Thursday, May 31, 2012

Midnight thing

Now that D's gone, Mom has really taken a liking to hanging out with me.
I don't mind... I actually volunteer to do shit with her because I feel sad seeing her little body sitting by herself in the living-room, completely zombified by the numerous, insipid Novelas.

All right, Mah, I need to go to Target and get myself some toothpaste, wanna join me?
Yo, we're running low on baby spinach, I'm hittin' up the grocery store... wanna join me, Little Lady?

I'm fine doing shit by myself, considering I'm such a fucking misanthrope by nature... but not Mi Mami.
Just like D, Mom is used to being in crowds... being looked up to... being popular, social... you know, participating in daily life. Now that she no longer has the outgoing, social kids to hang with, she has become a little... sad.
So, I try and include her in my activities.
Activity Mom enjoys most? Going to the movies.
Too bad I'm not too fanatical about this one.

Don't get me wrong, I fucking LOVE movies... LOVE them. But I'm a movie SNOB. Big time.
I'll often suffer through movies with people just so... they can be happy, but trust that internally, I'm fucking dying... writhing in pain... especially if my companion is loving the film... that just feels like I'm getting shanked in the neck.
You seriously like this shit?! Look at the fucking poor editing! And how the FUCK am I supposed to believe these people like each other? I doubt that bitch has ANY sort of personality in real life... so I'm not shocked that she can't act for SHIT! I'd get out of this chair... but that'd be ten dollars wasted... do you know what ten dollars can get me?! FUCK THIS SHIT, man! (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm frugal as fuck. Get over it)

For the most part, I don't have too many of these episodes, since I tend to choose movie companions quite carefully.
HOWEVER... when it comes to family... well, I can't really say no when they invite me.
Luckily, the majority of my family has bomb taste in movies, so I don't suffer too much (my favorite is when we both choose the same movie, and end up terribly disappointed within five minutes... so we shoot each other a "FUUUUUCK! How did we not see this one coming? Bamboozled again! Here we go, 90 minutes of torture" look-- yeah, we express that much in one glance. We're special like that... explains why I'm so silent in person, since my eyes do all the talking).
There are just THREE people in my family with HORRENDOUS taste in movies... HORRENDOUS.
One is my mother's sister... my dear auntie who continuously tries hooking me up with dudes (Homie, if your taste in movies is indicative of your taste in dudes, I'll just walk myself to the convent now... thanks). She loves movies about vampires... very... Hollywood shit.
The second is THAT auntie's middle son. The thing that sucks here is that while I manage to dodge his invites to the movie theater, I get suckered into watching SHIT movies each time I visit him at home. He's into sci-fi... and lord knows I LOATHE sci-fi... like... with a motherfucking passion. I'm overly critical of that genre since I tend to gauge just how likely certain scenarios are to happen-- blame the scientist in me for this. The moment something is TOO much on my "bullshit!" radar, is the moment I kick that fucking movie to the curb and check the fuck out. Yes, there are certain sci-fi movies that have managed to captivate me... but it's usually due to the writing... and trust me, my cousin's taste in film is just... no, no, no! Total disregard for writing, editing... I frankly don't know what captivates HIM... but it sure as fuck SUCKS. Sorry, 'cuhz!
The third and final family member with wretched movie taste is MOM.
Dear ol' Mom...
My predicament here is that since she's so lonely and sad, I let her choose the movie each time we go to the theater... and... how she bases her choices drives me bananas!
GIRL IN PROGRESS, because it has MEXICAN actors!
Fuck my ass, man... ughhhhhh!
Yes, she only watches Mexican movies, or movies with legit Mexican actors...
This is a hit or miss... mostly misses... MAJORLY misses.

BUT... I love my mom... and she's a sad little panda right now... so I put up with it... even if all I do for the duration of the movie is ponder what different modes of suicide would feel like.
Plus, I get cute little anecdotes from her each time we hit the theater.

I mention this now because the woman has once again suckered me into watching a movie with her.
I forget the name... something about "For the Glory" or something like that. Has a ton of Mexican actors AND it's about the Holy War that took place in Mexico... so... it's like... THE movie for the Little Lady.
A couple of minutes ago, as I was pondering what to write about and she worked on the monthly statements, she lowered her glasses and stared at me from above their brim.
Mom: Mija... so... can we go to the movies NOW?
Me: Like... right NOW, now? Like... what's coming out or what? I'm not aware of anything.
Mom: They're not going to do that thing like I see on TV that they do with all those movies when they open at midnight? Like with those movies about the vampires... that Potter kid... where people go at midnight of opening day to watch the movie?
Me: That midnight showing nerd shit? HELL NO, Mom! They do that shit with like... hella popular movies... not a movie about the Mexican Holy War. Calm down.
Mom: Can you check on your phone right now?
Me: NO, Mom. We'll just go when D gets here on Wednesday.
Mom: NO! Tomorrow! I want them to get good ratings. Get credit for opening weekend.
Me: Yeah. Me and you, Mom. Good one. Two people. Making the difference.

She's so cute sometimes...

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Right. Ok. Yeah.

Money in Mexico: It gets you anything.

Seriously... if you're the offspring of a wealthy Mexican, you can get whatever the fuck you want... as shameless as the fucking request may be.
And the winner is...
The JOKE in the middle!
I see my godson's face and I know EXACTLY what he's thinking:
What a fucking joke!
Turns out, Golden Boy--BlueUndies-- is the son of a rich man.
Y'all can imagine what went down.
Good job, Mexico! Doing what you do best!
Fucking idiots.

OK, I'm done talking about this subject. Never again. It's done. My godson's a G, and that other dude is a spoiled rich boy who will never accomplish anything on his own.
Way to go, dude! Keep it up!

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Zombies? Fuuuuuck!

So uh...
Looks like that zombie apocalypse is really upon us, isn't it?
Guess I know what I'm doing this summer:
Fuckin'!

To hell with selling my virginity on eBay, there ain't enough time for that shit!
Let's get this show on the motherfucking road!

...
Ok, I'm kidding.

I always had this scenario run through my head.
Dad has always been of that "Christ is coming!" mentality... that's all his fucking church preaches, so of course, the man traumatized the shit out of me as a kid.
But... Dad... I'm only five... I want to live! It's cool that God is coming back to reclaim us and take us to heaven and all that... but I want to... I want to grow up and have all the experiences you had. At least let me hold a boy's hand before I have to go be an angel in heaven or whatever!
I always wondered what I would do if I were given the news that the world was REALLY ending.
I can remember about four "close calls" where I'd see the stupid pseudo-news on Univision:

1. There was this solar eclipse back in 1991 or something like that, and I remember being in Mexico. We spent the day indoors, with my mom's sister and her kids... and we just... stayed there and played around the whole day. To me it was fun, but little did I know Mom and Auntie were shitting bricks being cavewomen thinking this eclipse would bring about the end of the world.
Ahhh, simple minds.

2. There was that one time when those meteors hit Jupiter... that was like... 1994. People were making a big deal about that... freaking out wondering "what if the chunks it blows off Jupiter hit Earth?!"
Fucking idiots.

3. Then there was that time in 1999 (look at that, I rhymed! Get me a record deal, I'm already better than Lil Wayne). 9/9/99... when the antichrist was going to be born or something like that? No antichrist, but my mom turned 39 that day...

4. In the year 2000! In the year 2000! How can anyone forget this shit?

Each time, my concerns were:
1. 1991: But... I'll never have a baby!!!
2. 1994: But... I want to graduate high school!
3. 1999: I don't give a fuck! Let it happen. Fuck this shit.
4. 2000: Well, looks like I'm never gonna fuck. Cool.

Now, with this zombie apocalypse looming, all I'm really thinking is:
Good thing I have that hand-to-hand combat shit down. Dibs on the machetes.

...
Yeah, ok, and I might just fuck a few dudes here and there.
(No. No, I won't.)

Monday, May 28, 2012

Stare Down

Recently, I've been getting weird looks from my mom.
She has this stare... that bugs me... because it's weird.

AnoMALIE's Mom's various Stares:
"Don't you fucking do it!" Stare.
This shit has been working since I was a toddler. I swear to God her eyes change color when she shoots me this look. Stops anyone in his/her tracks. 
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Stare.
Few things make me feel like an idiot as much as this stare does. It's in the way she raises one eyebrow... I'm the one who gets this stare the most.
"I saw that! Try that again, I dare you!" Stare.
Defy this stare and I assure you, you're getting a belt whip to the ass... regardless of age. Rafa got this look a lot when we were kids.
"DO. IT." Stare.
This one's scarier than being held at gunpoint... or having an AK pointed at your face. I will spring into motherfucking action the moment she shoots this look.
"Don't you dare open your fucking mouth!" Stare.
I am STILL subjected to this stare. Seems like she has this one reserved just for me.
"Shut the fuck up, already" Stare.
This is the least threatening of her threatening stares... mainly because she shoots it in front of others and she tries to be discreet about it. Yeah, I'm sure people don't catch on to you threatening us especially since we suddenly go silent mid-sentence, MOM.
"Not. Funny." Stare.
Her top lip pretty much disappears. I know to shut the fuck up once that happens. I get a sweet backhand to the mouth if I dare crack a smile.
"GET. OVER HERE." Stare.
I will trample bunnies to get to Mom the moment she stares at me this way. Bad things happen when we don't heed this warning.
"Say NO!" Stare.
Ah, my favorite. She shoots this look mainly when someone offers us some sort of food. I don't know why, but she's not a fan of us accepting the food offerings of others... she's like the human version of a guard-dog who doesn't accept food from anyone other than their master. 
This stare also makes an appearance when someone invites us somewhere... and she is NOT down with the idea, but doesn't want to look like the party pooper.
"Just wait 'til we get home..." Stare.
Piss your pants, AnoMALIE, you're pretty much dead. This one always gave me a stomach ache the moment I saw it.
"Please act like an asshole so I can use you as an excuse to end this visit" Stare.
Our cue to act hungry, or angry, or tired... pretty much throw a tantrum in public, just so we could leave an uncomfortable situation. It seems like it'd be fun, but there comes a time when you grow tired of being considered a whiny bitch... or a hungry hippo... or a kid with bladder issues.
"Don't tell your Dad" Stare.
Oh, my father... in the dark about so many things...
"Don't come in!" Stare.
You best find some other form of entertainment elsewhere... pronto.
"Tell me the truth" Stare.
Somewhat menacing, somewhat sad. It's a strange combo... and I crack.
"Oh my God... you're growing up!" Stare.
Grosses me out because it makes me feel like a total weirdo. Ewww, Mom, what the hell is wrong with you? Don't look at me that way! I prefer the "Just wait 'til we get home..." stare over this one.
"You're making me feel so old... why, it was just yesterday that I was popping you out of my vagina!" Stare.
Her eyes get watery and she gets this creeper-like smile on her face... the smile is what gets me... it freaks me the fuck out.
"My widdle baby is becoming a woman! Awwww! Let's talk about our menstrual cycles!" Stare.
No! STOP IT! Peace, I'm out!

The stare is a very irritating combination of the last three.
I don't know what her problem is... but she's trying to get something out of me... or she's experiencing menopause.
...
....
Sorry guys, I'm coming off the high... almost normal but not quite. I'll be good tomorrow. Promise.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Tenia que ser GATA

Sometimes I wish people liked me as much as good ol' SPIDERS:
My greeting yesterday morning.
One minute I'm minding my own business,
next thing I know some motherfucking spider decides it wants a taste of me.
Fucking bastard. I tell you guys I'm a spider magnet!
Well, ok, not like that... especially if they're venomous and my skin reacts in said manner.
Cats need not apply... they should do quite the opposite... they should really hate me and I should take a hint and hate them right back. They need to quit being so fucking irresistibly cute... look more like hairless, newborn rats or some shit, anything that will keep me from touching them.
It's like they know I can't touch them and they go off and do cute shit like... yawn in my face... or fiercely rub against my leg... or have a silly name like Harriet Tubman--  I'm a history buff, I can't resist historical figures!
I need to quit living in denial and accept the fact that cats and I cannot coexist without the help of Benadryl.
I'm not allergic to shit... except cats... fucking... fluffy, soft, cuddly, adorable... bastard cats. Fuck.
Note to self #4857693: DO NOT PET CATS, PENDEJA! YOU CANNOT HANDLE IT!

Originally, this was going to be a long, thought-out post... you know, with editing and shit like that...
but I'm so tired... and drugged with this allergy medicine shit... the only thing that's really on my mind is this:
1. My tummy hurts... I can feel the peristalsis going on... and I don't like it. It's like a baby alien is trying to eat my innards. Gross. It needs to quit moving...
2. Why is the television so loud? Especially when it's a commercial? Turn that shit down.
3. My room is hot as fuck.
4. Why won't my calves stop twitching and why are they so cramped every morning? Stupid body part...
5. I hate people. Not all... but most.
6. Mmmmm... lemon. No, lime. Yeah, lime. And cilantro.
7. No. More. Strawberries.

Summer has begun, and I feel like shit.
Maybe tomorrow... when I'm rested and NOT drugged.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

C word strikes again

Nothing lets you know what a fucking dumb cunt you've been quite like a frantic phone call from a belligerent friend.

I know she has been driving me crazy these last few weeks... and I know we've had some terrible bumps along the road... but few things have broken my heart as strongly as (technically) yesterday morning's phone call from Pacemaker.
Her father was diagnosed with... what I think is terminal cancer. His birthday was the previous day, and today is her birthday.
I was sitting at the table, pouring the milk in my cereal when I saw she was calling me.
When I answered, I did not understand much of what she was saying... and I felt like an asshole asking her to repeat herself.
She'd muddle the important stuff... which I'm sure were the hardest things for her to say... she was sobbing the whole time, but she'd get belligerent, incoherent, whenever she had to say words like "tumors" "doctors" "serious" "hospital" "Dad" "bad news" and, well, "cancer" was... that one was probably the wildest.
I just sat there, mouth wide open... left hand holding the phone, right hand over my mouth.
"I'm so sorry, chiquita... I'm... so.. sorry... Oh my god..."

Reminded me of when I told Kelley about my dad's diagnosis, how I was violently chewing down on my gum, trying not to cry as she drove us to her band practice... but the moment the word "cancer" left my lips, the hottest, heaviest tears dropped.
That fucking word is terrifying. It's hideous. It fucking sucks.
I haven't been able to think about anything other than that...
I even hurt the fucking shit out of my lower back because I wasn't concentrating at all as I lifted at the gym. Fucking stupid mistake... but... I can't really function when I know my friends are hurting like that.
...
I don't know what to do, really... I'm pretty much keeping mum and giving it a few days before calling Pacemaker and seeing how she and her dad are doing... though I am texting her in a bit to wish her a happy birthday... which is awkward... 'cause how can your birthday be happy when your dad's dying in the hospital?
Poor girl.
I sure hope I heard wrong...

Friday, May 25, 2012

Not forgetting

I'm not entirely sure how many times I've mentioned this, but I'm quite the HHGTTG fangirl.
I fell in love with it... I think it was 2005? My Genetics professor was freakishly fanatical about the book, and she managed to pass it on to me... well, somewhat... I wouldn't call myself "freakishly fanatical." The fact that my bestie liked the book also helped... since she has always been the voice of reason in the friendship... she explains difficult concepts to me all the time.

One of the three planned tattoos I'm getting is actually "DON'T PANIC" in "large, friendly letters."
I went through a phase in college where I'd have that scribbled on my wrist.
Seriously.
Good ol' college years...
Oddly enough, it helped...
kept me from freaking out when I saw my Biochemistry II final grade (HORRID. Embarrassingly HORRID grade. The worst final grade in my school life. Seriously, I once got an 18% on an exam, just so you can form some sort of idea of the atrocity that was Biochem II).

Anyway, come May 25th, I go ahead and celebrate with the fellow HHGTTG nerds.
How I triumphantly entered and exited the gym.
This girl will never forget to bring a towel.
Now please don't go off divulging the fact that I occasionally read. Wouldn't like that floating around the internets... might make me sound a little smart... and I hear smart girls scare/bore the dudes...
Wait... in that case...
I FUCKING LOVE BOOKS!
BOOKS, BOOKS, BOOKS!
The thicker, the better!!
...wait... !!

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Fly-ing

DRAMA!
I wish I could spill the beans... but once again, I've been told to keep shit under wraps until the bomb goes off.
Why people do this to me is... well, I guess I should be flattered... but it's definitely not good for my heart... or blood pressure.
The drama involves my godson, so I'll shut up and... post more photos of him?
I'm sorry, guys, I'm just really, really proud of him... and I had the opportunity to chat with him today, so I'm all giddy and missing him.
Plus, I think he looks like a motherfucking god.
Seriously... look at that pelvis...
Straight up "M" back. He gets it from his great-granddaddy, my crazy granddad.
So fucking huge. So fucking awesome.
Boss... a fucking BOSS!
Christ. That's just crazy to me.
That last ones reminds me a bit of James Franco... and that grosses me out a bit.
Way to fuck up James Franco for me, kid. There go my fantasies. Yuck.

My bond with the kid is stronger than any bond I have with anyone else... even my siblings.
The little rascal has been in my life since the day he was born-- six days after my fifth birthday.
He understands me better than anyone I know (though Kelley comes in a freakishly close second... haha), and he knows everything, absolutely everything about me... most of which, was intuitive.
I wish I could reciprocate this superpower of his, and I try... I just don't know how good I've been at it, since it has usually just been him cheering ME up. I try making it up to him by being the one family member who has visited him every year of his life over in Mexico... and I failed at that last year for the first time.
I also had his back when he was younger, and much, MUCH smaller... when all the guys would call him "mosca" aka "fly" (word he still refuses to listen to, much less say it. He gets watery-eyed at the mention of it. It hurts my heart to see it). They'd discriminate him for being tiny... and would refuse to have him play anything because he was "too small."
Being that he's VERY similar to me, he quietly took all the negativity, internalized it, and allowed the vindictive part of him to take over.
Mosca? I'll show you "Mosca."

These last few years he has suddenly acquired all this popularity. Apparently, EVERYONE always believe in him... and NO ONE remembers ever calling him a fly, or kicking him out of sports teams... totally belittling him in public. No, no, that never happened.

He takes it all in stride... smiles, and appreciates any form of kindness thrown his way. Quietly, in his heart, he carries the satisfaction of having proved all those lame haters wrong.
My little baby.

Just between us: I'm hitting up his next competition...
That's right, I'm throwing caution to the wind, flipping the bird to the State Department, and traveling down to Hometown, all just to see my kid beast his next competition.
I just have to do it secretively... pretty much surprise everyone the moment I show up at their doorstep in a few weeks.
I'm pretty stoked.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Un verso mas



Me miras diferente, 
Me abrazas y no siento tu calor.
Te digo lo que siento, 
Me interrumpes y terminas la oración. 
Siempre tienes la razón. 
Tu libreto de siempre-- tan predecible-- ya, ya me lo se.
Así que corre, corre, corre corazón. 
De los dos tu siempre fuiste el mas veloz.
Toma todo lo que quieras pero vete ya, que mis lágrimas jamás te voy a dar. 
Así que corre como siempre, no mires atrás. Lo has hecho ya, y la verdad me da igual.
Ya viví esta escena, 
Y con mucha pena te digo no, conmigo no.
Di lo que podía, pero a media puerta se quedó mi corazón.
Tu.... libreto de siempre-- tan repetido-- ya no, no te queda bien.
Así que corre, corre, corre corazón.
De los dos tu siempre fuiste el más veloz.
Toma todo lo que quieras pero vete ya, que mis lágrimas jamás te voy a dar.
Así que corre como siempre, no mires atrás. Lo has hecho ya y la verdad me da igual.
Tu el perro de siempre los mismos trucos.
Ya, ya me lo se.
Así que corre, corre, corre corazón--
De los dos tu siempre fuiste el más veloz.
Toma todo lo que quieras pero vete ya, que mis lágrimas jamás te voy a dar.
Han sido tantas despedidas que en verdad dedicarte un verso mas está de más. 
Así que corre como siempre, que no iré detrás. 
Lo has hecho ya y la verdad me da igual.
Lo has hecho ya y la verdad me da igual.
Lo has hecho ya, pero al final me da igual. 

That song is so incredibly beautiful.
Freakin' song has been stuck in my head for months.
Something about songs in spanish seems to hit me harder. The language is gorgeous... something I wouldn't have admitted to at a younger age, but now I certainly do. Yeah, I find Portuguese to be romantic and fluid... but there is no mistake that spanish has... this remarkable depth. At least for me it does.
To prove my point, let's translate this pretty little thang into English... mainly translating the meaning, not word for word, because then it would be quite nonsensical, obviously:
You look at me differently,
You hug me and I don't feel your warmth.
I tell you what I feel,
You interrupt me, finishing the sentence.
You're always right.
Your usual script--so predictable-- I, I already know it.
So just run, run, run, baby.
Of the two, you were always the quickest (fastest).
Take everything you want, but leave already, though I will never give you my tears.
So just run, like always, and don't look back. You've done it before, and quite truthfully, I couldn't care less.
I've already experienced this scene,
But I'm sorry, I have to tell you no... this time you're not performing it with me.
I gave what I could, but halfway through the door my heart stayed behind.
Your... usual script-- so often repeated-- it no longer, it no longer suits you.
Therefore run, run, run, my love.
You were always the fastest of the two.
Take everything you want, but leave already, though I'll never give you my tears.
So just run, like always, and don't look back. You've done it before, and quite truthfully, I couldn't care less.
You: old dog, same tricks. I, I know it already.
Therefore run, run, run, my love.
You were always the quickest of the two.
Take everything you want, but leave already, though I'll never give you my tears.
We've said so many farewells that quite truthfully, dedicating another verse to you is overkill.
So just run like always, this time I won't go after you.
You've done it before, and quite truthfully, I couldn't care less.
You've done it before, and quite truthfully, I couldn't care less.
You've done it before, but in the end, I couldn't care less.

Yeah... in spanish that song blows my mind. Translated, it's... eh.
De cualquier modo, el sentido de la canción me llega.
"Dedicarte un verso mas está de más."
Oooorale...
Pero neta, ya me harte.

In other news: I really need to find a pond to toss rocks into. I'm feeling restless.
I'm getting in that bitchy mood again... I need to find some sort of escape before I once again start barking at people.
At the gym, ladies have gone out of their way to inform me I'm "tough." Every single time, I kid you not, the lady has been a foreigner... so I don't know if it's a good thing.
They've checked out my weights, approached me, said something along the lines of "You are one tough girl..." and then proceeded to stand in the opposite side of the room... as if I'm going to use my heaviest plate to break their head open (which, I mean... there are days when I do consider beating some stupid bitches with the bar, but it's not like I'd actually DO it... I'm a nice girl, remember? I just shoot daggers at them with my stare... though recently I have patted a few on the back as they creep into my personal bubble. Sure beats the time I kidney-punched the stupid cunt who wouldn't move the fuck out of my way in kickboxing... that felt good as hell, but I'm not sure I'd do it again).
Maybe I'm just turning into the Hulk and not notice it... ?
Ha. Right.
Which reminds me: I'm NOT the Hulk... but I am also NOT skinny.
At the wedding this past weekend, I heard the term "Skinny Bitch" and "Skinny Mini" so often in reference to me, I seriously had to ask the last chick to "just call me 'bitch'."
I don't know where they're getting the "skinny" from... since... NOTHING about me is skinny... well, besides my stupid ballerina wrists that could be snapped in half by an eight year old.
People are SO going to get the wrong impression of me...
I can already see it: PersonA tells PersonB "AnoMALIE's SO skinny!" then PersonB looks at me and notices EVERY spot I'm not skinny... which, like I said, is everywhere BUT my wrists.
Such a thing happened with Pacemaker over this same weekend. Girl would NOT stop staring at my stomach, particularly, the belt area of my pants.
She stared at my belly as if she were looking for an alien to pop out of it... that, or to find some sort of tummy-tuck scar.
I don't have washboard abs (I HIGHLY doubt that will ever happen, considering how fat I allowed myself to get. It's just physically impossible without surgery), but if I flex in a sportsbra, I do acquire this sweet-ass almost-three-pack at the very top of my ribcage... three-pack because I'm stupid and much stronger on my left side than right side. I'm lopsided. Of course. Since I can never be normal.
Anyway, apparently this is too suspicious, and Pacemaker spent the weekend unable to keep her eyes off my belly. Uncomfortable as shit.

So yeah, there you have it... my fucking rambling self going on boring tangents, as is customary.
I should start taking meds.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

(hair)CUUUUT!

Ohhhhh yeahhhhh.
My plan totally worked.
I woke up in such a happy mood, I went ahead and got a haircut.
I was so calm and relaxed, I was willing to deal with whatever cut, whatever stylist planned on giving me.

Upon arriving at the salon, I was stunned the moment I looked over at the guy tending the cash register.
Boy had a... not really a mohawk, or a faux-hawk... something more along the middle... his ears were gaged, both arms were covered in tattoos--sleeves-- tattoos were also on both sides of his neck... and he had piercing green eyes.
Holy fucking shit... I'm gonna piss my pants...
He looked over at me and called me by my name... correctly.
Dude: You're the one who checked in on-line, correct, AnoMALIE?
I smiled as I nodded, since I was completely unable to make any sort of noise.

Five minutes later, he was leading me to his chair.
Dude: So, what did you have in mind?
Me: Whatever. I give you free reign over this mess. Do whatever you deem best.
And he got to work.
I just stared at his tattoos... and his eyes each time he asked me a question.
I immediately noticed one tattoo in particular, a tattoo that ALWAYS gets me to double take a dude, as much as I HATE to admit it. I'm talking about this tattoo:
NEVER fails to get me. Never.
Mmmm... bless your madre and padre. They did an awesome job....

Once he was done, I waited to see the outcome of the cut, because I quickly picked up my hair and went for my mandatory cardio day of the week.
After showering, came the styling... and I finally saw the job done by my green-eyed Mexican hairstylist.

I look like an emo boy... but quite frankly, dude could have shaved my head bald and I would have loved it.
Mmm... being smitten is fun.

The remainder of my day was quite lovely... so I don't have much ranting to do or any of that usual shit.
I even have another photo of my godson that is... stunning as fuck:

Esta cabron mi ahijadito, no?
Goddamn, some good breeding up in there.
And to think... I baby sat this BEAST at some point... AND we share genes... the same ones responsible for THAT body. Shiiiit. Thanks, Mom!

Monday, May 21, 2012

Dreamboats

Shit. I swear I'm fuckin' dying.
The way I knock out is a little scary, not gonna lie. I completely black out... then wake up completely disoriented.
Goddamn parties.

I'm going to try to correct this tonight, meditating before falling asleep, and forcing myself to sleep until I feel completely rested. I'm also going to put my phone in the bathroom... so I'm not tempted to use it if I wake up in the middle of the night (I... uh... tweet/instagram/draw/facebook/text/ etc in my sleep... sort of... it's really problematic and I'm sure damaging to my sleep... but I do it like some robot. Horrible!).

So, before going to bed, I'll make these small, random comments:
If any of you ever find this dude, please direct me to him... because I'm going to propose marriage to him:
Fuuuuuck....
That tattoo... Jesus Christ... if you don't find it hot, you have a problem. I put money on some straight DUDES finding it hot as fuck.
Certainly got a quick, high pitched "Oh!" out of me.
Shit. Mmmm, yeah.... ufff.

And another comment along those lines (I must be ovulating or some shit... my bad):
That kid that won that stupid rigged body-building contest... he ain't too shabby. I take back my comments of rage, he aiiight.
My godson's so damn lovable.
Yeah.
If my godson was destined to lose to anyone, I'm cool with it being BlueUndies. Turns out he's pretty cool... and his baby-face is... adorbs... even if he kind of reminds me of a squirrel... or a bunny... a really ripped bunny. I wouldn't mind seeing him eating a carrot... no, wait, that's too phallic in nature, let's go for some lettuce.
P.S. Godson promised to introduce me to some of his fellow bodybuilders... I sure hope to God they look more like BlueUndies than... any of those other guys.
Seriously, what the fuck was number 53 thinking? It kills me that the freakin' dude is rockin' my number. Sheesh.
I'm convinced many of these dudes enter the competition to make good on a dare or some shit. Man.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Beefy

Fuck. Me.
I feel like death.

I'm exhausted. Pissed. Hung over. Did I mention pissed? How about exhausted?

I have the worst dark circles under my eyes.
I feel like my head's stuck inside of a jar... my feet are swollen, and I'm walking around as if I stepped on a cactus... this all fucking sucks.
I'm definitely getting too old for this shit.

While the wedding shenanigans were quite memorable, AND I laughed like a maniac the majority of the time...
How do you know I've had one too many shots?
I do that obnoxious, stereotypical "kissy" face...
my subconscious, making fun of 8/10 of the chicks on my FB
I just couldn't handle it.
I haven't had adequate sleep for a few days, and my body's making me pay. People make a big deal out of my inability to put up with a few bad days of sleep, but I want them to spend two hours a day, six days a week powerlifting/kickboxing and then get back to me if they only allow their body three hours of sleep a day. Anyone who says they can handle that is FULL of shit. Your body needs time to recuperate, and having someone force ME to stay up until the wee hours of the night and wake up at the asscrack of dawn is INSANE. So pardon ME for snapping at you.

This weekend, I'd go to bed at around three in the morning, and I'd be expected to be up by 7... but of course, there were numerous interruptions to those much anticipated four hours of sleep... like my drunken brother calling me at 4:30 expecting a ride home... or a drunk cousin informing me my drunk brother was lost... shit of that nature.
There was even a fucking flat tire involved... EVEN a Great Dane terrorizing me in my vehicle... all "Cujo"-like.

Eventful, frustrating weekend where I looked like shit, and felt even MORE like shit.
To add insult to injury, my beloved godson suffered his first disillusionment with the world yesterday.
His super important, international body-building meet was yesterday, one I had to back out of attending with him as support.
Personally, and maybe I'm saying this because he's my blood and I love him like my baby, I think he had it in the bag.
He's ridiculously handsome... and muscle-wise, it's... phenomenal. No, seriously, look for yourself:
His first competition, Nov '11. My kid is the one in black shorts
April 2012
May 2012
Back in November, he won first place in his division, which was "novice youth."
This time around, he didn't even place top 6... which I think is a HUGE crock of shit.
He lost to the dude in the blue undies:
SERIOUSLY! Compare my boy's quads to the eventual winner.
FUCKING CROCK.
My boy's 100% BEEF.
Needless to say, my boy's devastated.
I'm gutted for him.
BUT... regardless, he'll always be my boy.
Silly little one.
My heart.

Still silly... trying to make me laugh as I bore him with my stories of woe.
My kid.
Shoulder to cry on when our Abue passed away.
I'll ALWAYS be infinitely proud of him...
Support system.
Because I KNOW he's a boss.
Next time. He's going to knock this shit to a whole new level. I have faith... he does have that ambitious spirit we're known for: we only gain momentum once told we can't do something.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

PISSED OFF girl

Christ almighty, Christ almighty!!

I'm going to end up strangling someone.
I can't tweet. I can't update my status.
I have a motherfucking muzzle on.
Frustrated doesn't even cover it...
and the wedding hasn't even started.
Goddamn.
I'm going to end the night in prison.

Pacemaker's pretentious comments are driving me insane... especially her passive-aggressive shit.
I nearly lost it the moment she informed me I had a farmer's tan.
Oh, Yeah? Well, you're fat.... that shit's going to be out there for all to see as well. I'll take the farmer tan, thanks.Seriously? You're going to criticize ME... MY physical aspect? HA!

God, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.

Someone's getting strangled tonight.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Comedic Girl

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this one here yet, but I have a hidden talent.
The talent used to be an every-day occasion, but as I got older, I just quit trying.
The talent?
I'm really good with impersonations. I imitate others quite... well.
I was far better at it as a kid, however, since I had a tendency to do it quite regularly.

Back when I was a happier person, say, from kindergarten up until second grade, I would practically have my own stand-up routine during recess with my friends. They'd sit on a bench as I'd imitate people for ten minutes straight.
It was seriously a show... and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
I imitated guys and girls, celebrities and regular folk.

Impersonations are quite simple, since I'm more of an observer. 
I just need to watch a person for a bit, and probably after being in their presence for longer than an hour, I'll have their mannerisms down.
I cooled it with the imitating after elementary school, I blame it on my moodiness and how miserable I felt in high school and shit like that.

I don't think this ability of mine to imitate is THAT hard to believe, since all you really have to do is sit around for a while and listen to me talk. I tend to change my voice when speaking. I'll copy someone's tone of voice, or some obvious mannerism of theirs... I usually do this subconsciously.

ANYWAY!
I always thought this little power was only inherited by me... because no one else exhibited this behavior besides me. I get this from my pops side of the family, where all the guys have this ability (obviously I'm the only girl)... all the guys except for my brother... 
Then I woke up this morning, to see this:
Beyond confused when I saw this first thing in the morning... uncanny resemblance.
Ha. Better late than never.
He is FRIGHTENINGLY good...
Sadly, I'm repulsed, since the guy he's imitating is a HUGE crush of mine.
Guy will now remind me of my brother.

Excuse me, I have to go wash off the gross now.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Not-So-Perfect Girl

My bad, I got a little carried away with my cleaning.
Yeah, I'm doing that cheating thing where I say I posted this on a certain day, but I actually completed it after midnight, so technically it's the next day.

Anyway, looks like tomorrow will be a packed day. I get to visit the airport twice to pick up my people.
The good thing in all this is that Mom's throwing a carne asada for the family... so it'll be a nice get together... with my favorite type of protein (beef tenderloin... oh baby!) for me to enjoy.

The weeding weekend festivities officially began today, and how did I ring it in?
By fighting. Duh.
No physical injuries were handed out, just verbal arguments between me and my super outspoken cousin-- the brother of the groom, the Best Man.
Of fucking course.
Now, we're really cool, seriously. He's outspoken and blunt, and often times his big mouth infuriates me and causes me to argue to the point of nearly breaking out in tears... but in the end, apologies are handed and accepted.
I actually enjoy his company, because he too is one of those guys that keeps me grounded. He does not coddle me... at all... for shit. He is BRUTALLY honest.

Last night, we began the argument because he went on some drunken spiel over how girls don't know shit about sports, and if they know ANYTHING it's only because of the guys on their Twitter/FB feed who constantly rant about sports. I told him I took offense to that, because I've known my shit since I was a toddler... and all thanks to my mother, too. 
The argument escalated once he touched my hot button:
So, if you know so much about sports, cook amazing food (so I'm guilty of Instagraming my food once or twice), like such a broad spectrum of music... basically the perfect girl, why is it YOU'RE SINGLE?
Oh HELL NO! NO! No you didn't! Watch your mouth, perro. FUCK YOU!
So I said what first popped into my head... since I was so startled and pissed.
Because guys like crazy slutty bitches with big fake tits and even bigger fucking baggage!

The argument carried over to today.
So exhausting to argue with this guy... especially once I get all emotionally invested in the argument and make my traumas evident like that. It sucks dick, you guys.

So... in an attempt to clear my mind, and silence my subconscious which was demanding answers to my cousin's question, Yeah, WHY are you, single AnoMALIE? Why didn't you cop to your shortcomings, huh? Because he's RIGHT, huh? Fuck you, Brain! I went ahead and cleaned my wing of the house... I'm talking bloody fingertips once again.
I did all that shit as I rocked a red pucker. That's right, I put some lipstick on and proceeded to scrub tubs, toilets, and floors (in my defense, this only happened because I went shopping for some last-minute makeup for the wedding festivities... and I purchased this awesome red liquid lipstick that is INCREDIBLE. I look like a legit adult when I wear it).
Mmm... feels good to be a girl... with issues... who ISN'T perfect. Yeah.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Big Girl

Ufffff!
AnoMALIE's aggravated. REALLY aggravated....
Know what that means?
Rant-infested, super long, incoherent entry...

First:
That recent news story... the murder story. Of the chick. Who was found in the tub. In her wedding dress.
In Chicago.
I knew her. She's from my part of Mexico. Two towns over from Hometown.
The bit of news has me all... upset.
I haven't cried, I mean, I wasn't close to her at all.
I'm friends with her first cousin, that's how I know this chick.
I feel terrible for the victim and her family.
I'm furious over the murder. Like... I want this guy to get the WORST punishment possible. It makes me sick.
A sad state of affairs which has managed to mindfuck me since... Sunday night? Early Monday morning? I think it was early Monday morning. I had to keep quiet per request of her family.
Terribly difficult.

Ok, now what is SERIOUSLY aggravating me:
My sister.
More like... my sister's move to Chicago.
It's really, truly frustrating.

She's my sister, I want nothing more than for her to succeed and be happy.
Her abrupt departure to Chicago surprised me and infuriated me.

There are ways to go about things.
I'm all for people going out and seeking their fortunes or whatever.
I applaud all those who are independent and work hard for their money. That IS something to admire, always.
HOWEVER, I do not see the need for ME to go about suffering that stress if I DON'T HAVE TO.
Guess what?
I. DON'T. HAVE. TO.

So the moment someone criticizes me for not being out there putting up with other people's shit is the moment I put a halt to their train.
It's the moment I will turn into a snob, and I will shut them the fuck up.

My sister, well, she can't handle the criticism.
I've been lucky to have some amazing friends who understand this aspect of my life.
Your parents immigrated to the states, worked their asses off, and now you don't  have to worry about monetary issues? You mean your parents want to share their wealth with you because that's the reason they even began to work in the first place? Dude, I'm happy for you, AnoMALIE. That's great! Your parents rock.
I'm also lucky in the sense that they know how hard I CAN work if I ever have to. They know my strong work-ethic, discipline, and integrity because the VAST majority of my friends I acquired in school.
Not ONCE have I heard shittalk from my (real) friends.
Acquaintances have pulled my leg about the topic, and that's when my ugly, caustic bitch comes out.

My sweet, impressionable kid sister, however, has not been so lucky.
While Sis has some good friends, MANY of them are haters. Strong haters.
My sister is easily swayed. VERY easily.
SO, these haters get to her.
"Friends" will continuously patronize her every move.
Oh, Mommy and Daddy will pay for it.
That's the phrase that gets my sis.
You need to go out there and see what the REAL world is like!
Oh... you mean... those 14 years I spent in the ghetto, waking up to dead bodies on the street, drug dealers/users strung the fuck out next to my bus stop, and those prostitutes walking the streets as I *tried* playing Freeze Tag didn't count as "REAL life"... not even remotely? Those years spent as a latchkey kid, trying to be as silent as possible so as to not attract attention wasn't Real Life? How about... not knowing what owning/sleeping in my own, real bed felt like until I was a 14-year old? That doesn't count as Real Life?! For real? Oh shit! I have a lot of learning to do then!
I know what "The Real World" is like, and quite frankly, it FUCKING SUCKS. And I don't want to go back... so why are you trying to guilt-trip me into falling back into it? Fuck you.
But Sister doesn't think of this when her "friends" talk shit and make fun of her.

The quickness with which she wanted to leave us freaked me out.
The lack of a proper plan freaked me out.
WHY was she so rushed to LEAVE the good, comfortable life my parents worked so hard to get us?

For a while, I thought she left because of a dude. I can see that... because I went through that at her age... though due to life events (I thought were unfortunate at the time) the plans came tumbling down.

This question boggled my mind.
Then this morning I saw a comment on her status that was... that moment where the angels sing... you know, that moment of clarity... that epiphany. Laaaahhhhh!!

Originally, I planned on just placing the screen shot here, so you all could see it for yourselves,
HOWEVER, I waited too long and now my sister has deactivated her Facebook account (for maybe the fifth time... she's such a drama queen, I swear).
I'll have to write it out, I guess.
The status was my sister complaining about the expensive plane ticket she had purchased to come home EDC weekend.
A few of her friends had commented... asking for details etc etc... then that bitch commented.
"It's too soon to visit home. Be a big girl."
...
...
Excuse me? What did this bitch just say?
Too soon to visit home? Girl, I'm sorry if YOU have family issues, but we D's love each other. Sure, we fight like cats and dogs... often getting violent as fuck... but make no mistake, we love the HELL out of each other. We're just passionate people... we get caught up in our feelings.

Be a "Big Girl?" So... in order to be a big girl, an adult, you HAVE to suffer and be alone? I'm... sorry... but... I can't quite follow your logic here...

Those ten words made it clear for me.
BINGO! We have our brain-washer!

This girl is the ONE girl I did NOT like from the get-go. The moment my sis presented her to me, I disliked her.
No other friend of D's has rubbed me so wrongly. Not even gangly, envious little Twiggy.
This is the girl D got in that infamous fight for at the House of Blues a while back.
I lost ANY interest in giving her a shot as a friend the moment D told me her reaction to my sister helping her fight the bitches off.
Any normal friend would be grateful... appreciative... but not this bitch. Not at all.
"Never mention it again."

She was never loyal, either.
She was a slut.
She was always that sloppy drunk bitch Downtown losing her shit and picking fights.
She was... a bad influence.
She was always having issues with SOMEONE in her family.
And she was always patronizing D.

I fought the urge to reply to the bitch and start some shit on D's status... but I had to let D know how I felt.
So I went ahead and sent a text to D.
And that sent her on a downward emotional spiral.
"I guess I've just never been good at choosing friends."
No, no you haven't... and for some reason, you've ALWAYS sided with those bad influences. You've thought WE were the ones harming you.
Now you're suffering... and alone... just how they wanted you to be in the first place... because that's what they are: alone, bitter, and miserable. 
You just fell for their shit.
Now, sadly, you have the tough task of proving them wrong. Do it, dude.

And now we have this. D no longer on FB, no longer texting me... and only writing cryptic shit on twitter.
Fan-fucking-tastic!
So exasperating.

... I'm beating "the slut"s ass next time I see her... I hear she's quite the SHIT fighter. Dumb cunt.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

"Oh no!" Girl


  • Oh my God! You look beautiful! (HA!)
  • Well, only the best belong in your company, let alone to be your beefcake.
  • You must have at least some guy in your sights. You must be joking, humble, or......... something! (You mean gay? No. I'm not gay)
  • Usted siempre sonriendo, siempre tan linda.
  • I think you are super awesome and want to know more.
  • You are.... well you own a mirror and HAVE to know about the personality I picked up on in the may 10 minutes of convo we've had. 
  • In summation, I think you are pretty and cool.
  • I have no life during the day, so seeing you up is kinda exciting.
Dudes have been going above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to complementing me these last few months.
I've been told a normal girl would be flattered and excited about the attention.
But I'm a weirdo.
I've found myself crying after getting the compliment.
I think of my friend, Minnow, and how a while back he told a girl something along the lines of "I think I'm falling in love with you" and her reaction was "Oh no!"
...
I've turned into an "Oh no!" girl.

I'm so fucked up in the head, all I've been thinking each time a dude comes clean to me is "Oh no! Please don't like me!"
Then I find myself crying and feeling like shit a couple of hours later.
Is that normal?
It's NOTHING against them... it's quite the opposite. I'm SO fucking flattered by the kindness/sweetness, I feel like absolute SHIT for not being able to reciprocate.
I become frustrated with myself for being such an idiot.
I think of my mom and aunts' advice:
Find a guy who likes YOU more... you'll LEARN to like them back, even if it's out of pure gratitude towards them for being so good to you... you'll learn to love.
Learn, learn, LEARN, you fucking idiot! Taken it and run with it, you fucking idiot!
But I can't. It's impossible. And SO FRUSTRATING.
I can't do that to them. They just deserve better. Guys that sweet and remarkable deserve someone who will be equally mad about them. Everyone does.
And I just can't be that girl. Ever.
I'm allowing my chance to be loved fly away... because I'm staying true to a feeling that is not mutual... because I'm such a fuckin' idiot.

My heart wants what it wants... and my brain has NO say in the matter, ever.
... And the only thing my heart wants is something it will never have.
And that's what makes me cry-- the knowledge that I'M the fucking self-sabotaging idiot who will never allow her BRAIN to override her heart.
My brain and body are present in Las Vegas, Nevada... my heart is lost, thousands of miles away.

Fucking compliments.

(oh boy... be ready for more of this sort of shit in the coming days... a couple of cousins are getting married over the weekend, so I'm going to be forced to deal with this issue instead of do what works best for me: ignore and avoid)

Monday, May 14, 2012

Check, one, two.

Know what works fucking miracles when it comes to clearing my mind?
Cleaning.
Cleaning gets the job done SO wonderfully, that I start behaving like I just received a lobotomy.
My communication skills are subpar, at best, on my good days... but once I get in my Mexican-cleaning-lady mode, I don't even bother to formulate THOUGHTS.

Alls I know is:
My fingertips hurt like a motherfucker.
I have five papercuts that came out of nowhere...
Patrick's face makes the pain go away.
But I know they're there once I get windex in those shits... or Sriracha sauce-- I got some of that shit in there earlier today as I snacked on some corn on the cob (yeah, so I do that shit. Don't judge me. It's good as fuck).
Suuuure do!
I know I have to call it a day once my hands start to bleed... which they finally did... so I thought it was best if I got online... ? Yeah, I have a great sense of logic.
Lobotomy, remember?

My poor sister was unfortunate enough to start texting me as I was in the middle of my cleaning spree, and this is how I greeted her:
I know, I have a way with words.
Poor kid was crying in her room and this is how I console her.
It's the Windex, I swear!
... and maybe the fact that earlier today I had to body check a fucking stupid cunt who wouldn't move out of "my side" of the sidewalk as I was walking out of the gym, towards my car.
She was one of those entitled, self-important, pompous cunts at the gym who walk in a herd of fellow Ed-Hardy-rocking bitches that won't open up space on the sidewalk. Bitches expect everyone to step foot on the street and walk around them like we're below them or some shit.
Umm... NO, I'm sorry, we're all equals here.
I was in no mood to move for her royal highness, so I shoulder-checked THE FUCK out of her.
I played post in my high school basketball team, I had two jobs: 
1. Take the shot at the top of the key. 
and 
2. Take the charge. 
And let me tell you, my fucking favorite was taking the charge... even if multiple times I had to get mowed down by a fucking rhino of a girl.
If you are a chick between the ages of 13-35, below 280 pounds, and shorter than 5'8"... you're outta your damn mind if you think I'm going to bitch out to your inconsiderate ass (I make exceptions if they're trying to round up their evil spawn. I move for them like I move for fire trucks. Fuck having to deal with that shit. Wrangle away, ladies).

I made eye-contact with the little princess,
Umm... hello? I've been walking on the right side of the sidewalk for the last minute... you gonna give me some room or what?
She rolled her eyes at me,
OH. HELL. NO.
And she proceeded to talk to her equally cunt-y cronies... actually picking up her pace, coming directly AT me.
Alllllll right then! Seems you enjoy this, Princess. I will too. This one goes out to Shh-CAAAAAA-Go!
I tensed up... and why lie, I did it quite jovially... I was actually excited at the prospect of knocking this bitch over (I blame the low-carb thing I have going on right now... when in doubt, always blame the low-carb).
I made sure my left shoulder was sturdy, along with the rest of my left side, and the moment we collided, I dug my shoulder into her left clavicle... flaring my left elbow to connect with her stomach.
Muay Thai's my shit... AND I just got a deadlift PR today... you thought you were gonna beat me, stripper? HA!
The idiot yelped.
The dude in her group looked at me, and I gave him my nonchalant "What? You saw that. Your cunt wouldn't move out of the way. Wanna come at me as well? I got you" look... along with my infamous Jordan Shrug.
I can be like a cinderblock fence when I wanna be, jackass.

Like I'd fucking apologize to that idiot...

Well, look at that! Seems a little bit of rage makes me regain some sort of cognizance.

AnoMALIE: body-checking extraordinaire. 

Sunday, May 13, 2012

VvG

I tell you, if one wants to be active, one must not be afraid of going wrong, one must not be afraid of making mistakes now and then. Many people think that they will become good just by doing no harm — but that's a lie, and you yourself used to call it that. That way lies stagnation, mediocrity. Just slap anything on when you see a blank canvas staring you in the face like some imbecile. You don't know how paralyzing that is, that stare of a blank canvas is, which says to the painter, You can't do a thing. The canvas has an idiotic stare and mesmerises some painters so much that they turn into idiots themselves. Many painters are afraid in front of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas is afraid of the real, passionate painter who dares and who has broken the spell of 'you can't' once and for all.

My apologies for the length of that last post... but the memory has been haunting me quite viciously the last few days.
His words... that exchange of words where he mentions the red dress... reverberate in my head.
I can still see his eyes... so big and wide (he DID have pretty eyes... even if I didn't like him like that--even while I was his girlfriend), as he spoke to me.
I can still hear his scratchy voice... like that of a cartoon character... with a slight lisp.
I can still remember that game of hide-and-seek.
It pains me.

Often times, I get the urge to visit him... but... I've never visited anyone in prison... so I don't know how that would go down.
I also do that thing where I wonder what life would have been like if I would have cared more about him. He showed me his gentle side, yet I was that bitch who was too... embarrassed? apathetic? to associate with him.
Who knows, maybe he would have taken me down with him...
Can't think of the other possible outcomes... or else I bum myself out.
I just hope he's ok, and that he has found some sort of peace.
I'll always remember the sweet boy, that's for sure.

...
Speaking of being sad, I finally got the green light to get inked.
Yeah. Seriously. Ain't that shit crazy?
I was reading up on the life of van Gogh, you know, because life isn't depressing enough, and Mom came over.
I then read to her my favorite quote of his.
Me: Can you guess what this means: La tristesse durera toujours.
Mom stared at me with a frown on her face.
Me: I love that quote. I'm going to get it on my body.
Mom: ...
Me: Because... nothing rings truer for me.
Mom: ... I didn't know.
Me: I haven't gotten it yet, lady.
Mom: No, I didn't know you felt that way. You think sadness will last forever?
Me: In some part of my heart, yeah. Always.

We then sat there talking about the placement and stuff of that nature.
It was that simple.

Happy Mother's Day to her...

Friday, May 11, 2012

Red Ruffles

Do you know how I remember you most? 
How?
That day, when we went outside the church's hospitality room to play hide-and-seek, instead of staying inside for choir practice.
Ha. We got in so much trouble for that...
I remember that most because you were wearing this... red lace dress... red ruffles everywhere. Remember that?
God, yes! I hated that dress!
***

I possess this trait... most of the time I find it to be detrimental to my... emotional well-being.
Regardless of how often, or how adamantly I tell myself not to cave to this tendency... I do it anyway.
I believe everyone is... inherently good.
After all the bullshit I've put up with... after all the pain others have inflicted upon me-- at my core-- I still think there's a bit of good in everyone.
How fucked up is that shit?

Don't get me wrong, there are CLEARLY very evil people out there-- horrible people who let the bad overpower and smite whatever kindness existed in their heart...
... but at some point... in their youth, they were good.
Something... or someone just came along and fucked it all up.

I think this is called empathy?
I have a shitton of that.
I warn myself against being too empathetic, and I try my damn hardest to be cautious around others... but I just can't.
If you tell me you're good, I'll believe you're good. If you're a dick to me, I'll believe you're a dick because someone made you that way... and that person was made that way by someone in their past... and so on. Just a vicious chain of unfortunate events.
Now, this doesn't mean once people fuck me over I don't cry or feel like shit... I sure as fuck do, mainly because my subconscious shit-talks and gives me that "I TOLD YOU SO!" speech... but it allows for me to at some point forgive (which I often don't do QUICKLY, but I do, eventually, move on).
***

Recently, I've been thinking A LOT about an ex of mine.
I lost track of him some time during my high school years, when I moved to the white side of town. He moved to prison... after killing someone.

I met him in third grade, when we were all hyper little dweebs.
I was already fucked up... but trying my hardest to getting back to normal.
I'd see this boy, Mario, all the time. He was considered cute, and all the white girls liked him.
I guess I should mention this was when I was getting "assimilated" into English. I was being thrown into all-english classes, with all-english speakers... and no one else around me spoke spanish... shit, no one else had a spanish-sounding name.
I was clearly the black sheep of the herd... and the only reason I'd look over at Mario was because he was the only hispanic-looking kid in his class, the other all-english speaking class, yet he was WAY more popular with his classmates. HE knew how to communicate with his herd.
His popularity did come with a downer: he was popular for being "the bad boy."
He was constantly getting thrown outside of class as punishment.
His class, being directly behind mine, was visible from where I sat. I'd be at my desk and I'd see Mario, sitting on the grass, waiting for his grouchy teacher to finally let him back in class after giving him a stern lecture. Most of the time, he'd listen to her spiel with a smirk plastered across his face.

I'd witness Mario exasperate his teacher at least twice a week... sometimes making eye-contact with him while he was being scolded.
God... how can he stand there and not cry with that crazy lady going to town like that? She damn near slaps him across his smug little face.

Some time during third grade, I went through a phase where I thought I could sing.
Mom signed me up for the church choir, and my now-godmom would take me to practice, since she was in the choir as well.
Lo-and-behold, who else was in the church choir? Mario.
Mario's dad was a guitarist, and he'd bring Mario along to the practices. Mario would sit in the corner of the room, completely annoyed, and he would never sing for Mass.

One day, before practice, after probably two months of staring at each other in school and in choir practice, he intercepted me before I stepped foot in the room.
Mario: Hey! Dad said they're mainly going to work on instruments today. He said I should entertain you outside, since all you do is sing.

Me, being the trusting pendeja I've always been, went ahead and followed him outside.
His younger female cousin was also outside... and we decided we'd kill time by playing hide-and-go seek.
I agreed to play the game even if Mom had dressed me up in the most annoying, itchy, red-lace dress she loved. I had matching red pantyhose and shoes (perfect fucking attire to play hide-and-go-seek... like fucking camo, dude... especially when playing amongst junipers).
We played two games: one where Mario's cousin was it, and the second where Mario was it.
As I crouched on the opposite side of the building form where Mario was counting, my now-godmom found me, scolded me for skipping practice, and dragged me back into the practice room.
I did not see Mario.

The following two years, Mario was my classmate. He also let me in on a little secret:
I like you, AnoMALIE. Will you be my girlfriend? Circle YES or no.
I played hard-to-get... mainly because I didn't find him attractive... even if every girl in SCHOOL was willing to kill for his affection.
I found him to be cool... and a great friend, but he was too much trouble.
His sisters were in gangs... and he'd chill with them... so he was like their little mascot.
Each month he'd get increasingly contentious... mean... dangerous... with everyone, except me.
He was the most gentle, sweet creature to me.
He would drop whatever he was doing to help me out.
He beat my 4th grade tormentors a few times... he also saved me from getting jumped by a couple of 6th graders who hated me for NO REASON.
He was, like his middle name, an Angel.

One day in 5th grade, after much insistence from his behalf, I finally agreed to be his girlfriend-- I circled the "yes."
From that day, he'd shower me with gifts (I still own a pair of green scissors he gave me... I kind of find myself cherishing them... damn near beat my sister one time that she misplaced them), and compliment me every chance he got (the compliment I remember most is "Yeah, well, AnoMALIE is WAY more beautiful than CINDY CRAWFORD! For one, she doesn't have that disgusting mole!" Fucking shit made me blush like crazy as I stood in line at the library).
Boy was wonderful to me, and still, STILL I'd refuse to be any sort of affectionate towards him.
I did call him occasionally.
We had been calling each other since the church choir days.
The call I remember most was one in fourth grade... where we were having a normal conversation and suddenly, I heard his dad screaming at him... and Mario was clearly terrified. He dropped the phone, and I heard it all-- I heard his dad beating him with a belt, and Mario begging for him to stop ("No, Papi, porfavor NO!" No, Daddy, please NO).
I had to hang up the phone and, at school the following day, act as if I did not hear a thing.

Once middle school came around, I had one class with him: english. We were no longer "dating," since summer pretty much implicated we had broken up.
By this point in my life, I was already getting herded into the "nerd" population.
The classmates at the back of class were the few remaining "bad eggs"... and true to form, tried spitting shit into my hair. Mario quickly put an end to that.
I still remember him chastising them the day one of his cronies accidentally threw a spitwad into my hair... day which was, coincidentally, the day following my paternal grandmother's death.
He very gently tapped my shoulder.
AnoMALIE, you have... some paper in the back of your head... may I remove it?
I nearly cried.
***
My last conversation with Mario occurred on our last day of seventh grade:
I was sitting on the cinderblock fence outside of school, waiting for Mom to pick me up. Mom made it a habit to forget me at school.

Mario had stayed behind the moment he saw I was waiting alone for Mom... on the verge of tears.
Mario: I'm moving back to Arizona.
Me: Really? Sucks.

I had difficulty speaking... a huge knot had been building in my throat with the passage of each minute Mom was late.

Mario: Do you know how I remember you most?
Me: How?
Mario: That day, when we went outside the church's hospitality room to play hide-and-seek, instead of staying inside for choir practice.
Me: Ha. We got in so much trouble for that...
Mario: I remember that most because you were wearing this... red lace dress... red ruffles everywhere. Remember that?
Me: God, yes! I hated that dress!
Mario: I never saw you in a dress again...

Mario had managed to make me laugh.

Me: Can I ask you something?
Mario: Sure...
Me: Is that story true... the one about you peeing in class...
Mario: With that racist, stupid, dumb bitch, Mrs. Wright? Damn right it is!
Me: You peed in class?!
Mario: I was a third grader! I told the bitch I needed to pee, and she laughed in my face! I politely asked for permission, and she said "No! If you really have to pee, do it in your pants, tough guy!" I got desperate. I even started to sweat! I wanted to cry! I remember looking at the trashcan, then at that stupid fat bitch laughing at me... then at the trashcan again. I couldn't hold it... so I just... whipped out my wiener right there and pissed all over the rug!
Me: Oh my God...

We noticed two of Mario's thug friends approaching from a distance.

Mario: I cheated.
Me: Huh?
Mario: When we were playing hide-and-seek. I cheated as I counted to ten.
Me: O... k...
Mario: I counted all the way up to ten, but at "three," I peeked at you. You didn't turn back. I turned my entire body, and watched you in your cute little red dress disappear behind the building... and not ONCE did you turn back. You trusted me to not peek the entire time. I had never seen that before.

Mom's black Jeep was fast approaching. I jumped off the fence and dusted my pants.
Me: Yeah... well... I had no reason to doubt you...
I made eye-contact with Mario and smiled.
Me: Thanks, Mario.

I walked West, toward the Jeep with a quick pace, hoping Mom hadn't seen me associating with the thugs.
Mario joined his two thug friends and walked towards the streetlight... to the East.