY-EIGHT, and barely on her second year of medical school!
Me: Yeah, she tried for years to get into school. She took her MCAT about three times. I remember I scored higher on my first time than she did on her first or second time.
Diego: SEE, MOM! SEE! I HAVE LOTS OF TIME!
What the fuck? What's with the commotion?
Diego: What did she do to get in? Like, lots of volunteer work, I imagine.
Me: Yeah. She volunteered in hospitals a lot... and did a lot of research work for one of her coolest professors. Upped her MCAT score on her third try. She just kept trying.

And that's where he came clean about the med school rejections. He doesn't admit it, but he's pretty fucking depressed.
While I wasn't devastated about not going to med school, since it was a decision I took WAY before even taking the damn MCAT, it was still a VERY difficult decision. It DID depress me. I've never been married, much less divorced, but I imagine the feeling is quite similar. Spend your entire fucking life prepping for medical school, taking class after class, killing it--as well as killing YOURSELF... and then, once it's go-time... you come to realize you never loved that subject from the get go. It's just something you could never commit to... the love isn't there.
However, with him... he seems pretty tore up about it... since his pops is a physician. I'm sure he has it much more difficult than I do. Constantly getting nagged about not getting into the science field. Who can blame him for wanting to sleep his life away? I was doing that up until a few months ago (and I still have days like that).

It upset me to see him so sad. I tried cheering him up... almost forcing him to join us at Six Flags... but after he raised his voice at me, I decided not to push the subject. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.
I just tried giving him advice. I told him not to wait too long... and not to sleep until two in the fucking afternoon. Find something you love, and stick to it. Fuck what anyone will say about you... or what they think of your choice. And if you're still stuck on going to med school... well, try, try again.
Then I sided with him when telling his dad how difficult finding a science-related job really is... though I don't know how hard the job market in Chicago might be... but I'm sure it's not as difficult as down here in Nevada. But still... I'll say the sky's green in order to make someone smile, if I have to... because I wish someone would try that hard to get a smile out of me.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Sick orange glow

September.
Oh, that lovely month. 
I've had a bad history with this month... however, something tells me this year it won't be so terrible.

I had intended to update yesterday, and even Tuesday night, since my flight was actually early, and I was back in the city by 11:30pm. However, once home, there were arguments with D... and I just decided to go to bed.
Yesterday there was a ton of housekeeping bullshit to catch up on, as well as getting back to the swing of GymTime. I also had the imbecilic idea of uploading my Chicago/DC photos to FB (procedure I did not finish until earlier today. I didn't take my camera, so I suffered through vacation time with only Mom's weakass cutesy, piece of shit "coolpix" camera, with its shit shutter speed and ultra low mega pixels. HORRIFYING to deal with... especially when I wanted to edit them. A motherfucking nightmare. Fucking Nikon BASURA). I was dead by midnight.
So, updating had to wait until today.

I'm still in that DC mindset, still on their time zone.
I still feel like I can walk outside and enter any random museum to get lost in for hours.
My last day there, I left Rafa's place at 8:30AM. I walked the Mall from the capitol building to the Lincoln Memorial. No one was out, besides a couple of joggers. 
The day was sunny, without a cloud in the sky, but a slight breeze in the air.
It was perfect.

Mom was hurting... but only towards the end.
Really stresses the fact that traveling with someone with a lower health level than yourself is a huge NO NO.
Still, walking with Mom is nice. We're not arguing or anything. Just chit chatting like a mom and daughter... sometimes being silly.

We checked out other outdoor memorials, up until 10AM, when the museums finally opened.
I had the time to hit up two Smithsonian museums (American history and natural history), the national gallery of art's sculpture museum, and finally, per my request, the national portrait gallery.
I was squealing and literally jumping up and down with glee at each one. 
I'd post photos... but right now, the thought of fucking around with photographs makes me want to vomit.

Speaking of vomiting, I'm getting a LITTLE worried.
In this week-long DC trip with Dad, he asked me twice if I was ok. He said I looked sick.
When D picked us up at the airport, she asked me if I was ok. She asked if I ate in DC.
Me: Yeah, dude, I fucking pigged out. I had pho, ice cream, a tons of chocolate cookies for breakfast and dinner... why?
D: You look... like you didn't eat.
When I woke up yesterday, I went ahead and did my daily ritual of weighing myself... and was shocked to see that I had dropped nearly 7 pounds (if we count today, then it IS 7 pounds) in this two week vacation. While in Chicago, D and I calculated our weight GAIN to be around 6 pounds, since we ate cake/pie every.single.day. As well as a shitton of rice and bread... and sushi.
I was supposed to gain weight... but the opposite occurred.
A little scary... but to my defense, I DID have two-hour long heavy-lifting sessions five days that I was in Chicago. Then, in DC I'd walk/jog a minimum of five miles a day (except Saturday, thanks to stupid hurricane Irene)... and I'd do some medicine-ball work as well as kettle bell swings every day (especially when I was locked in the house thanks to that goddamn hurricane).
Still... it's a little alarming to hear other think you look sick.
I knew that fucking orange glow was unhealthy.