It's really happening guys.
I'm happy.
Hopefully I do return, though.
Bye.
:)
I'm happy.
Hopefully I do return, though.
Bye.
:)
Monday, August 27, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Infinity and Beyond
The first summer without my grandpa, the summer of '07, my aunt who lives in Mexico waited for us to head out there before she opened up my grandparent's home to look through the belongings.
She had previously taken the obvious valuables, like the electronics and jewelry, without telling anyone because they'd obviously get stolen had they been left in the house.
The valuables she waited to open were the more personal things... like legal paper work, safes, and personal letters.
Of course, nothing exciting happened there... just shit that made us angry... like more information on more of his illegitimate children... along with their photographs. While it was enraging to see what a dog my grandfather was in playing all these women, it broke my heart to see the faces of the kids-- his kids.
Me: They look so much like... you guys... only darker.
A couple of them even have the same name as some of my "real" aunts and uncles. Sheisty.
My favorite? My grandfather's wallet.
Mom and I stood around my aunt as she opened my grandfather's wallet... and she pulled everything out one by one.
He had photos of his "real" kids... and one of the "illegitimates." He had a photo of us.
He had an old address, written on an old envelope, of some girl from Seattle.
A letter from that Seattle girl-- a gringa... a white girl-- dated some time in the late 50's, written in English. I can't recall what it said, verbatim... except for a part where she mentioned she still "visit(s) our park... our spot by the lake, thinking of you, waiting for you."
GRANDPA! YOU DOG!
As we stood there, pissed off at my grandpa's indiscretions, I pointed at a dark, folded piece of paper.
My aunt pulled it out, and unfolded it.
Straight out of a magazine.
It had Neil Armstrong's biography on it... talking about his first steps on the moon.
My aunt thought nothing of it, my mom got watery-eyed, and I... well... I was speechless.
Grandpa told me a ton of stories. Yeah, he scarred me in a way no other human has, but he also taught me SO much, and he gave me SO MANY good memories-- I was, after all, his absolute favorite human being, he told me so. Whether I like it or not, I'm a lot like him.
He may not have been a model citizen... but, his good moments were incredibly good.
Like everyone, he was a good kid who was screwed over by life at a tender age-- once his dad died and he took charge of his numerous siblings. HIS childhood was abruptly cut once he had to be an adult and find a way to feed his siblings.
I know a good deal about his life... hence why I found it easier to forgive him.
Something I did NOT know until that summer of '07 was who held a spot as one of his heros.
Neil... Armstrong, Grandpa? You admired an American astronaut... even if you were a Mexican farmer, turned American soldier? You admired... an astronaut? I... get you, sir... I fucking get you.
On rainy, stormy nights, Grandpa would take us out to the porch, and as we'd stare off into dark skies... he'd tell us stories. Funny stories, scary stories... all entwined with a bit of truth-- his truth.
I'd shudder after every loud boom of thunder, and he would chuckle.
Don't close your eyes, Mija... you'll miss what's worthwhile in this entire show.
I'd fight to keep my eyes from closing, he'd sit amused, staring off into the dark sky.
He taught me to chill out... and admire the endless possibilities... to imagine... to dream.
I didn't know where he had acquired that optimism from... until I saw that folded, glossy magazine page.
Thank you, Neil Armstrong. Thank you so much.
She had previously taken the obvious valuables, like the electronics and jewelry, without telling anyone because they'd obviously get stolen had they been left in the house.
The valuables she waited to open were the more personal things... like legal paper work, safes, and personal letters.
Of course, nothing exciting happened there... just shit that made us angry... like more information on more of his illegitimate children... along with their photographs. While it was enraging to see what a dog my grandfather was in playing all these women, it broke my heart to see the faces of the kids-- his kids.
Me: They look so much like... you guys... only darker.
A couple of them even have the same name as some of my "real" aunts and uncles. Sheisty.
My favorite? My grandfather's wallet.
Mom and I stood around my aunt as she opened my grandfather's wallet... and she pulled everything out one by one.
He had photos of his "real" kids... and one of the "illegitimates." He had a photo of us.
He had an old address, written on an old envelope, of some girl from Seattle.
A letter from that Seattle girl-- a gringa... a white girl-- dated some time in the late 50's, written in English. I can't recall what it said, verbatim... except for a part where she mentioned she still "visit(s) our park... our spot by the lake, thinking of you, waiting for you."
GRANDPA! YOU DOG!
As we stood there, pissed off at my grandpa's indiscretions, I pointed at a dark, folded piece of paper.
My aunt pulled it out, and unfolded it.
Straight out of a magazine.
It had Neil Armstrong's biography on it... talking about his first steps on the moon.
My aunt thought nothing of it, my mom got watery-eyed, and I... well... I was speechless.
Grandpa told me a ton of stories. Yeah, he scarred me in a way no other human has, but he also taught me SO much, and he gave me SO MANY good memories-- I was, after all, his absolute favorite human being, he told me so. Whether I like it or not, I'm a lot like him.
He may not have been a model citizen... but, his good moments were incredibly good.
Like everyone, he was a good kid who was screwed over by life at a tender age-- once his dad died and he took charge of his numerous siblings. HIS childhood was abruptly cut once he had to be an adult and find a way to feed his siblings.
I know a good deal about his life... hence why I found it easier to forgive him.
Something I did NOT know until that summer of '07 was who held a spot as one of his heros.
Neil... Armstrong, Grandpa? You admired an American astronaut... even if you were a Mexican farmer, turned American soldier? You admired... an astronaut? I... get you, sir... I fucking get you.
On rainy, stormy nights, Grandpa would take us out to the porch, and as we'd stare off into dark skies... he'd tell us stories. Funny stories, scary stories... all entwined with a bit of truth-- his truth.
I'd shudder after every loud boom of thunder, and he would chuckle.
Don't close your eyes, Mija... you'll miss what's worthwhile in this entire show.
I'd fight to keep my eyes from closing, he'd sit amused, staring off into the dark sky.
He taught me to chill out... and admire the endless possibilities... to imagine... to dream.
I didn't know where he had acquired that optimism from... until I saw that folded, glossy magazine page.
Thank you, Neil Armstrong. Thank you so much.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Can you keep a secret?
The cooking pot symbolizes nourishment and rejuvenation. Sooner or later, good comes to those who do good; joy comes to those who bring humor to others; opportunity comes to those who persist in their dreaming. Rejuvenation is a returning to innate desires — and a re-charging of batteries through the fulfillment of these wishes. This reading suggests nourishment and transformation for people of goodwill. Great good fortune and success are indicated for nourishing relationships.I've been trying to keep as quiet as possible about this, and I think I've been pretty good about it...
Rejuvenation means that men and women of talent and insight are being properly nourished and valued. When a society or group is functioning properly, these people are supported, and encouraged to contribute to their best abilities. A fresh approach to old habits is indicated in a period of rejuvenation. Look for ways of putting new life in old forms. Only when great vitality is present can breakthroughs be achieved.
But alas, I can't stay quiet any longer:
Starting Monday, I will be completely disconnected from everyone and everything.
I'm finally going on a fucking break... and will think of ABSOLUTELY nothing for almost three weeks.
The coolest part? I might not be coming back!
Yeah, I said it.
Nah, it's not that serious. I'll only "not return" if something horrible happens... which, as I've repeatedly stated, I'd be cool with anyway.
I just Don't. Give. A FUCK.
I'm going to be alone, too, on this getaway... so... woohoo!
But no, really, I have FULL INTENTION to return... I have a shit-ton of stuff going on starting from the ends of September, and shit doesn't slow down until around Thanksgiving.
I just need to disconnect... and quit thinking. No internet. No phone. No nothing.
I need to be as invisible as many people often make me feel.
Good shit? I'm taking sketchpads, pens, pencils, and even charcoal! So I'll force myself to draw if I'm ever "bored."
I'm also taking a couple of Moleskine notebooks (yeah, I love them. So what?)... so... I'm going to be writing!
Overall, I'm excited... even if I'm not going to tell anyone what I'm up to... not that they'd give a fuck. It's all good. It's so much better that way, anyway.
I still need to shop... I haven't even THOUGHT about what I'm going to pack.
I'm terrible.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
I fucking mean THICK!
This isn't me...
I've been saying it for almost two years now (JESUS CHRIST!), but the person I am today is definitely not the real me.
I'm so full of anger, and frustration... and so incredibly heartbroken and jaded... and cynical... I'm not the girl I've always been.
I am a nice girl. I love laughing. I smile for the STUPIDEST shit. I feel horrible whenever I hurt someone, whether it is physically or emotionally, I feel like absolute garbage knowing I make someone feel a tiny bit bad. I daydream A LOT. I hug A LOT. I'm very tactile with others... holding hands has always been something I dig. I'm silly... and REALLY playful. I LOVE to skip.... fuck, I love to skip. I say I hate getting tickled, but the moment someone starts a tickle-war, I set out to win that shit-- I WILL find your ticklish spot. If it is in my power to make someone smile, I. Will. Do. It.
That's the real me... not this gloomy, silent, angry, violent, weepy mess of a girl.
Not too long ago, it was always so much easier for me to bounce back and laugh... and be chirpy...
My "lows" were... nowhere near as low as they are now.
I'm a despicable, ugly human now.
Well... do something to be the old AnoMALIE. I'm sure it's not too late. You've always been a sweet funny girl, I'm sure you can still find her in there somewhere. Remember, you say you're a pessimist, but you've ALWAYS been a secret optimist. It's why you're such a cheerleader for everyone else.
So I though... what CAN I do to be my old self again?
Frankly, I couldn't even remember WHAT I was like as a fucking teenager.
So I went back to 2004. I read my journal entries of 2004.
The semester I:
FINALLY got my driver's license! (August 27th)
Found my true love-- writing.
Formed The Three Musketeers.
Suffered through Organic Chemistry.
Met Nativeminnow and his world of infinite biology wisdom.
Met Darcy.
I smiled the entire two-hour ride down 2004 Memory Lane.
My favorite entires? Well, since you asked... here are my top three of '04, completely unedited. Please, like... I apologize for... everything. They're embarrassing, but fuck it!
1. (Something tells me I already posted this one before, but I can't help it. This shit makes me laugh every time. This was my first day of class back in August 31th of '04... a Tuesday I think. I was an overwhelmed 19 year-old)
sure... it's fun to blast your favorite music (i personally sang my little heart out to "y ahora quien" by marc anthony)... but there are many other downsides to it.
it's hot as fuck outside... and there are just so many people... it took me 45 minutes to get home... when it usually takes me no more than 15 minutes.
it's not as cool as i thought it'd be to drive. it's actually sort of... boring. i mean... here you are in this car... a vehicle in which you cannot only kill others, but yourself too... and people seem to forget about common sense.
fuck man. i'm just grouchy. hopefully i get better after i finish my o-chem homework (o-chem homework! imagine that!)
THAT'S AnoMALIE.
I wish my rants sounded more like that nowadays. Man.
I'll try to be her again... with better spelling and grammar.
I've been saying it for almost two years now (JESUS CHRIST!), but the person I am today is definitely not the real me.
I'm so full of anger, and frustration... and so incredibly heartbroken and jaded... and cynical... I'm not the girl I've always been.
I am a nice girl. I love laughing. I smile for the STUPIDEST shit. I feel horrible whenever I hurt someone, whether it is physically or emotionally, I feel like absolute garbage knowing I make someone feel a tiny bit bad. I daydream A LOT. I hug A LOT. I'm very tactile with others... holding hands has always been something I dig. I'm silly... and REALLY playful. I LOVE to skip.... fuck, I love to skip. I say I hate getting tickled, but the moment someone starts a tickle-war, I set out to win that shit-- I WILL find your ticklish spot. If it is in my power to make someone smile, I. Will. Do. It.
That's the real me... not this gloomy, silent, angry, violent, weepy mess of a girl.
Not too long ago, it was always so much easier for me to bounce back and laugh... and be chirpy...
My "lows" were... nowhere near as low as they are now.
I'm a despicable, ugly human now.
Well... do something to be the old AnoMALIE. I'm sure it's not too late. You've always been a sweet funny girl, I'm sure you can still find her in there somewhere. Remember, you say you're a pessimist, but you've ALWAYS been a secret optimist. It's why you're such a cheerleader for everyone else.
So I though... what CAN I do to be my old self again?
Frankly, I couldn't even remember WHAT I was like as a fucking teenager.
So I went back to 2004. I read my journal entries of 2004.
The semester I:
FINALLY got my driver's license! (August 27th)
Found my true love-- writing.
Formed The Three Musketeers.
Suffered through Organic Chemistry.
Met Nativeminnow and his world of infinite biology wisdom.
Met Darcy.
I smiled the entire two-hour ride down 2004 Memory Lane.
My favorite entires? Well, since you asked... here are my top three of '04, completely unedited. Please, like... I apologize for... everything. They're embarrassing, but fuck it!
1. (Something tells me I already posted this one before, but I can't help it. This shit makes me laugh every time. This was my first day of class back in August 31th of '04... a Tuesday I think. I was an overwhelmed 19 year-old)
i'm completely exhausted right now. i just want to throw myself on the bed and pass out. i mean... this is a fucking greuling day! fucking 5 classes nonstop... with 15 passing periods... where i'm expected to make it to class on time. that's a bunch of bullshit.
all of my teachers seem to be fans of "being on class on time." that would be easy if unlv were the size of a damn high school.
my CRJ class is alright. the teach seems cool... although he's cross-eyed and i don't know what eye to look at.
the english teacher scared me. he said something about being the... head of the english department last year? i think? and he scared me the most. he looks like the type who will enjoy failing a student.
my bio teacher is boring. he gets a bit too excited when talking about darwin. he wants us to be fans like he is.
my philosophy class is just... weird. i don't like it for shit. the class is too packed... i sit in the front facing the students... and the teacher's a monotone. it's right across the writing center... and for some reason that gets my stomach turning. it sort of scares me.
my chemistry lab is fucked up. the two lab T.A.'s have THICK accents. and i fucking mean THICK! on guy came straight from china, the other lady is pakistani... and she loves chewing bubblegum like my mom does: like a cow chewing curd.
my make up is all smeared... my hair is all frizzy... and my face is greasey. i look like hell man. i look like a bum.
oh, and let's not forget how much fucking reading i have to do over the week: 3 biology chapters, one chemistry chapter with 10 homework questions, 13 pages off my philosophy class, and 30 pages for english.
this semester is going to be hell.
fucking hell
2. (Rough Tuesday in October '04, where everything was going wrong. Typical 19-year-old AnoMALIE-meltdown)
i hate the fact that i need to go to school and bust my brain. i hate sitting there working on mechanisms... memorizing... memorizing all this bullshit! diplomonadida, parabasala, alveolata, euglenozoa, stramenopila, rhodophyta, chlorophyta, mycetozoa... what good does knowing all these phylas do me? why am i filling my mind with names like these?
what's the genus of this structure? it's a giardia, phylum diplomonadida, they also have no mitochondria... trichomonas are the genus... parabasala it's phylum/clade. They're all protists.
euglenas are mixtotrophic and they're flagellates.
porphyra is another name for sea weed. why call it porphyra if it's a fucking SEA WEED? they're in the rhodophyta clade/phyla. and the mycetozoas... well, they're coenocytic... and they're phagocytic... and.. a genus is a slime mold! slime mold... now that aint too bad
bilogy will be the death of me.
no wonder most doctors go bald.
today i licked my right index finger during chem lab. i think i accidentaly ate some of the crystals i was supposed to be forming. i think it may be interferring with my thinking process. i think it led to my melt down... and i think it's giving me a tummy/head ache.
3. (And now for my last trick-- because I know it gets annoying to read all this-- my ABSOLUTE favorite! My first day DRIVING TO SCHOOL. This dates September 2nd, 2004)
i wish you didn't have to drive to school. it's a piece of shit.sure... it's fun to blast your favorite music (i personally sang my little heart out to "y ahora quien" by marc anthony)... but there are many other downsides to it.
it's hot as fuck outside... and there are just so many people... it took me 45 minutes to get home... when it usually takes me no more than 15 minutes.
it's not as cool as i thought it'd be to drive. it's actually sort of... boring. i mean... here you are in this car... a vehicle in which you cannot only kill others, but yourself too... and people seem to forget about common sense.
fuck man. i'm just grouchy. hopefully i get better after i finish my o-chem homework (o-chem homework! imagine that!)
***
Ah... good laugh.THAT'S AnoMALIE.
I wish my rants sounded more like that nowadays. Man.
I'll try to be her again... with better spelling and grammar.
Monday, August 20, 2012
love lifespan
Over the weekend, I saw the mother of my ex "love of my life."
I had not seen that woman in... ages, and I don't even know why... but one minute I was minding my own business and next thing I knew, she was right in front of me.
I wanted to cry.
She was such a nice lady. So kind. And sweet.
I know people talk shit about "momma's boys" but honestly, I love them. Guys who love their mothers have my respect... mainly because I have a brother, and I would punch any fucking bitch who complains about my brother's love/respect for his mother.
This guy, was a complete momma's boy. And this woman loved me. She appreciated the fact that I liked her son so much... because she clearly lived for her boy.
The way she'd look at me... and hug me... and speak to me, made me melt.
The problem? Her son did not like me as much as I liked him.
When shit hit the fan, and we had to go our separate ways, I purposely avoided this woman, because I'd nearly break down each time I'd have to see her.
It hurt to have to act like I was ok, like I didn't miss her son, or feel stupid over what had happened between us.
My world would collapse and I'd be back at square one, once again trying to build my wall back up.
When I saw her on Saturday, my heart raced, and a smile crept across my face.
All on its own.
I involuntarily waved and smiled my typical, huge, real smile.
Her eyes are sad now. She has frown lines. She's a broken woman.
It broke my heart.
She's divorced now... from the love of HER life, the father of her two (equally handsome-but-idiotic) sons.
One son is in prison... and the other one, the ex-love of my life? He's a drug-addict... father of three.
No doubt I dodged a huge fucking bullet...
But that doesn't mean I didn't want to hug her and tell her everything would be ok... even if in the back of my mind I know I'd be speaking a lie.
"Me dio mucho gusto volverla a ver, señora."
Delighted to have seen you again, ma'am.
I squeezed her hands, turned my back, and walked towards my car.
I had not seen that woman in... ages, and I don't even know why... but one minute I was minding my own business and next thing I knew, she was right in front of me.
I wanted to cry.
She was such a nice lady. So kind. And sweet.
I know people talk shit about "momma's boys" but honestly, I love them. Guys who love their mothers have my respect... mainly because I have a brother, and I would punch any fucking bitch who complains about my brother's love/respect for his mother.
This guy, was a complete momma's boy. And this woman loved me. She appreciated the fact that I liked her son so much... because she clearly lived for her boy.
The way she'd look at me... and hug me... and speak to me, made me melt.
The problem? Her son did not like me as much as I liked him.
When shit hit the fan, and we had to go our separate ways, I purposely avoided this woman, because I'd nearly break down each time I'd have to see her.
It hurt to have to act like I was ok, like I didn't miss her son, or feel stupid over what had happened between us.
My world would collapse and I'd be back at square one, once again trying to build my wall back up.
When I saw her on Saturday, my heart raced, and a smile crept across my face.
All on its own.
I involuntarily waved and smiled my typical, huge, real smile.
Her eyes are sad now. She has frown lines. She's a broken woman.
It broke my heart.
She's divorced now... from the love of HER life, the father of her two (equally handsome-but-idiotic) sons.
One son is in prison... and the other one, the ex-love of my life? He's a drug-addict... father of three.
No doubt I dodged a huge fucking bullet...
But that doesn't mean I didn't want to hug her and tell her everything would be ok... even if in the back of my mind I know I'd be speaking a lie.
"Me dio mucho gusto volverla a ver, señora."
Delighted to have seen you again, ma'am.
I squeezed her hands, turned my back, and walked towards my car.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Sexual in nature
"I know it's very sexual in nature, but..."
Not the words you wanna hear from your godson...
But I got his back, for life... so I'll do anything for him, like post this photo on my FB wall...
::eyeroll:: Whatevs, man... dudes continuously "like" photos of half-naked STRANGERS, I have no shame in supporting my fucking blood. I let this kid bite my arm when we were babies... I'm pretty sure that turned us into blood-siblings.
Suck a dick, haters.
In other news, my family's turned a little upside down-- my paternal side.
Today marked the end of Ramadan, and with it, lit up a nice little factoid for Dad's side of the family:
One of our females converted to Islam.
Whaaaat?!
That's how everyone reacted... everyone but me. This was no surprise to me... considering the girl had been posting so much shit in (fucked up) arabic, posted photos of mosques and stuff of that nature since January.
I was also not alarmed.
I firmly believe whatever makes you a happier, better human being should be pursued... and you should never hold it against anyone who does this, even if it isn't a view/faith you share. It makes someone HAPPIER and BETTER... WHY are you going to trip?
So she's no longer a Catholic... who gives a fuck? She was a TERRIBLE, ignorant Catholic who was sad and confused. She's happier and smarter now as a muslim... I have no problem with the change.
But of course, everyone in the family freaked out the moment this girl "came out" last night as she cheered having successfully completed her first Ramadan.
All fucking hell broke loose.
Even I suffered some backlash because I congratulated her, even introduced her to the phrase "Eid mubarak" (can you believe that? Chick is a muslim now and I had to teach her something? I know I said she was smarter now, but I never said she was SMART to begin with).
Frankly, I don't give a shit. Let the girl be. If this was something SHE wanted from the bottom of her heart--as it appears it was-- so bet it. I seriously don't think my support of the girl makes me a bad Catholic... and anyone who thinks so can go lock themselves in a room, "pray for my soul," and never emerge.
You know... this thing happened a few years back... I think it's known as something like "The Crusades" or something like that... Something about religious intolerance or something like that... yeah... that shit wasn't cool... you should probably concern yourself with praying for THEIR souls... you know, the ones who participate in those famous crusades... not me.
But... as aggravated as all these weekend's shenanigans have gotten me, I am in fact, incredibly happy. So incredibly happy.
Not the words you wanna hear from your godson...
But I got his back, for life... so I'll do anything for him, like post this photo on my FB wall...
 |
| Come on, kid... for real? |
Suck a dick, haters.
In other news, my family's turned a little upside down-- my paternal side.
Today marked the end of Ramadan, and with it, lit up a nice little factoid for Dad's side of the family:
One of our females converted to Islam.
Whaaaat?!
That's how everyone reacted... everyone but me. This was no surprise to me... considering the girl had been posting so much shit in (fucked up) arabic, posted photos of mosques and stuff of that nature since January.
I was also not alarmed.
I firmly believe whatever makes you a happier, better human being should be pursued... and you should never hold it against anyone who does this, even if it isn't a view/faith you share. It makes someone HAPPIER and BETTER... WHY are you going to trip?
So she's no longer a Catholic... who gives a fuck? She was a TERRIBLE, ignorant Catholic who was sad and confused. She's happier and smarter now as a muslim... I have no problem with the change.
But of course, everyone in the family freaked out the moment this girl "came out" last night as she cheered having successfully completed her first Ramadan.
All fucking hell broke loose.
Even I suffered some backlash because I congratulated her, even introduced her to the phrase "Eid mubarak" (can you believe that? Chick is a muslim now and I had to teach her something? I know I said she was smarter now, but I never said she was SMART to begin with).
Frankly, I don't give a shit. Let the girl be. If this was something SHE wanted from the bottom of her heart--as it appears it was-- so bet it. I seriously don't think my support of the girl makes me a bad Catholic... and anyone who thinks so can go lock themselves in a room, "pray for my soul," and never emerge.
You know... this thing happened a few years back... I think it's known as something like "The Crusades" or something like that... Something about religious intolerance or something like that... yeah... that shit wasn't cool... you should probably concern yourself with praying for THEIR souls... you know, the ones who participate in those famous crusades... not me.
But... as aggravated as all these weekend's shenanigans have gotten me, I am in fact, incredibly happy. So incredibly happy.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Cruzar los dedos
First of all, shout-out to Mooney, for the helpful hint in regards to my eye. I woke up fresh-faced... and even happy, after seeing my eyelid was back to normal. Hooray for eye-techs in the family!
This success only made me cheer the fuck up... and although I was still aggressive and shooting death-stares at some jackoffs at the gym, I was chirpy all other parts of the day.
Chirpiness is exhausting... so... I'm going to bed without much insightful bullshit... or existential drama... or straight up neurotic rants.
I'll just let one of my favorite lyricist, Gustavo Cerati, speak for me.
God, I love that man... even if he is Argentinian. My heart hurts when I think of him.
Yo cruzaré los dedos.
This success only made me cheer the fuck up... and although I was still aggressive and shooting death-stares at some jackoffs at the gym, I was chirpy all other parts of the day.
Chirpiness is exhausting... so... I'm going to bed without much insightful bullshit... or existential drama... or straight up neurotic rants.
I'll just let one of my favorite lyricist, Gustavo Cerati, speak for me.
 |
| It would have been cool if the person responsible for this image wouldn't have misspelled Cerati's name. |
Yo cruzaré los dedos.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
ROAR!
Ahh, yes! Because August couldn't be cool with me and wanted to punish me for whining, The Universe decided to give me a bump on my eyelid.
MY VIRGIN EYELID!
I've never had anything wrong with my eyelid... just... you know... when I cry and they swell and that shit... but any sort of bump? NEVER!
Yeah, I know I'm overreacting, but I'm just bummed out 'cause my eyes are the only kinda-ok thing about me. Now even that is fucked up. Nice going, Summer... you're the best!
And while I don't really give a shit about this, I've been agitated since around 7PM, when I started arguing with a cousin over the whole USA-Mexico FRIENDLY.
I'm fine with differing opinions... but when the opinion is STUPID and lacking logic... the sole "logic" being "I want to piss you off by saying some of the most misinformed, bandwagoning bullshit," I go fucking batshit. I know I reach this level once I drop the word "retard" so often, I run out of spit.
Oh, oh, oh! And a couple of hours before that, I got in a verbal altercation with this fucking idiotic cholo, driving one of those shoddy landscaping trucks. Imbecile nearly crashed into me because he didn't do a four-way stop correctly... and I caught him right before he hit me... so our cars did this elegant, slow-motion dance in the middle of the intersection, where we pounded on our chests, lowered our windows and screamed:
IT WAS MY FUCKING TURN!!! MY TURN!!!!!!
I feel I won it, because while he spiced up his sentence with "FUCKING DUMB BITCH! IT WAS MY TURN! DUMB BITCH" I was pissed off enough, and cogent enough, to scream "GO BACK TO FUCKING PRISON, BIIIIIIITCH!"
Really, Holmes? You're gonna do me like that? you are gonna call me "DUMB BITCH"????
HAHAHAHAHA! What you got against girls, dawg? Too much BITCH duty in prison? It's OK, Montoya Santana, you'll get over it.
I think that's what kept me from getting all lame and sentimental, and instead violent and all... Herculean.
It also didn't help that I was returning home from my longest day at the gym. I am a massively aggressive monster Wednesday afternoons... when I speed home for my delicious, nourishing post-workout meal... which is my absolute favorite meal of the week. So pardon me as I chop your fucking head off for getting in the way of my nutrient-depleted body and the fan-fucking-tastic carbs awaiting me at home.
As we parted ways from our car-tango, he calmed the fuck down... not I. When this girl wants to be menacing, she WILL be menacing... you can blame pent up aggression for that... and these too
 |
| See that elbow? I would fucking LOVE to smash it across your goatee-rockin' face, lil' homie! This chick is NOT too happy with dudes right now, G. |
I screamed a nice "Fuck you!" and bucked. Yeah, I bucked.
I got home and cracked the fuck up.
Vato couldda shot and killed me... AHAHAHAHA! Oh, a girl can dream.
I tell ya, reckless. I just no longer give a fuck.
And to end on a less sour, violent note, Mooney was kind enough to screencap the conversation RidiculouslyGoodLookingBoy had in regards to some bitch questioning his sexuality:
If only I were that articulate... and participated in more civilized activities, like rational conversations...
Me no think. Me SMASH!
God, I'm such a brute.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
We used to be cool, Summer!
Yeah... August is definitely not my month. Actually... this entire summer has not been my SEASON.
What... I had like... a combined total of perhaps 14 hours of happiness? Smiles I paid for dearly within HOURS, when I walked to my backyard to find my dead dog.
Spent so many years daydreaming about some day hanging out with this one guy... and somehow, as if by some sort of magic trick, I spend a weekend in his presence... three days where this cheesy smile didn't leave my face. Fast-forward eight hours after throwing up the deuces to the guy... and I find Tyson.
It's really, REALLY hard to convince me something out there just DOES NOT want me to be happy.
I hadn't been that type of happy... in ages, and then the Universe delivers this terrible blow... just violently rips out my heart. It gave me a couple of hours in the company of a dude I've crushed on for eight years (Oh, the fucking awesomeness this has added to my short story... nice comic relief, at my expense of course, which is always the kind I go for), and then it takes away the ONLY creature that stuck by me--thick and thin, 24/7-- for 11 years of my life.
Seriously... what kind of fucking joke is that?
The rug was really pulled out from right under me since then... and I've been slipping so fucking hard ever since.
Things have only gotten worse.
Currently, I'm in one of the worst fights I've had with my sister. Of course I think I'm right... I KNOW I'm right. So my arm isn't twisting on this one.
She has resorted to giving me the silent treatment... which... we all know how that works out with me.
Homie, YOU'RE the one living alone 1800 miles away, not I. Tell me how well that works out for ya, buddy.
And last, I am no longer enjoying alone time. My folks are once again home... arguing... pissing me off... all that good shit.
Mom HAS made me laugh a few times... so... that's cool.
Yeah.
What... I had like... a combined total of perhaps 14 hours of happiness? Smiles I paid for dearly within HOURS, when I walked to my backyard to find my dead dog.
Spent so many years daydreaming about some day hanging out with this one guy... and somehow, as if by some sort of magic trick, I spend a weekend in his presence... three days where this cheesy smile didn't leave my face. Fast-forward eight hours after throwing up the deuces to the guy... and I find Tyson.
It's really, REALLY hard to convince me something out there just DOES NOT want me to be happy.
I hadn't been that type of happy... in ages, and then the Universe delivers this terrible blow... just violently rips out my heart. It gave me a couple of hours in the company of a dude I've crushed on for eight years (Oh, the fucking awesomeness this has added to my short story... nice comic relief, at my expense of course, which is always the kind I go for), and then it takes away the ONLY creature that stuck by me--thick and thin, 24/7-- for 11 years of my life.
Seriously... what kind of fucking joke is that?
The rug was really pulled out from right under me since then... and I've been slipping so fucking hard ever since.
Things have only gotten worse.
Currently, I'm in one of the worst fights I've had with my sister. Of course I think I'm right... I KNOW I'm right. So my arm isn't twisting on this one.
She has resorted to giving me the silent treatment... which... we all know how that works out with me.
Homie, YOU'RE the one living alone 1800 miles away, not I. Tell me how well that works out for ya, buddy.
And last, I am no longer enjoying alone time. My folks are once again home... arguing... pissing me off... all that good shit.
Mom HAS made me laugh a few times... so... that's cool.
Yeah.
Monday, August 13, 2012
L word... like Loser?
One of the words, among the many, that was thrown at me Saturday night by the schizophrenic alcoholic was "lesbian."
1. I'm not homophobic. If anything, I give my full love and support to the LGBT community. Always have, always will.
The only time that word is hurtful to me is when my dad throws it at me... because I know how homophobic he is, so the fact that he's willing to accuse me of being a lesbian cuts me deep... because he hates gays... so... he's kinda indirectly telling me he's ready to hate me (because in his head I AM gay).
Other than Pops calling me gay, I don't really give a flying fuck who throws this accusation at me.
I find it somewhat amusing when people resort to questioning the sexuality of those who turn them down.
The person who immediately pops into my head is one of Mooney's friends. He is this ridiculously good-looking, blond, blue-eyed, All-American young man. Some chick openly questioned his sexuality on one of his status updates... I think because he turned her down or something like that... and his retort was one of the most amazing group of sentences I've had the pleasure of reading.
Just because I don't want you does not mean I don't want men... it means I don't want you. Period. YOU, you idiotic... "God's gift to women."
Then he gets my cousin to text me to "apologize" on his behalf-- blaming it on the alcohol.
Oh yeah, that's cool. Just one quick question... this apology... will it like... remove the memory of some dude screaming at a quiet chick in public from everyone's mind? No? Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuck off.
This is why I hate socializing... and just... people, in general, really.
Does this kind of shit happen to everyone, or just me?
1. I'm not homophobic. If anything, I give my full love and support to the LGBT community. Always have, always will.
2. I'm straight. I don't care to prove this to ANYONE, as long as I know it, I don't give a shit. It's like someone calling me Puerto Rican. Am I? No. Do I care to prove them wrong? Nope. Whatever. Go ahead, say whatever the fuck you'd like... fuck, call me North Korean for all I care. I can't control what others see me as... I might as well not waste energy trying to prove them wrong.
3. There are worse names to be called. Off the top of my head, words I've been called which have been more hurtful: pig, cow, monster, beast (not the cool type of beast--like when you accomplish a huge feat), gross (this one still stings my heart, just by reading), pendeja, estupida, ugly.
Other than Pops calling me gay, I don't really give a flying fuck who throws this accusation at me.
I find it somewhat amusing when people resort to questioning the sexuality of those who turn them down.
The person who immediately pops into my head is one of Mooney's friends. He is this ridiculously good-looking, blond, blue-eyed, All-American young man. Some chick openly questioned his sexuality on one of his status updates... I think because he turned her down or something like that... and his retort was one of the most amazing group of sentences I've had the pleasure of reading.
Just because I don't want you does not mean I don't want men... it means I don't want you. Period. YOU, you idiotic... "God's gift to women."
You don't want me, therefore you must be gay!How fucking arrogant and presumptuous. Dick.
 |
| Neta. |
Oh yeah, that's cool. Just one quick question... this apology... will it like... remove the memory of some dude screaming at a quiet chick in public from everyone's mind? No? Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuck off.
This is why I hate socializing... and just... people, in general, really.
Does this kind of shit happen to everyone, or just me?
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Grow up? As in... how?
While my sister has dudes who tell her she's amazing and that an awesome guy will eventually find her, I get dudes who tell me shit like:
Honestly, I'm the best you've got left.
You're wasting your life.
Grow up.
Eres una pendeja!
You're fuckin' up.
And many more wonderfully eloquent phrases of that nature.
Last night I hung out with a group of dudes, the majority of them my family.
I dropped by Downtown to celebrate the birthday of one of the guys, and the only girls there were the girlfriends of a couple of the dudes.
I didn't feel too uncomfortable, since the dudes who weren't related to me were guys I talk to anyway.
Everything was fine, until I noticed one of the guys kept putting his hands on me.
I'm fine with hugs and all that shit, even if I'm sort of like Lars in that aspect (the main reason why "Lars and the Real Girl" resonated with me... not just because Ryan Gosling is magnificent to stare at, regardless of the role he plays), but this guy was just suffocating me. It felt like when a dog is off marking its territory, pissing all over the place.
Things went sour the moment I finally--fed up-- dodged his grasp.
Boy, was that the wrong thing to do.
Motherfucker went off on me.
Like I said, I'm fine with a hug here and there, I do it all the time... but I definitely don't think I overreacted. I dictate how fine I am with physical contact in regards to MY body.
And it wasn't like I looked at him with disgust, or I made a fucking circus out of my dodge, I did the fucking gesture as discreetly as possible.
RELAX! You think you're the hottest girl here? I hug everyone, get over yourself!
I felt my blood boil... and hot tears stinging my eyes.
I know this guy... back when I was heavier, the most I got out of him was a fucking head nod of acknowledgement. A HEAD NOD. A few years back, I still remember him cracking a joke at my expense after my shirt crept up to expose some of my gut. I KNOW exactly what he thought of me back then.
And there's a difference between hugs. When you hug/hold on to a girl you consider a "homie" you tend to keep your hands ABOVE the waistline. The moment your fucking hands creep closer to the lower pelvic region, or small of her back... you're crossing the friend line. That's not me being conceited/self-centere or whatever the fuck you may think I am, it's fucking TRUTH.... especially when dealing with this guy, who like I said, wouldn't touch me a few months back.
Was I wrong in getting myself OUT of that situation? Hell no. Fuck off.
It didn't help that he was buzzing pretty hard. Whatever filter this outspoken gentlemen has was completely obliterated by the time I entered the room.
I'm sick of stuck up females like you... the fuck outta here. There are at least ten other girls here hotter than you, that I SHOULD be hollering at right now. You need to grow up, little girl. Quit waiting on this fucking perfect, mystery guy.
(I had been explaining to my cousin why I had passed on his house-warming party a couple of weeks back. I mentioned how I was chilling with "this one guy I've known for a while but hardly ever see since he lives on the other side of the ocean... coolest guy ever, so of course I wasn't going to miss that." Apparently this jackass didn't appreciate my comment)
???
I'm sure the situation would have worsened had my equally drunk cousin not stepped in and taken the guy out of my face.
I'm sick of this shit.
Seriously.
I hate how guys expect me to feel... honored? by their shit.
I especially hate how the majority of these guys are guys who didn't give me a second glance a few months back. I was pretty much fucking scum to them... and now, all of a sudden they feel entitled to get lewd with me and then bash me for turning them down?
I'm SO SORRY, your highness! I forget I'm but a simple girl!
Really, guy? REALLY?
Yes, I'm single... and 27... fucking ancient for a Mexican chick... but that doesn't mean I'm going to jump at your fucking advances and cave in... just because I'm old.
I'm 27, dog. I can spend a fucking eternity being alone. I have my own bullshit to deal with... I have no desire to add the bullshit of a second person to that list.
Here's the kicker: not only am I a single 27 year old Mexican chick, I'm a virgin. Sufficient proof that I could not care less about getting with anyone. I can't miss anything I've never had... so... I basically have NO USE for you and your stupid fucking bullshit... ANY of it. You're no Darcy, so get the fuck out of my face.
This doesn't mean YOU should feel honored by my attention... it just means you need to learn to respect my fucking boundaries and chill the fuck out when I turn you down... because I WILL turn you down.
I could have gone on my rant... or at least kneed the shit out of this asshole's crotch... but instead, I quietly excused myself from the party, and cried all the drive home. Yup.
Guys can be such fucking jokes sometimes...
Honestly, I'm the best you've got left.
You're wasting your life.
Grow up.
Eres una pendeja!
You're fuckin' up.
And many more wonderfully eloquent phrases of that nature.
Last night I hung out with a group of dudes, the majority of them my family.
I dropped by Downtown to celebrate the birthday of one of the guys, and the only girls there were the girlfriends of a couple of the dudes.
I didn't feel too uncomfortable, since the dudes who weren't related to me were guys I talk to anyway.
Everything was fine, until I noticed one of the guys kept putting his hands on me.
I'm fine with hugs and all that shit, even if I'm sort of like Lars in that aspect (the main reason why "Lars and the Real Girl" resonated with me... not just because Ryan Gosling is magnificent to stare at, regardless of the role he plays), but this guy was just suffocating me. It felt like when a dog is off marking its territory, pissing all over the place.
Things went sour the moment I finally--fed up-- dodged his grasp.
Boy, was that the wrong thing to do.
Motherfucker went off on me.
Like I said, I'm fine with a hug here and there, I do it all the time... but I definitely don't think I overreacted. I dictate how fine I am with physical contact in regards to MY body.
And it wasn't like I looked at him with disgust, or I made a fucking circus out of my dodge, I did the fucking gesture as discreetly as possible.
RELAX! You think you're the hottest girl here? I hug everyone, get over yourself!
I felt my blood boil... and hot tears stinging my eyes.
I know this guy... back when I was heavier, the most I got out of him was a fucking head nod of acknowledgement. A HEAD NOD. A few years back, I still remember him cracking a joke at my expense after my shirt crept up to expose some of my gut. I KNOW exactly what he thought of me back then.
And there's a difference between hugs. When you hug/hold on to a girl you consider a "homie" you tend to keep your hands ABOVE the waistline. The moment your fucking hands creep closer to the lower pelvic region, or small of her back... you're crossing the friend line. That's not me being conceited/self-centere or whatever the fuck you may think I am, it's fucking TRUTH.... especially when dealing with this guy, who like I said, wouldn't touch me a few months back.
Was I wrong in getting myself OUT of that situation? Hell no. Fuck off.
It didn't help that he was buzzing pretty hard. Whatever filter this outspoken gentlemen has was completely obliterated by the time I entered the room.
I'm sick of stuck up females like you... the fuck outta here. There are at least ten other girls here hotter than you, that I SHOULD be hollering at right now. You need to grow up, little girl. Quit waiting on this fucking perfect, mystery guy.
(I had been explaining to my cousin why I had passed on his house-warming party a couple of weeks back. I mentioned how I was chilling with "this one guy I've known for a while but hardly ever see since he lives on the other side of the ocean... coolest guy ever, so of course I wasn't going to miss that." Apparently this jackass didn't appreciate my comment)
???
I'm sure the situation would have worsened had my equally drunk cousin not stepped in and taken the guy out of my face.
I'm sick of this shit.
Seriously.
I hate how guys expect me to feel... honored? by their shit.
I especially hate how the majority of these guys are guys who didn't give me a second glance a few months back. I was pretty much fucking scum to them... and now, all of a sudden they feel entitled to get lewd with me and then bash me for turning them down?
I'm SO SORRY, your highness! I forget I'm but a simple girl!
Really, guy? REALLY?
Yes, I'm single... and 27... fucking ancient for a Mexican chick... but that doesn't mean I'm going to jump at your fucking advances and cave in... just because I'm old.
I'm 27, dog. I can spend a fucking eternity being alone. I have my own bullshit to deal with... I have no desire to add the bullshit of a second person to that list.
Here's the kicker: not only am I a single 27 year old Mexican chick, I'm a virgin. Sufficient proof that I could not care less about getting with anyone. I can't miss anything I've never had... so... I basically have NO USE for you and your stupid fucking bullshit... ANY of it. You're no Darcy, so get the fuck out of my face.
This doesn't mean YOU should feel honored by my attention... it just means you need to learn to respect my fucking boundaries and chill the fuck out when I turn you down... because I WILL turn you down.
I could have gone on my rant... or at least kneed the shit out of this asshole's crotch... but instead, I quietly excused myself from the party, and cried all the drive home. Yup.
Guys can be such fucking jokes sometimes...
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Curt.
So... did anything noteworthy occur today?
No?
Oh, that?
Yeah, that was cool.
No, I actually slept until ten in the morning... so...
Nah, I lucked out. I waited until 8:30.
Nope.
No?
Oh, that?
Yeah, that was cool.
No, I actually slept until ten in the morning... so...
Nah, I lucked out. I waited until 8:30.
Nope.
Friday, August 10, 2012
The Can
I have this very vivid memory... a really good one, for once... of being 13.
It was a warm, July night... a Hometown night.
It had become a tradition to play a game, "El Bote" aka "The Can."
See, we "country" Mexicans are "ghetto," as in, we're resourceful and make do with what we've got. We may not have much, but we'll find a way to make things work.
El Bote is a mixture of "hide and go seek" and tag... sort of.
First, you get an empty plastic bottle, add pebbles, and cap the lid... so you basically make a rattle.
One kid is "it" and has to chase after the bottle that someone else is going to throw in the opposite direction of where everyone else is going to run and hide.
The "it" kid runs after the can, retrieves it, and proceeds to search for the hidden kids. When the "it" person spots someone, he has to call him out: "One, two, three for *kid* who is hiding *place where he is hiding.*"
If the "it" kid gets it right, the kid in hiding has to come out and sit by the can.
Point of the game is for the "it" kid to find every person who is hiding.
Game ends once the "it" kid finds everyone, OR if he incorrectly calls someone out, OR if one of the kids in hiding beats him to the can and calls everyone out: "One, two, three for all my friends! Come out!"
If the "it" kid finds everyone, first kid he found is it. If the "it" kid loses, he has to do it all over again.
WELL!
This game is awesome to play at night... especially because in hometown, there are very few streetlights-- it's dark as fuck... so it makes it that much more interesting.
It's also an awesome time to go off and hide with your crush.
I took full advantage of this... and it was obvious... because I fucking HATE running... but if it means I get to chill with a guy I like, I'm more than game for the stupid activity.
Anyway, back as a 13 year old, I harbored a crush for this guy, six years my senior. I very clearly remember liking him the moment I made eye-contact with him as an eight year old-- yeah, EIGHT.
Anyway, considering he was so much older than me, it wasn't like he'd be all cool with dating me or whatever the fuck... he wasn't THAT much of a pedophile.
Anyway, it was obvious he thought I was alright, because he'd chat me up... and hang out with me until two in the morning.
Those were seriously some of the best nights of my life... just sitting there, under one of the only streetlights in town, under that alamo... giggling over mundane shit.
While we could chat for hours, there WAS the part where we'd be surrounded by my two siblings, Alo, Jaz, and three other little kids... so there never really was ALONE time.
That's where El Bote came in.
After maybe three games, FINALLY the guy followed me behind this tiny house. He tried chatting me up once there, because it was SO far away from everyone else... but I, being idiotic, shy, annoyingly-competitive AnoMALIE, focused on the goddamn game.
As I was squatting to look over at the "it" kid, to see if I could make a safe run for the can, I wound up falling on my ass.
Me: Oh shit! I just... I bet I just dirtied the hell out of my shorts!
I was wearing khaki short-shorts.
Him: Let me look...
This totally went over my head... because I'm naive and stupid.
Him: No, you're fine. Your ass looks great from here...
I got nervous... and like the fucking retarded, panicking quail on Bambi, I darted out of safety and into plain view of the "it" kid. I was caught.
I had not worn shorts in public since then...
Well, I HAVE worn shorts when I've gone to the beach... and when I was in Costa Rica, but not in Hometown or Vegas.
I decided today would be the day I broke that 14 year streak.
It was glorious.
No crush (OF MINE! I feel I must stress this, given my sudden fucking stupid popularity. I seriously just want to be that wallflower I've always been, invisible to everyone, well, almost everyone. Obviously there's that one guy I wish I'd be ever-present to...) to tell me I had a great ass, however... but that's cool, I understand shit in my life can never be perfect.
Now excuse me, I have to sleep. Yes, this was a hardcore cheat-update.
It was a warm, July night... a Hometown night.
It had become a tradition to play a game, "El Bote" aka "The Can."
See, we "country" Mexicans are "ghetto," as in, we're resourceful and make do with what we've got. We may not have much, but we'll find a way to make things work.
El Bote is a mixture of "hide and go seek" and tag... sort of.
First, you get an empty plastic bottle, add pebbles, and cap the lid... so you basically make a rattle.
One kid is "it" and has to chase after the bottle that someone else is going to throw in the opposite direction of where everyone else is going to run and hide.
The "it" kid runs after the can, retrieves it, and proceeds to search for the hidden kids. When the "it" person spots someone, he has to call him out: "One, two, three for *kid* who is hiding *place where he is hiding.*"
If the "it" kid gets it right, the kid in hiding has to come out and sit by the can.
Point of the game is for the "it" kid to find every person who is hiding.
Game ends once the "it" kid finds everyone, OR if he incorrectly calls someone out, OR if one of the kids in hiding beats him to the can and calls everyone out: "One, two, three for all my friends! Come out!"
If the "it" kid finds everyone, first kid he found is it. If the "it" kid loses, he has to do it all over again.
WELL!
This game is awesome to play at night... especially because in hometown, there are very few streetlights-- it's dark as fuck... so it makes it that much more interesting.
It's also an awesome time to go off and hide with your crush.
I took full advantage of this... and it was obvious... because I fucking HATE running... but if it means I get to chill with a guy I like, I'm more than game for the stupid activity.
Anyway, back as a 13 year old, I harbored a crush for this guy, six years my senior. I very clearly remember liking him the moment I made eye-contact with him as an eight year old-- yeah, EIGHT.
Anyway, considering he was so much older than me, it wasn't like he'd be all cool with dating me or whatever the fuck... he wasn't THAT much of a pedophile.
Anyway, it was obvious he thought I was alright, because he'd chat me up... and hang out with me until two in the morning.
Those were seriously some of the best nights of my life... just sitting there, under one of the only streetlights in town, under that alamo... giggling over mundane shit.
While we could chat for hours, there WAS the part where we'd be surrounded by my two siblings, Alo, Jaz, and three other little kids... so there never really was ALONE time.
That's where El Bote came in.
After maybe three games, FINALLY the guy followed me behind this tiny house. He tried chatting me up once there, because it was SO far away from everyone else... but I, being idiotic, shy, annoyingly-competitive AnoMALIE, focused on the goddamn game.
As I was squatting to look over at the "it" kid, to see if I could make a safe run for the can, I wound up falling on my ass.
Me: Oh shit! I just... I bet I just dirtied the hell out of my shorts!
I was wearing khaki short-shorts.
Him: Let me look...
This totally went over my head... because I'm naive and stupid.
Him: No, you're fine. Your ass looks great from here...
I got nervous... and like the fucking retarded, panicking quail on Bambi, I darted out of safety and into plain view of the "it" kid. I was caught.
I had not worn shorts in public since then...
Well, I HAVE worn shorts when I've gone to the beach... and when I was in Costa Rica, but not in Hometown or Vegas.
I decided today would be the day I broke that 14 year streak.
It was glorious.
No crush (OF MINE! I feel I must stress this, given my sudden fucking stupid popularity. I seriously just want to be that wallflower I've always been, invisible to everyone, well, almost everyone. Obviously there's that one guy I wish I'd be ever-present to...) to tell me I had a great ass, however... but that's cool, I understand shit in my life can never be perfect.
Now excuse me, I have to sleep. Yes, this was a hardcore cheat-update.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Solitaria
So this hurricane Ernesto...
I'm not much of a weather girl, but last time I checked, it was gonna bring the drama to the Cancun area on Tuesday... as in, when my parents arrived over there.
Have these two individuals called me to inform me about any of the happenings over there? NO. I figure, if anything bad occurred, I would have heard by now... although I don't bother to answer the house phone... so... umm... there would be a voice message, right? Right. Freakin' parents being all irresponsible on me.
Anyway, I remain chirpy... and enjoying my alone time.
Painting, shopping, laughing, cooking, cleaning... it's weird, but I'm finding joy in all of this.
I AM tired, though... kinda fried after not getting adequate sleep for a few nights... so I must shut the fuck up for now, and stop here.
I'm not much of a weather girl, but last time I checked, it was gonna bring the drama to the Cancun area on Tuesday... as in, when my parents arrived over there.
Have these two individuals called me to inform me about any of the happenings over there? NO. I figure, if anything bad occurred, I would have heard by now... although I don't bother to answer the house phone... so... umm... there would be a voice message, right? Right. Freakin' parents being all irresponsible on me.
Anyway, I remain chirpy... and enjoying my alone time.
Painting, shopping, laughing, cooking, cleaning... it's weird, but I'm finding joy in all of this.
I AM tired, though... kinda fried after not getting adequate sleep for a few nights... so I must shut the fuck up for now, and stop here.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Le Mexique, for real now
What does AnoMALIE do when she's not having the time of her life?
Drastic, rash shit.
If my hair is beyond 18 inches long, I cut it.
If my hair is light brown I dye it dark... or vice-versa.
Shit like that.
Again, I've decided I'm going to do something somewhat crazy: (I have a feeling I've said this numerous times already and never followed through...) I'm going to Hometown.
Yup.
My aunt invited me to go with her on the 27th of this month until somewhere around the 13th of September, and I said "Fuck it. Let's do this thing."
Hey, it's better than snorting cocaine.
This is me, participating in reckless behavior.
While I don't necessarily want to die... I don't really give a shit if I do.
No, I won't actively seek death... but I just... won't care.
Best case scenario: I chill the fuck out and have an awesome time in hometown... return relaxed.
Worst case scenario: I die.
Whatevs. I'm down.
This now requires shopping... lots and lots of shopping.
This makes me happy.
(Today has been quite the happy day, even if I once again only got about three hours of sleep. I once again woke up at 5 in the morning to start running errands by 8. This whole being home alone thing is being a burden because I'm in charge of so much shit, not just house-wise, but also at work. I suck at being a people-person, yet here I am, bill-collecting, depositing checks... screaming at employees because they don't get off their motherfucking Playstation Portable--you're working, you fucktard! Put that shit away!-- writing receipts... that sort of boring shit. But in all, I'm a happy camper)
Drastic, rash shit.
If my hair is beyond 18 inches long, I cut it.
If my hair is light brown I dye it dark... or vice-versa.
Shit like that.
Again, I've decided I'm going to do something somewhat crazy: (I have a feeling I've said this numerous times already and never followed through...) I'm going to Hometown.
Yup.
My aunt invited me to go with her on the 27th of this month until somewhere around the 13th of September, and I said "Fuck it. Let's do this thing."
Hey, it's better than snorting cocaine.
This is me, participating in reckless behavior.
While I don't necessarily want to die... I don't really give a shit if I do.
No, I won't actively seek death... but I just... won't care.
Best case scenario: I chill the fuck out and have an awesome time in hometown... return relaxed.
Worst case scenario: I die.
Whatevs. I'm down.
This now requires shopping... lots and lots of shopping.
This makes me happy.
(Today has been quite the happy day, even if I once again only got about three hours of sleep. I once again woke up at 5 in the morning to start running errands by 8. This whole being home alone thing is being a burden because I'm in charge of so much shit, not just house-wise, but also at work. I suck at being a people-person, yet here I am, bill-collecting, depositing checks... screaming at employees because they don't get off their motherfucking Playstation Portable--you're working, you fucktard! Put that shit away!-- writing receipts... that sort of boring shit. But in all, I'm a happy camper)
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
As a favor
Before I confess this, promise you won't kill me?
Starting today, I'm home alone for the next week.
Mom: Can you do me a favor, AnoMALIE?
Me: What? I'm not going to record your fucking novelas if that's what you want...
Mom: Can you PLEASE not post it on Facebook that you're going to be home alone for the next week?
Me: Mom! I'm not D! I don't post my shit on-line... as long as blogger doesn't count... but I trust my readers aren't going to sneak into my house and murder me... I hope. Right, guys? Though... at this point, I kind of wouldn't even mind if I got murdered.
The folks are once again hitting up Cancun with my Dad's brother's family... and I stayed home because Tyson was still alive when my folks made the reservations. I was staying behind because someone had to take care of the fella. It was too late for me to be added to the reservations once Tyson died.
SO... I'm home alone now.
While my parents left worried-- because I'm once again on suicide watch after being "suspiciously quiet/serious" the last two days-- I am pretty fucking chirpy. I've been dancing and singing all morning.
I don't know what the fuck that's all about, but I sense it's mainly because I always do well when alone. It's much easier for me to relax and be my true self when the outside matches the inside... as in, when I'm as alone in the building as I am in my heart.
It's all good when I'm left to fend for myself-- I fucking flourish. I suspect that's how all misanthropes do... unless they go off and do stupid violent shit so many of them go off and do... those psychopaths.
So... yeah, I'm good. I'm eerily chirpy, to the point where even I'm irritated with myself.
Good times.
Monday, August 6, 2012
C-c-cool
I swear I try to be cool and calm... and lead a normal life... it's just that sometimes, certain phrases or actions bring back the shitstorm I've tried to forget for so many years.
"Like most women, you want too much" was something I did not want to hear (there were a couple of more famous words written, but that phrase was the one that made me flip). It's something I don't want to hear. It's something I find to be SO incredibly inaccurate.
I'm a girl who has had such shit luck... and such shitty experiences... for SO long, that I want one thing to go my way.
I want the guy I think is dope, to think the same of me.
Period.
I'm still friends with this drunk-texter... because while I have a motherfucking mental breakdown in the privacy of my home (and yeah, my fucking car sometimes), I get over it.
Obviously he's unaware of my issues, and he assumes I'm like every other chick out there-- many of my family members are guilty of this, so why not a "stranger"? Evidently I'm quite the fucking actress... or just THAT much of a fucking unicorn.
He was drunk (oh, the typos! Such elegance! Such eloquence!)... confessed his crush on me (using various... strange euphemisms that only a drunk would understand. Wait... what? Are you referencing tacos in your double-entendre because I'm Mexican? Calm down and go to sleep, broski)... then lashed out when I let him know what was up (Me: My heart is unavailable, and you will ALWAYS be my friend.
Him: Well, honestly, I'm the best you can do... so you're just wasting your life.
Not gonna lie, that made me want to cry. There were various other exchanges similar to this, but that one made me scowl for a couple of minutes).
I understand. I've done the same thing... I mean... I put on quite the fucking show for MGH a few years back, remember?
I'll just keep from ever answering drunk texts from now on... bad things happen when I do.
"Like most women, you want too much" was something I did not want to hear (there were a couple of more famous words written, but that phrase was the one that made me flip). It's something I don't want to hear. It's something I find to be SO incredibly inaccurate.
I'm a girl who has had such shit luck... and such shitty experiences... for SO long, that I want one thing to go my way.
I want the guy I think is dope, to think the same of me.
Period.
I'm still friends with this drunk-texter... because while I have a motherfucking mental breakdown in the privacy of my home (and yeah, my fucking car sometimes), I get over it.
Obviously he's unaware of my issues, and he assumes I'm like every other chick out there-- many of my family members are guilty of this, so why not a "stranger"? Evidently I'm quite the fucking actress... or just THAT much of a fucking unicorn.
He was drunk (oh, the typos! Such elegance! Such eloquence!)... confessed his crush on me (using various... strange euphemisms that only a drunk would understand. Wait... what? Are you referencing tacos in your double-entendre because I'm Mexican? Calm down and go to sleep, broski)... then lashed out when I let him know what was up (Me: My heart is unavailable, and you will ALWAYS be my friend.
Him: Well, honestly, I'm the best you can do... so you're just wasting your life.
Not gonna lie, that made me want to cry. There were various other exchanges similar to this, but that one made me scowl for a couple of minutes).
I understand. I've done the same thing... I mean... I put on quite the fucking show for MGH a few years back, remember?
I'll just keep from ever answering drunk texts from now on... bad things happen when I do.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Too Much
There is no way in hell anyone can convince me I don't have some sort of invisible sign that invites all fucking guys to drunk dial/text me.
When I asked why guys do that, that right there was probably the best response.
This last batch of drunk texting probably hurt the most, however... because as much as I hate to admit it, he was right... for the most part... just not on the phrases I'm about to quote.
Girls, when they try to console one another, tend to go the "He's an idiot/douchebag" route. In other words, they help you point out the dude's fault.
Guys... they make you see YOUR faults.
In my life, in my meaningless, twenty-seven years of life, not ONCE... ONCE have I had the guy I'VE liked like me back. NOT. ONCE.
Not ONE MEASLY TIME. I have no clue what that feels like. No. Clue.
It's not like I sit back and wait for my "knight in shining armor" to appear from thin air... some mythical, perfect man to descend from the skies to offer me the love story of a lifetime.
No. I've met guys who have made me FEEL the fucking way I want to FEEL-- who are not perfect, just perfect for me-- and though I manage to spend time with them, befriend them, laugh with them, sleep on them, they have ALWAYS refused to "give me a chance."
They've stiff-armed the FUCK out of my face and shoved me into the friendzone, with no fucking remorse, all because I don't fit some part of a fucking mold.
I make them laugh, I entertain them, I chill with them... I do everything for them... and still, somehow, for whatever reason, I fall short. I'm never the girl they want to.... they don't even want to kiss my goddamn cheek. I have sat back and watched the guy I'm crazy about hook up with "DUFF"s in front of me NUMEROUS times... and it leaves me baffled AS FUCK, each time.
Why THE FUCK am I getting reprimanded for doing the same to guys? Why am I expected to be willing to "settle" and give up on being with a guy that makes me... lightheaded with the mere mention of his name... a dude who makes my heart pound so violently that I fear it'll jump out of my mouth? Why am I not deserving of getting what I want?
Because I'm a girl and it's expected? Because we've been doing it for centuries? We just sell ourselves to the highest bidder, neatly fold our hands, and live the rest of our lives with a guy who will never give us butterflies in our tummy or inadvertent sighs when we think of his smile.
FUCK THAT.
If I don't get what I want, then I don't get SHIT.
Every guy I've "been with" has been a guy I've "tried" learning to LIKE so that I can get someone else out of my mind and out of my heart. It has NEVER worked. I can't begin to describe how empty and lonely... and guilty this shit makes me feel. It rips me apart. It tears me down.
I'd rather be alone and miserable than coupled-up, miserable, and making a second person miserable... because I CAN'T FAKE IT. I can't feign liking someone else.
When I like someone, I put myself at his feet and I no longer belong to myself.
That's the way I am, it's my natural disposition. It's my nature. It's not because I think it's what he wants... it's because it's something I want.
Here I am, do as you please. I am yours and only yours.
That's my style.
Wanting a guy who makes me laugh, inspires me to be a better ME, gives me butterflies when he smiles, and makes my heart race when he speaks to me, is asking too much? For real? Even if I've found a few who fulfill these requirements... the only flaw being that they refuse to like me back?
They don't have to make bank, they don't have to send me flowers or buy me gifts, they don't even have to remember my fucking birthday (though when they do, it makes me smile). They don't have to look like Ryan Gosling, they don't have to be chiseled like a Roman god, they don't have to be a certain faith, they don't have to live in a certain area or be a certain ethnicity.
I just have to admire him, laugh, and feel like I'm on the moon when I'm in his presence.
That. Is. All.
But still, it's denied to me... criticized for not settling for anything else.
I'm sick of men getting what they want. Twenty years ago, a man getting what he wanted ruined me... violently thrust me into the harsh realities of life... quickly stole any sense of normalcy.
I'll be motherfucking DAMNED if I EVER allow another man I don't feel SHIT for to put his fucking hands on me. I won't try to force myself to be OK with it, or numb myself so I can endure the encounter, either.
I can still feel his grip on my thighs... the weight of his hands as he petted my hair... every stroke of his tongue in my mouth... and how frozen... shocked I was, completely unable to move ANYTHING on my body... even unable to BLINK.
The thought of ever allowing anyone I don't feel physical attraction for to put a hand on me makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me freak out. It pisses me off.
THAT'S why I don't settle. That's why I'll never settle. That's why I'll never try to learn to love someone. If I don't feel it, don't try to convince me I'll eventually feel it... because I won't... because I'll only think of that stupid fucking night twenty years ago where I had to force myself to go numb, allow that man to do what he wanted, and convince myself I would be ok... all in hopes that he'd let me out of that truck, so I could carry on with my life as a seven year old.
Is that me wanting too much? The whole me wanting only guys I'm physically attracted to to be the only ones to touch me... is that me wanting too much?
Sorry, I was told there are girls out there who actually like the guys that touch them... and often times they even enjoy it. My bad for believing it and becoming so demanding.
For me, all other routes lead to the same destination: Everywhere BUT home.
I have no interest to move from my spot. I'll just quietly watch everyone else make their train.
... aaaaand this is how drunk-texting goes terribly awry.
It used to be funny... it used to entertain me... but now it just feels like someone is holding me under water, refusing to let me resurface to catch my breath, regardless of how desperately I thrash about.
What kills me most is that the conversations start off funny... and then somehow, they make a turn for the worst... and I end up on the receiving end of a chastising-- one I never escape without being called anything nicer than "idiot."
From MGH, to his brother... to Los and a few others, I have not escaped the frustrated, drunken wrath of my dude friends.
"(I) Never can pinpoint why I go from Cassanova to Bane from "Batman" on chicks"When I asked why guys do that, that right there was probably the best response.
This last batch of drunk texting probably hurt the most, however... because as much as I hate to admit it, he was right... for the most part... just not on the phrases I'm about to quote.
Girls, when they try to console one another, tend to go the "He's an idiot/douchebag" route. In other words, they help you point out the dude's fault.
Guys... they make you see YOUR faults.
"Like most women, you want too much."Do I? Do I really?
In my life, in my meaningless, twenty-seven years of life, not ONCE... ONCE have I had the guy I'VE liked like me back. NOT. ONCE.
Not ONE MEASLY TIME. I have no clue what that feels like. No. Clue.
It's not like I sit back and wait for my "knight in shining armor" to appear from thin air... some mythical, perfect man to descend from the skies to offer me the love story of a lifetime.
No. I've met guys who have made me FEEL the fucking way I want to FEEL-- who are not perfect, just perfect for me-- and though I manage to spend time with them, befriend them, laugh with them, sleep on them, they have ALWAYS refused to "give me a chance."
They've stiff-armed the FUCK out of my face and shoved me into the friendzone, with no fucking remorse, all because I don't fit some part of a fucking mold.
I make them laugh, I entertain them, I chill with them... I do everything for them... and still, somehow, for whatever reason, I fall short. I'm never the girl they want to.... they don't even want to kiss my goddamn cheek. I have sat back and watched the guy I'm crazy about hook up with "DUFF"s in front of me NUMEROUS times... and it leaves me baffled AS FUCK, each time.
Why THE FUCK am I getting reprimanded for doing the same to guys? Why am I expected to be willing to "settle" and give up on being with a guy that makes me... lightheaded with the mere mention of his name... a dude who makes my heart pound so violently that I fear it'll jump out of my mouth? Why am I not deserving of getting what I want?
Because I'm a girl and it's expected? Because we've been doing it for centuries? We just sell ourselves to the highest bidder, neatly fold our hands, and live the rest of our lives with a guy who will never give us butterflies in our tummy or inadvertent sighs when we think of his smile.
FUCK THAT.
If I don't get what I want, then I don't get SHIT.
Every guy I've "been with" has been a guy I've "tried" learning to LIKE so that I can get someone else out of my mind and out of my heart. It has NEVER worked. I can't begin to describe how empty and lonely... and guilty this shit makes me feel. It rips me apart. It tears me down.
I'd rather be alone and miserable than coupled-up, miserable, and making a second person miserable... because I CAN'T FAKE IT. I can't feign liking someone else.
When I like someone, I put myself at his feet and I no longer belong to myself.
That's the way I am, it's my natural disposition. It's my nature. It's not because I think it's what he wants... it's because it's something I want.
Here I am, do as you please. I am yours and only yours.
That's my style.
Wanting a guy who makes me laugh, inspires me to be a better ME, gives me butterflies when he smiles, and makes my heart race when he speaks to me, is asking too much? For real? Even if I've found a few who fulfill these requirements... the only flaw being that they refuse to like me back?
They don't have to make bank, they don't have to send me flowers or buy me gifts, they don't even have to remember my fucking birthday (though when they do, it makes me smile). They don't have to look like Ryan Gosling, they don't have to be chiseled like a Roman god, they don't have to be a certain faith, they don't have to live in a certain area or be a certain ethnicity.
I just have to admire him, laugh, and feel like I'm on the moon when I'm in his presence.
That. Is. All.
But still, it's denied to me... criticized for not settling for anything else.
I'm sick of men getting what they want. Twenty years ago, a man getting what he wanted ruined me... violently thrust me into the harsh realities of life... quickly stole any sense of normalcy.
I'll be motherfucking DAMNED if I EVER allow another man I don't feel SHIT for to put his fucking hands on me. I won't try to force myself to be OK with it, or numb myself so I can endure the encounter, either.
I can still feel his grip on my thighs... the weight of his hands as he petted my hair... every stroke of his tongue in my mouth... and how frozen... shocked I was, completely unable to move ANYTHING on my body... even unable to BLINK.
I still feel as if I'm jammed in a hot box... desperately wanting to scream and cry... but unable to do SHIT... just sit there and feel his hands like hot coals on my body.
I can still remember him repeatedly saying "You are so pretty. You're going to be so pretty when you grow up," as I sat there completely unresponsive and terrified.
To have to do that for the rest of my fucking life, all for the sake of "companionship" and not living alone? FUCK. THAT. I've always been alone. I'm not scared of doing it for the rest of my life... I'm prepared.The thought of ever allowing anyone I don't feel physical attraction for to put a hand on me makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me freak out. It pisses me off.
THAT'S why I don't settle. That's why I'll never settle. That's why I'll never try to learn to love someone. If I don't feel it, don't try to convince me I'll eventually feel it... because I won't... because I'll only think of that stupid fucking night twenty years ago where I had to force myself to go numb, allow that man to do what he wanted, and convince myself I would be ok... all in hopes that he'd let me out of that truck, so I could carry on with my life as a seven year old.
Is that me wanting too much? The whole me wanting only guys I'm physically attracted to to be the only ones to touch me... is that me wanting too much?
Sorry, I was told there are girls out there who actually like the guys that touch them... and often times they even enjoy it. My bad for believing it and becoming so demanding.
"You're waiting for a train that is never going to pass. Just remember that you gotta go somewhere."Nah, son, I'm sitting at the side of the tracks, cried-out after realizing my tears are not going to bring back the train that ALREADY passed me by.
For me, all other routes lead to the same destination: Everywhere BUT home.
I have no interest to move from my spot. I'll just quietly watch everyone else make their train.
... aaaaand this is how drunk-texting goes terribly awry.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Is three not enough?
I think I'll call this month "Allegedly-on-time August." I just can't seem to update on time. My bad.
I AM proud that I actually out-did myself and updated 32 times for the month of July... though technically that extra post I would have preferred to have never happened-- Tyson's death post.
Anyway... my Friday was quite lovely... even if I was frustrated for probably three hours... pacing back and forth like a caged lion... but that's just typical for me.
I'm going through a phase, where I'm trying SO HARD not to be the mean bitch my conscious is telling me to be. I am SO irritated... and frustrated... but I don't act out because I pretty much brought this upon myself. Instead of lashing out and being the cold-hearted cunt I CAN be (need I remind you of my post where I talked about my bitch reaction to the poor pyrotechnic kid back when I was seven? I can be cruel as fuck when fed-up), I shut up.
I need to learn the proper balance between being nice and being... umm... honest?
What I mean is: I try too damn hard to spare feelings, I usually wind up irritated and... frustrated.
When I don't like someone AT ALL... not even as a person, I have no problem being honest and telling them to fuck off. However, when I think they're alright, and they have the potential to make me laugh/think, I lose the ability to tell them "Dude, back up. Can you shut the fuck up real quick?"
Instead, I stew in my irritation... and say really mean shit in my head... which usually gets me to wonder how the fuck I come up with such cruel words... yeah, I guess you could say I sit there and harbor resentment.
Since I plan on NEVER saying this in person, let me just jot it down here and get it off my chest:
If I IGNORE your invitation to hang out "alone" not once, or twice, but THREE times, it's safe to say I DON'T want to hang out with you. Failing to acknowledge your invite THREE times is my painfully obvious sign for you to NOT DO THAT AGAIN. I DON'T in any way, shape, or form, want to be "alone" with you... EVER. Never. No. Just stop. Please. Shhhhh! No more!
It's something simple like that... but it's what kept me from having a great day. I'd sit back and the thought would eat away at me... to the point where I would catch myself getting angry.
DUDE! Please... just PLEASE use your head, son! I'm a college-educated "good girl."
You smoke like a chimney. Know how many times I've smoked? Maybe four times... and those were all when I was under the age of 13. I HATE that shit. WITH A MOTHERFUCKING FIREY PASSION! Smoke around me, and I'll fucking lose my shit. It takes every ounce of self-control in my body not to smash the fucking shit out of your mouth the moment I see you whip out a cigarette in my presence. And it doesn't matter if you quit... you've chain-smoked for so long, your lungs are shit. Call me selfish, but I sure as fuck don't want to deal with that shit.
You boast about all the hard drugs you have tried/were addicted to. Know how many times I've done some drug? ZERO. ZEEEEEROHHHHH! Not even prescription drugs, for fucks sake! Now, don't get me wrong here, I APPLAUD those who beat an addiction... that takes some fucking dedication... and I will never remove my friendship from someone who has dealt with/is dealing with a vice like that... but to go from that to me "dating" you is a LONG-ASS SHOT. SO. FUCKING. LONG. I mean... I would probably only accept Johnny Depp here... and even then, I'd think about all that smoking... and those disgusting teeth of his, and I'd probably just tell him to have a nice life. I'm also not an uptight stupid little bitch, either... I mean, weed and small shit like that I pass... as long as you do that shit AWAY from me, but shit like heroin and meth? COME ON, BRO! NO.
You're... divorced? I'm A VIRGIN! COME ON!!!! COME THE FUCK ON! N-OH. Never. MOVE ON. GO. BYE. NO!
Basically: I have a super clean slate... damn near fucking immaculate. You, on the other hand... have had SEVERAL fuck ups.
Let me fuck up a few times... like... A LOT of times... then maybe... if I don't decide to just kill myself, I'll go... nah man, not even. Never gonna happen. Peace.
K. It's off my chest now.
I AM proud that I actually out-did myself and updated 32 times for the month of July... though technically that extra post I would have preferred to have never happened-- Tyson's death post.
Anyway... my Friday was quite lovely... even if I was frustrated for probably three hours... pacing back and forth like a caged lion... but that's just typical for me.
I'm going through a phase, where I'm trying SO HARD not to be the mean bitch my conscious is telling me to be. I am SO irritated... and frustrated... but I don't act out because I pretty much brought this upon myself. Instead of lashing out and being the cold-hearted cunt I CAN be (need I remind you of my post where I talked about my bitch reaction to the poor pyrotechnic kid back when I was seven? I can be cruel as fuck when fed-up), I shut up.
I need to learn the proper balance between being nice and being... umm... honest?
What I mean is: I try too damn hard to spare feelings, I usually wind up irritated and... frustrated.
When I don't like someone AT ALL... not even as a person, I have no problem being honest and telling them to fuck off. However, when I think they're alright, and they have the potential to make me laugh/think, I lose the ability to tell them "Dude, back up. Can you shut the fuck up real quick?"
Instead, I stew in my irritation... and say really mean shit in my head... which usually gets me to wonder how the fuck I come up with such cruel words... yeah, I guess you could say I sit there and harbor resentment.
Since I plan on NEVER saying this in person, let me just jot it down here and get it off my chest:
If I IGNORE your invitation to hang out "alone" not once, or twice, but THREE times, it's safe to say I DON'T want to hang out with you. Failing to acknowledge your invite THREE times is my painfully obvious sign for you to NOT DO THAT AGAIN. I DON'T in any way, shape, or form, want to be "alone" with you... EVER. Never. No. Just stop. Please. Shhhhh! No more!
It's something simple like that... but it's what kept me from having a great day. I'd sit back and the thought would eat away at me... to the point where I would catch myself getting angry.
DUDE! Please... just PLEASE use your head, son! I'm a college-educated "good girl."
You smoke like a chimney. Know how many times I've smoked? Maybe four times... and those were all when I was under the age of 13. I HATE that shit. WITH A MOTHERFUCKING FIREY PASSION! Smoke around me, and I'll fucking lose my shit. It takes every ounce of self-control in my body not to smash the fucking shit out of your mouth the moment I see you whip out a cigarette in my presence. And it doesn't matter if you quit... you've chain-smoked for so long, your lungs are shit. Call me selfish, but I sure as fuck don't want to deal with that shit.
You boast about all the hard drugs you have tried/were addicted to. Know how many times I've done some drug? ZERO. ZEEEEEROHHHHH! Not even prescription drugs, for fucks sake! Now, don't get me wrong here, I APPLAUD those who beat an addiction... that takes some fucking dedication... and I will never remove my friendship from someone who has dealt with/is dealing with a vice like that... but to go from that to me "dating" you is a LONG-ASS SHOT. SO. FUCKING. LONG. I mean... I would probably only accept Johnny Depp here... and even then, I'd think about all that smoking... and those disgusting teeth of his, and I'd probably just tell him to have a nice life. I'm also not an uptight stupid little bitch, either... I mean, weed and small shit like that I pass... as long as you do that shit AWAY from me, but shit like heroin and meth? COME ON, BRO! NO.
You're... divorced? I'm A VIRGIN! COME ON!!!! COME THE FUCK ON! N-OH. Never. MOVE ON. GO. BYE. NO!
Basically: I have a super clean slate... damn near fucking immaculate. You, on the other hand... have had SEVERAL fuck ups.
Let me fuck up a few times... like... A LOT of times... then maybe... if I don't decide to just kill myself, I'll go... nah man, not even. Never gonna happen. Peace.
K. It's off my chest now.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Type NO
What does AnoMALIE look for in a guy?
That's simple: I don't look for anything.
Sure, I am physically attracted to things most girls would agree are beautiful in a guy: large, bright eyes... a pretty smile... broad shoulders, etc etc... but that shit is never enough.
I feel... not with my hands (god, no! I'm not that fucking brazen. You fucking kidding me?), but with my heart.
It's the way he:
makes me giggle...
makes me feel my face flushing with color...
makes my knees buckle...
makes my heart race at the mere thought of his smile...
smiles...
laughs...
walks...
makes me want to be smarter...
makes me want to be funnier...
makes me want to be wittier...
makes me go deaf the moment he enters my field of view...
makes me smile the moment his name is mentioned...
makes me feel.
Physically he's... normal... I guess people would say that.
He's somewhere around six feet or something like that... perfect for a five-foot-eight chick.
His eyes are brown... color often neglected in books, poems, songs, movies... everywhere... they're just so average, right? Ojos marrones... so dark, but with this inexplicable kindness behind them.
He's normal. To other dudes he's normal looking... just another dude you'd see at a pub or concert... but my heart stops, my breathing stops, and I become stunned... from the moment I first meet him, and even eight years later, that reaction is a constant.
Sorry if this doesn't help much... but that's just the way it goes.
If I don't feel this way the moment I meet you... then the likelihood of me ever liking you that way goes down to... zero. I'm so very sorry.
Yeah, you guessed it: I'm having difficulty finishing the story.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Porque quiero
I can cheat-update, right? Right.
August...
You can't see me right now, but I'm getting all choked up.
You know where I usually spend the first day of August? Mexico.
But I won't hurt myself by thinking about where I could be right now.
Let's talk about parties!
Well... more like... let's talk about crushes.
For once, let's not talk about MY crushes... well, at least not make them the focal point.
I'm talking about guys who have crushes on ME.
Can you believe that shit? Guys like me now? Damn.
The vast majority are members of Kelley's band.
She has brought it to my attention that they think I'm cool.
One of them has been super duper vocal about his crush, and outright told me... that guy who sort of scared me away with his fandom, remember? The other two guys are very low key about their thoughts on me, which I appreciate, since I'm such an awkward girl.
Kelley: They asked me what your type was...
Me: Oh yeah?
Kelley: I said "TALL... and in Germany."
Me: AHAHAHAHAHA!
Two of the guys were jointly celebrating their birthdays today.
While I don't like them like that... I do appreciate them as friends... so, I decided to drop by and say hello.
Originally I wasn't going to go... because I'm awkward as is, but the moment I know someone likes me, I turn into MORE of a weirdo... extra cold, actually.
Please don't like me... I'm unable to reciprocate. Let me save you the trouble.
Then I started to think about MY crush... and how it makes my fucking... year to see his freakin' face, I don't even have to make eye-contact to be content.
As corny/trite/unbelievable as this might sound, I try very, VERY hard to treat others as I want to be treated. So... I sucked up my shy shit, and went ahead and attended the soiree for a bit with mademoiselle Kelley.
Stare at me, high-five me, talk to me as much as you like. Sure, I'm not too down with hugs, but that's because I'm not too fanatical about any type of bodily contact. When I hug you, it means I'm really, REALLY comfortable with you. Sorry... kinda happens when people physically/emotionally/psychologically mistreat a timid, gentle girl throughout her childhood... nothing against you, per se, just against society in general.
Maybe if I start being nicer, bad shit will stop happening to me.
August...
You can't see me right now, but I'm getting all choked up.
You know where I usually spend the first day of August? Mexico.
But I won't hurt myself by thinking about where I could be right now.
Let's talk about parties!
Well... more like... let's talk about crushes.
For once, let's not talk about MY crushes... well, at least not make them the focal point.
I'm talking about guys who have crushes on ME.
Can you believe that shit? Guys like me now? Damn.
The vast majority are members of Kelley's band.
She has brought it to my attention that they think I'm cool.
One of them has been super duper vocal about his crush, and outright told me... that guy who sort of scared me away with his fandom, remember? The other two guys are very low key about their thoughts on me, which I appreciate, since I'm such an awkward girl.
Kelley: They asked me what your type was...
Me: Oh yeah?
Kelley: I said "TALL... and in Germany."
Me: AHAHAHAHAHA!
Two of the guys were jointly celebrating their birthdays today.
While I don't like them like that... I do appreciate them as friends... so, I decided to drop by and say hello.
Originally I wasn't going to go... because I'm awkward as is, but the moment I know someone likes me, I turn into MORE of a weirdo... extra cold, actually.
Please don't like me... I'm unable to reciprocate. Let me save you the trouble.
Then I started to think about MY crush... and how it makes my fucking... year to see his freakin' face, I don't even have to make eye-contact to be content.
As corny/trite/unbelievable as this might sound, I try very, VERY hard to treat others as I want to be treated. So... I sucked up my shy shit, and went ahead and attended the soiree for a bit with mademoiselle Kelley.
Stare at me, high-five me, talk to me as much as you like. Sure, I'm not too down with hugs, but that's because I'm not too fanatical about any type of bodily contact. When I hug you, it means I'm really, REALLY comfortable with you. Sorry... kinda happens when people physically/emotionally/psychologically mistreat a timid, gentle girl throughout her childhood... nothing against you, per se, just against society in general.
Maybe if I start being nicer, bad shit will stop happening to me.