Tuesday, October 30, 2012


Fuck, man!
I promise I've been trying to catch up with the updates, but sometimes it's just too damn impossible.

I've been busy dealing with my Godson.
His contest was this past weekend, and while he did win "best body," he didn't make the top 5.

I don't think he's depressed... but as is customary with our family, he's angry.
It's what happens when you become disillusioned.

These three were the winners:
1st place:

2nd place:

3rd place:

My godson:


I've had the job of talking to the relatives states side.
I've also been having a back and forth with Godson, convincing him that:
Babe, I don't care what the outcome, and I don't care that we're related, but I'm serious when I say: You were the best. Don't let this shit get you down. Please.

Let's be real:
* The winer looks like he's sniffing cat piss... and he probably fucked the guys and girls running the show. Come on now. Let's not kid ourselves.
* Second place... well, not gonna lie, I liked him. He's handsome. When I think "Handsome Mexican Man" I do think of this sort of guy. Only part I'd be able to critique would be his ass. It's odd. But other than that, the son of a bitch is handsome.
* Third place. Don't get me started on Third Place. It's something I'll never understand about fucking Mexico. They're so into the European-look bullshit. Which is retarded. If they wanted European looks, for an international setting, guess what? A REAL European will take the crown... not a Mexican of European decent. They have the legitimate Euros in the competition... so why don't you just select a MEXICAN look to represent MEXICO? Tan is where it's at, idiots. When Miss Mexico won Miss Universe... what did she look like? That's right, like a tan, brown-eyed, brunette MEXICAN. Not a blonde, blue-eyed, Mexican of European decent. And this kid... COME ON! COME ONNNNNNN! He has no definition... whatsoFUCKINGever.

I'll never get you, Mexico. Bunch of morons. Bunch of self-loathing, racist morons.

Anyway... that's pretty much what I've been telling my kid.
As far as the stateside relatives, I've had to reassure them my kid is ok... and that they shouldn't pity him. I've been dealing with texts similar to this:

And my answer has typically been along these lines:

Then it snowballs into this agitated exchange:
Don't act like you give a fuck. "Legalities of it"... ? You mean "politics"? Because "legalities" are non-existant here.

So... hmm. Interesting couple of days to come, I'm sure.
AngroMALIE is sure to stick around a bit longer.

Sunday, October 28, 2012


"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them."
Read that today and found myself instinctively uttering "Ay gueyyy!"
Fuck, that's true... fuck.
I can't say it's 100 percent correct because, like I've said, I get vicious when not given "alone time." I REQUIRE alone time... or else heads start to roll.
But... this quote does apply to me... often.

I'm trying to let more people in... but it's a scary... because it reinforces the fact that no one is capable of eliciting the same... sensations in me as Darcy-- I'm talking initial impressions here... they can't even match that.

D: Why are you so stuck on him?
Me: I don't even know... it's just... there. I gravitate towards him. No one has ever had this effect on me. At all.
D: Does he know?
Me: That I dig him more than anything in the universe? I don't think so... I don't even talk in his presence. My dumbass freezes up like... a fucking idiot. I'm a mute. He knows I have a crush on him because I actually told him... but other than that it's like "Oh yeah, that girl." Do you know how many times he has called me by my real name? ONCE. Because his mom forced him to. ONCE. And I'm still stupid like this.
D: ... I don't know what to tell you. Maybe if he would have told you something... like... given you a reason to be this sprung... told you he had a crush on you too... told you to wait for him or something... Maybe I could help you out then... but... uh... that doesn't seem to be the case... so...
Me: Yeah. I think I'm this stubborn because... my stupid heart and head just... wish he would have told me something. I'd follow this dude to any part of the world if he'd asked me to... I'd wait for as many years as he'd ask, if he wanted me to. But... all I've gotten from him is a metaphorical pat to the top of my head... like when one forcefully compliments someone's annoying kid at a party. It kills me that he has never intentionally done anything to get me this sprung... but I still can't find a way to forget and move on. I can't forget. I don't want to forget. I'm just being this stubborn, fucking idiot girl, slowly digging her own, lonely grave... most likely pestering THE FUCK out of this poor guy to the point where he'll actually probably hate me.
D: I'm sorry. That sucks. There's vodka and rum in the kitchen... and red velvet cake.

My sister and I have never been too great at discussing this sort of shit... but we sure as hell know how to change subjects.
That red velvet cake was absolutely DISGUSTING.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

I'll make you hurt

"Give me ONE reason not to hurt you..."
Those words still resonate.

Biiiiitch! Who the fuck do you think you are?! NO ONE talks to me like that! I don't NEED you! ::click!::

That was the easiest break-up EVER.
Something about that threat really sparked the most intense hate in my heart, that I felt no remorse over cutting off that motherfucker instantaneously.
Now that I think about it, I'm lucky he didn't come after me with a butcher knife... or like... waited for me with a bat in hand, in the parking garage, after class.

I was able to do that because I didn't feel shit for him. It was the one and ONLY relationship I entered because I wanted attention. It's the only time I actually WANTED attention.
Upon hearing those words, something in my head snapped. I don't need this shit... why am I even putting up with this shit? 

Astonishes me how easily others agree to hurt me. It's what keeps me from breaking out into tears the moment I realize what's going on... I just sit in silence, completely perplexed...
What... are you gaining from this? 
It's also what convinces me I was a terrible person in the past. A murderous dictator or something... I do share my last name with a notorious Mexican one... perhaps it's that.

... and still, all I find myself wanting to do is make you smile. Todavia te adoro...
Someone needs to take a shovel to my head... I think I know numerous volunteers.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

tears to shed

What is it about me that makes people WANT to approach me on days where I've clearly been bawling my eyes out? Boggles my fucking mind.

Last time I cried until I vomited was back in March of last year, with the rejection letters.
Convulse so hard, I find myself purging everything in my stomach.
Fun times.

I didn't see Mom until 8PM, but she immediately noticed my eyes... she's like a shark, sensing blood... and of course, she scolded me.
It amuses me how my sadness enrages her, makes her angry with me instead of... oh, I don't know... maybe the word I'm looking for here is "compassionate"... perhaps? I tell myself it's just her way of attempting to make me stronger... but quite honestly, it just confuses me.

Each passing day only helps prove this is definitely my self portrait:

Things never "get better," at least not for me. Crazy, no one ever fed me that bullshit while I was a kid... yet here I am, clinging to that fucking idiotic mantra like... well, I guess my life really does depend on it. But whatever, you know what I mean.

The only person...

"The only person I've ever loved thinks I'm a hoe..."

When I think of the massive August Argument of 2008, those words still haunt me.
I remember looking over at Alo immediately after she uttered those words... and seeing the infinite amount of pain in her eyes-- the sadness.
It was all a misunderstanding, but things were already said and done. There was no turning back-- I had indirectly aided in destroying the love between my brother and Alo.

Whenever I find myself bewildered and damning the universe... wondering "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?!" all I really have to do is pause, rewind, and hit play.
Without fail, I find an instance where I've caused pain, often times irreparable, and I am immediately owned.

Ya got me. Sorry. I'll quit complaining now. I had it coming. I deserved it.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012


It was an unusually cool August morning, and the professor was running late. As we stood outside, waiting for the professor to show up for class, I remember looking over to the cinderblocks... and noticing him for the first time. He was sitting on the small cinderblock fence.
His hair-- I noticed his hair first-- black, long, and curly. 

Damn... that is some fucking awesome hair... 
He was spaced out, so instead of averting my eyes to the floor--as is my custom-- I ventured to look at his face.
I recognized him. 

Oh fuck, this dude is in my next class... and sits across from me... how weird.
No idea if he could sense me staring, but once he looked over, I did that awkward thing where one sort of smiles then nervously looks away.
This time of the year is when, no matter how hard I fight it, his memory is ever-present... in nearly every fucking thing I do or see or hear. His quirky... dark... mysteriously alluring memory takes my mind hostage.
It fucks me up.
The other day I caught a bit of the Nightmare Before Christmas... and I couldn't finish it because I found myself getting choked up... and angry.
This is bullshit... such bullshit.

I can't tell you how many times I wonder if I pop up in his head... even if it's for something negative.
That chick over there is making things so awkward... kind of like AnoMALIE... that bitch...
Even then, I'd feel... it'd be cool.
But I know I'm just kidding myself. Guys aren't like that. They don't long for a chick like that... maybe if she were a famous model or actress... but not a normal, average (in my case, below-average) girl.
Plus, I'm very forgettable... I do a fantastic job at being a wallflower.
Quiet, shy, good girls never get the attention of boys... quiet, shy, good girls are boring.

Sally often comes apart at the seams... and then has the job of sewing herself back together again... 
...and she admires Jack... and... she sings that song...
Jesus Christ... I was eight years old when they made this movie and yet... it's me... it pretty much described my future... only mine doesn't have that happy resolution... fuck...

And that's how it all started-- that's how the boy I hardly spoke to, captured my quiet, yet completely undivided attention.
Así, un muchacho que nunca me peló, y mucho menos busco mi atención, abarco mis pensamientos, y se enterró en mi corazón.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012


My godson is currently enjoying time in the sunny climate of Cozumel.
Saturday he gets to participate in a contest, for modeling... and if he wins, he'll go international.
My boy looks motherfucking awesome:
See, clearly related.
He got the eyebrow thing from yourstruly.

I don't care if we share a gene pool, actually, I'm walking around like the proud hen of the coop.
Thaaaaaat's my boy!!!
There is a drawback, however.
He's now enjoying a much broader spectrum of "fans," and these people are fucking crazy.
Today alone, I had to reject seven photo tags of strangers on MY photos... and I've shuffled through some very psycho/annoying comments on my photos where my boy appears.

This makes me feel stupid... not entirely sure why... maybe the thought of MY own fandom of famous dudes makes me blush. I've certainly gone around saying embarrassing bullshit about a bunch of guys... like Ryan Gosling... guys I KNOW are definitely out of my reach... but I still go off and act retarded.

My kid is the epitome of sweetness.
Where I'd go and tell a fan to go fuck himself and leave me alone, he graciously takes the compliment and returns kind words... he's dope.

His first night back in Hometown this September, we sat outside, under the moonlight, swigging tequila while all the other adults chatted indoors.
I brought up MGH because we were talking about my deteriorating friendship with his family. Godson quickly interrupted me.
Godson: You still like him! No, no, you don't fucking fool me. You still love MGH, or else why would you mention him?
Me: No, no! I mention him because I'm telling you a fucking story!
Godson: Yeah, right!
Me: No! I don't love MGH! I... I've always liked someone else. You know this... I said his name that night when I got super trashed in December at JC's house... when everyone thought I'd say MGH.
Godson: Does HE know?
Me: Well, this is the thing... like... I've known him for like... eight years and... he like... lives in Europe...
Godson: You DO know this guy in real life though, right?
Me: OBVIOUSLY! What kind of loser do you think I am?! I mean, we went to school together and shit, that's how I know him.
Godson: In that case: Fuck that! Forget it. MOVE ON, GODMOM!
Me: ... yeah... I know...

He's also very blunt and smart... too bad I'm not.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Soul mates?

Today marks my parent's 30th year of wedded bliss...

Dad: Feels like it's only been a day!
Mom: (mumbles) ... under water!

Obviously I inherited Mom's bleak outlook on love and marriage. The woman knows how to crack me the fuck up.

My folks are hardly soul mates... but they know how to deal with each other's bullshit... and trust me, BOTH have some horrible, annoying habits.
Me: Mom, had I been you, I would have divorced Dad ONE WEEK into the marriage. Fuck that shit.
(one week into the marriage, Dad straight up told her he only married her so she could cook and wash the dishes, like ALL women are SUPPOSED to. Total romantic, that man)

I'm not one to put up with someone else's bullshit for the sake of companionship... so... I'll just be alone. Forever.
Unless I find my soulmate... which is improbable... because he's always married or in some committed relationship.

Truth be told, my heart will always belong to him:
Abundance of symbolism.
Don't expect anyone to catch it, per usual.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

what people think

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

It's that fucking speed bump.
I'm cruising, thinking all's fine, then BOOM! What the fuck was that?!

I've said it before: I like the truth. I need people in my life to be... blunt.
For the most part, I normally need someone to tell me when I'm being a fuckhead.
However... there are certain truths that just... jar me.

This shuts me up.
I always wonder what people's REAL impression of me is... I'm definitely not going to lie about that. Do you like me as a person? Why or why not?
I find it as a way to... improve, I suppose. I just want to make others happy and comfortable... didn't know that was something to be reprimanded for.

To read that message was like a slap to the back of my head.
So... that's how you... identify me?
You know what happens when I DON'T care? I get eaten alive. I am mercilessly ripped to shreds. I WOULDN'T care if someone would be there to back me up... but, hilariously enough, after 27 years, Life has only proven to me that I indeed have NO ONE.
People will sit back and listen to others shit-talk everything about me, from my choice in shoes, to the fucking shape of my nose... and do NOTHING. They will not defend me, they will not ask for the conversation to be changed. They will sit there and listen until I am decimated.
You can only try and "act" like you don't care for so long... listening to others rip you to shreds until you finally just... give up. People are so fucking ruthless, they will attack until they FORCE you to care.

But I don't say all this. No one needs to hear all this.
I just do what I've always done: shut up and put a massive amount of space between us.

You know when you break a glass plate and try to glue it back together? Yeah, it doesn't work... you'll always see those cracks.
Ever wonder why I'm so quiet? -- Because I don't want to ruin shit once I open my mouth.

And here I thought I gave a down-to-earth, chill vibe... that I was a girl of a dying breed...
Turns out I'm really just a shallow, conceited cunt... like every other girl in the world.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Chill out

I have a tendency to forget not ALL girls are like me.
I'm not saying I'm awesome or anything... but I WILL say I'm pretty fucking chill. I'm laid back, and quiet, and respect other's opinions... and I like to laugh... and I'm sarcastic... and I'm NOT fucking uptight (only with certain topics... which rarely get mentioned anyway). I know how to laugh at myself-- trust me, if I didn't y'all would be commemorating my death for over a decade by now.

Since I do this, I start believing that every girl is like this... I'm fucking delusional like that.
The moment they freak out on me, I get upset... mainly because I forget most of these bitches won't bite their tongue to insult me, chastise me, or patronize me... which they do without fail.
I'm not ten years old... but I still get choked up when a girl I THOUGHT was laid back like me freaks the fuck out on me.

Maybe I have a higher tolerance when it comes to insults... mainly because I've pretty much heard them all. I also don't get on my goddamn high horse and act like I'm motherfucking perfect.

I just wish people gave me as much leeway as I give them.
But of course, that's too much to ask, so I normally end up upset and scolded... like some fucking five-year-old in time-out after she accidentally screamed "fuck!" upon realizing she colored outside the lines (what? That never happened to you?).
And then I'm too nice to get in their face and let them know they've upset ME... so I just stay quiet and disappointed... and proceed to rant about it on-line.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I fucking hate girls and MUCH RATHER chill with guys... who only tell you ONCE to shut the fuck up and then change the subject and laugh with you some more.

Fuck, I hate girls.

Friday, October 19, 2012


Scuffles are fun... especially when the scuffle's between me and a delusional football "wife." (She IS dating a professional fooballer, but they're not married)

It's a trip to see how "fame" makes a person's personality, their good charisma, go to hell.
He isn't Cristiano Ronaldo... chill the fuck out.

I hope my friends never become "famous." Stay normal, down-to-earth people, ok?

I'm pissed.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

High-five my genetics

Guy: Miss! Miss!
Me: ... yes?
Guy: Can I ask you a question?
Me: ...
Guy: Do you consider yourself a good person or a bad person?
Me: ... well, I can be either depending on the situation...

I get the strangest people approaching me.
This time around, I was making a quick pitstop in the ghetto... the ghetto mall, when this young blond guy stopped me as I walked towards the ONE store I was risking my life for.
He tried convincing me he went to UNLV and was conducting a study on... human behavior or something like that.
Dude was playing these crazy mind games... those weird tricks teachers always played on students back in middle school to see who payed attention to instructions.
I was rushed, sort of scared... annoyed... and oddly enough, feeling very sorry for the guy. He looked more like a meth-addict than a college student (not that those two are mutually exclusive...), around 23 years old.

Why did I stay? He thought I was 21... then he high-fived me after I told him I was 27.
"High-five to your awesome genetics!"
I mean... how could I be mean to a dude who makes me high-five that shit? Kid could have shanked me for all I cared.

I spent the rest of the evening wondering if the dude mindfucked me into doing something stupid... or worse yet, if he robbed me gypsy-style and I hadn't noticed.

I need to quit being such a stereotypical chick.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The strange

I'm terrible when it comes to halloween. Mom never allowed me to celebrate, and now that I'm an adult, I am the SHITTIEST when costumes are in question.
I could go the easy route and buy a slutty costume... or be creative.

I always gun for creativity. I'm strange like that.

This year, I have four costumes to choose from:
1. Chola... I'm STOKED about this one... but I'm also scared of getting shot or accused of a crime I didn't commit. I play quite the convincing chola, let me tell you... even if I DO have thick eyebrows.

2. Princess Bubblegum. The character has grown on me.

3. Renaissance girl. For some reason, my sister was in a quinceañera where the weird girl wanted her court to be dressed like a loser. For a weirder reason, I fit in this dress now. It really showcases my tits... which makes this more of a NO.

4. Belle. Again, my sister was in a quinceañera where the girl was weird and required her court to dress up like Beauty and the Beast. This is more of a no because... well, I can't really pull off a Disney Princess... especially not right now, considering I'm not at the best sentimental state... I'm a bitter fucking cunt right now.

In order to go for the Princess Bubblegum idea, I'd have to find a long, pink wig. I have everything else.
I decided to go to the costume shop and look around.
Everything was fine and dandy, up until the dweebiest worker in the the store approached me.
He was dweeby in a sweet, lanky, kind way... he was talkative as hell, so I decided to see if he could help me.
Me: I'm looking for... a long pink wig...
Him: Oh, well, if you would look to your left, that entire wall is full of wigs.
Me: Yeah, but I need a pink wig...
Him: There's this really cool pink-with-purple wig... Anime style.
Do I give off the anime vibe? Last time I scoped that shit I was twelve and watching Sailor Moon.
Me: Well... it's 'cause...
Should I tell him?
Me: Not sure if you watch this... but I'm planning on a Princess Bubblegum outfit... from Adventure Time.
His eyes grow large.
Him: Oh, well, no... the longest wig is that one... so... you're probably better off just looking for it on-line.
I thank him... then he continues.
Him: That's like... the first time I hear someone say they're going to be Princess Bubblegum... that's... so cool.
Me: Thanks. I'm doing it with my friend, since he's going to be Finn.

The kid talked to me for ten minutes. We somehow got into Tim Burton... and I just wanted to hug him.
Cute, awkward young kids... it makes me smile how happy they look when they find someone as... weird as them. Their comfort after identifying with someone. It warms my heart.
My heart will always belong to the strange.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Out of all the people...

I was the oldest PERSON at my sister's birthday party.
Everyone was amazing, sweet, incredibly social, smart, and hilarious.
I was also very social... I even turned into a hero after I introduced the gang of midwesterners to the drinking game that is "Boom!"
Very strange to be liked, and to not be in a hostile, or awkward environment.

I thought I was going crazy when I noticed the adorably sarcastic blonde boy of the bunch flirt with me.
He was the epitome of the All-American Boy... a midwestern boy with dimples and everything. Blonde, built, blue-eyed (shit, enough alliteration there, AnoMALIE?)... football-fanatic.
I went with the flow.
For the first time in a LONG time... I threw caution to the wind and I... just didn't give a fuck.
It kinda helped that I was buzzing pretty hard... and that he was a good-looking white boy... a funny boy.

He was reeling from a recent breakup with his childhood sweetheart, I knew it, and I didn't give a fuck.
He hollered, I said "fuck it," and we became buddies.
No, I didn't fuck the dude... shit, I didn't even make out with him. We just flirted heavily... and cuddled since he spent the night (his best friend is dating one of D's roomies).

You can only spend so much fucking time yearning, hoping, that some day... some fucking magical day, your Darcy will finally agree to give you a shot.
Eight years is like... I should get a motherfucking medal for that... or a backhanded slap across the face... with an iron glove.
I've been unable to allow anyone near me because I... can't get Darcy out of my... heart...
Saturday, I was finally fed up with my own stupidity, that I allowed this heartbroken white boy to chill with me for a bit. Luckily he was a nice dude... not pushy or anything, he just wanted some attention, and the reassurance that he would be ok.
Me? I wanted to... smile. And I did-- I downright laughed the night away.

A cute boy chose me in a room full of girls (he was the ONLY single guy)... laughed with me... kept me company... and even rough-housed with me...
and I still felt... empty. 
I still felt better once he was gone.
Anything different? This time, I did not wish he'd be someone else... and I STAYED

I just... no longer care.
I'm dead inside.

Party of 1

Major takeaway massage from this trip: I am going to die alone.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


Guess I won't put this off any longer. 

Trust me when I say I feel EMBARRASSED AS FUCK by all of this. Like, I need to stop and take deep breaths because I start losing my hearing from all the blood rushing to my face.

Embarrassing admission: Many, MANY nights of my life I spent them crying... and fantasizing about what it'd be like to be a normal size... about being average.

I always knew I was fat... but the mind is a fucktard-- it does crazy shit.
At times it made me feel as big as an elephant, and at others, I'd look in the mirror and think "Yeah, you're ok." Self-preservation thing, I'm sure.

After bumping into the '08-'09 photos in the memory card, I was absolutely speechless.
There it was, photo after photo... my gut. 

Had I been pregnant, I'd at least have a three-year old by now...
What was I thinking? Well, for starters, I felt like an absolute imbecile.
How the FUCK did you not do anything about this?
Then I felt horrible for all the guys I ever liked.
Poor dudes... the motherfucking predicament I put them in... goddamn.
Then I felt SO MUCH love for those who were with me at those times.

I can't begin to describe how fast my heart melted at the thought of the kindness I received throughout those years.
I didn't think of all the mean shit... or the hate, I thought of anyone and everyone who directed the minimal amount of kindness towards me.
Wow. Just wow.
To the left: Me, February of '09. To the right: Me, yesterday, in the same pants-- my "skinny" jeans.
It made me fall more in love with my friends... fuck, even my acquaintances.
This is how my loyalty is built, this is WHY it's built. 
My friends are MUCH BETTER people than I am.

And ANY guy that allowed me to crush on him... well, I... always knew he was a good guy.

Y'all got dibs.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


I'm going to start a section on here: Candid AnoMALIE.

I get a huge kick out of finding candid photos of me on Facebook.
I'm not talking about photos my friends intentionally shot in my direction and I did the "Donkey-AnoMALIE" thing where I look away like a jackass. I'm talking about photos where I was clearly not the intended target... photos where you could say I'm... in the way.
I fucking love those.
Today's photo comes courtesy of one of my cousin's friends, who was aiming for my cousin--the birthday girl-- and since she decided to sit next to me as she cut the cake, I make an accidental appearance. I'm pretty fucking candid on this... I'm definitely minding my own business, and busting a HARDCORE AnoMALIE-ism:
My famous "Don't you fucking touch me!" pose.
I laughed for about a minute, non-stop, until I had to catch my breath.
Typical AnoMALIE. The party's crackin' and I'm sitting down... entertained by the little girl doing suicides (breakdancing move where the dance ends as the breaker violently drops to the floor on his back/chest... that move that looks like it hurts like hell. Yeah, a three year old was doing that) on the giant footrest next to me.
I'm easily entertained, and never really give a shit about being around all the fuss... and this clearly showcases my attitude.
I can assure you all I'm really thinking is "Who the fuck taught her that? Everyone in her family moves like a hermit crab. Kids can be cool... I guess."

Oh, sweet baby Jesus... there is no doubt in my mind that regular folk think I'm a weirdo...
I totally am.

Monday, October 8, 2012

4 years younger

I've been on a desperate search for my earbuds for the last week or so. In order to solve this issue, I thought it best to go ahead and just clean my room... every nook and cranny (is that how the saying goes?).

No luck with the earbuds...
But I DID find something more valuable: my first digital camera's memory card.
I have been walking on sunshine ever since.

The photos start off from my Euro-trip of '08, and end with my Hollywood trip of April '09.
I feel like the most wonderful part of my life has been given back.
Yeahhhh, that's what I'm talking about!
Don't get me wrong, I have some of those photos up on Facebook, but at the time I uploaded them, I had to scale them down in order to get my lame-ass dial-up connection to load them properly.
Now I have the fucking originals. I didn't cry because I was aggravated from the gym the moment I found the card.

I also had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of myself... and felt immediately ashamed.
There were photos on there which I had not uploaded because they were wildly unflattering.

BOY! The updates I have planned now...
They're going to be embarrassing as fuck... but I'm going to love every minute of it.

Sunday, October 7, 2012


I was a super late bloomer when it came to many things:
1. Eyebrow tweezing.
2. Leg shaving.
3. Make-up application.
4. Dying of my hair.

Mom was... a total weirdo about it all. Guess that's what happens when a tomboy gives birth to girls.
Mom would tell me shit like "Oh, don't worry about the fuzz on your legs-- your pants will make them fall off on their own with all that friction. It did with me!"
Yeah, Mom, YOU... you're like... hardcore native american. You're pretty damn hairless.
HOWEVER, YOU married a hairy motherfucking Spaniard... The man turns pink in the sun, his hair is black as night... and it's ALL over the place! Get out of here!
I waited patiently all through middle school. I felt like such a boy, watching as my friends began transforming into pretty girls with their eyeshadow, lipstick, shaped eyebrows... HAIRLESS legs.

I BEGGED for a bit of normalcy... and it was slowly given to me. First the eyebrow tweezing at the start of 8th grade, followed by eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara permission, and FINALLY, HALF-WAY through 8th grade, I convinced Mom my goddamn hairy, stupid-Iberian legs were not going to "lose the hair on their own."

Mom was loosening her tomboy grip on me... and after hustling her for the majority of my life, at the end of 8th grade, the woman FINALLY let me dye my hair.

Considering how badly I wanted to change my hair color, I was drunk with power, and went crazy-- I got blond highlights.

Christ... I have photos of this horrible phase, but I WILL NOT share them. I am absolutely mortified each time I catch a glimpse of this embarrassing period in my life.
I was a brown girl... with HUGE, chunky, orange-hued highlights. I looked ridiculous.

I haven't gone blonde since then... it was a fucking bitch to remove the poorly bleached strands from my hair-- it was everywhere! It didn't help that my lame hair does this thing, where it lightens to a fucking EXTREME in the summer-- that wonky, idiotic-Iberian trait that rears its stupid head at the most inopportune times.

I also learned that I'm allergic to ammonia. It makes my nose bleed for HOURS. I'm not exaggerating-- I get lightheaded after a while of the bleeding. I turn into a fucking hemophiliac.
This sucks, but it did help get me out of a few chem labs that involved that atrocious chemical.

I hadn't played with ammonia in years, but today, my lovely aunt strong-armed me into dying her hair.
She came to my house and told me I was going to retouch her extravagant hair style...
By "extravagant," I mean "Did Dennis Rodman inspire you?" extravagant.

I tried letting her down gently... I brought up my ammonia allergy... I even told her I was tired... but she wouldn't budge. She even gave me a fucking face mask! The woman was ready.

I was lucky that I managed to convince Mom to help me. She took the color, I took the bleach.
We slaved away for half an hour... and the end result?
Holy shit... don't laugh!
Jesus... I feel terrible.
I swear that is exactly the way she wanted it.

Safe to say "Hair Stylist" is nowhere in my resume... nor will it EVER.
May God have mercy on us all...

Girl Crush

"You're totally my girl-crush! ... in a non-sexual way."
I nearly choked on my spit from giggling so hard after a friend told me that last night.

I don't think I have a "normal" girl-crush... it's just Gwen Stefani. I can't believe a fellow girl finds me cool enough to mark me as one of her girl-crushes... since I have such terrible luck with girls who hate me without even knowing me.

Maybe if I keep this whole "being pleasant" resolution of mine, less girls will be publicly embarrassing/attacking/abusing me.

... a girl can dream, right?

Friday, October 5, 2012

useless rant

Guess who re-injured her right rotator cuff...
THIS idiot!

The last two days have been rough, because I find myself getting aggravated by nearly everything.
Yesterday I stormed out of the gym, throwing my first ugly tantrum at that holy location, and today I was still pissed about it... so as I was throwing right hooks, I went too wild and BAM! PAIN!

It's so fucking hard to be calm and pleasant.
Add to that, I'm bloated as fuck... so... I'm... extra frustrated, continuously slapping my stomach. Doesn't everyone do that when angry at themselves? No? Just me? Ok.

Honestly, it's difficult to come up with topics, or writing about anything, because all I really want to do is lay on my stomach and sleep.

Only reason I'm even on here is to keep up with my goal of writing an entry a day.
So, that's what I write today. I'm angry, I'm bloated, and I have an injured rotator cuff that makes me whimper whenever I move.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Deep breaths, baby

1. What makes you angry?
2. How do you react?
3. How do cool down?

1. Homie... so many things piss me off. It's multifactorial.
Have I eaten? WHAT have I eaten? What have I NOT eaten?
What time of the month is it? (Yeah, it's irritating when guys automatically assume you're pissed off because you're PMSing... but I definitely notice I tend to have wild mood swings around certain times of the month. And for that I apologize profusely, but hey, it's motherfucking biology. Bite me)
How many hours of sleep have I had?
How many people have I spoken to?
How many hours have I driven today?
Is it too hot outside?
Have I been in a crowded area? For how long?
But there does seem to be a couple of stand outs:
a) Groups of people-- whether they're smart or dumb, funny or boring... if I have to be in a "group" of more than 10 people, for over two hours, I. Will. Get. Angry.
b) Waking me up. I tend to feel ok when I sleep an ODD number of hours. Wake me up at hours 6, 8, 10, 12, I'll bite your fucking head off. Wake me up at hours  3, 5, 7, 9, I'm fresh as a cucumber. I don't know what that's all about... but hey, at least I know my body, right?
c) Hunger. When I don't eat, I get angry, like any normal person. HOWEVER, I also get VERY angry when people try to FORCE me to eat. I can't explain it... but when I tells you "No thanks, I'm good" and you insist on me eating, I will be FURIOUS and ready to spontaneously combust. No means NO.
d) Driving. I just fucking hate this task... and I get pissed the moment I see someone breaking a rule. It irks me and I get a mean case of road rage.
e) Incessant chatter. SILENCE IS GOLDEN. Shut the fuck up and let people think. It'll be ok, I promise. There is NO need to continuously hear sound. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. When someone speaks for more than five minutes, non-stop, trust that I am using all of my self-control not to stuff my sock in his/her mouth.

2. How do I react? Well, that too has multiple answers. For the most part, I bottle the rage... then finally explode after a long time. My "explosions" are not pretty, luckily, I've only done this three times... I'm like 20th-century Mt. Vesuvius. Since I bottle my anger, I just rant on here... nearly suffer a stroke... then I get over it.

3. I get over the rage by... trying to make myself laugh.
It's the best way... I have to giggle.
I take deep breaths, then think of how stupid the situation might be to a stranger... or how stupid I must have looked... and I get over it.
If that doesn't work, I Tweet like Kanye... then get over it.

I'm seriously trying very, VERY hard to be a more pleasant person.
I'm not going to let AngrAmelie win.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Outta body

I feel I must be clear on a point from yesterday's post:
I am NOT in love with Josh.
I did not cry over a "missed opportunity."
It's more of... a sad realization. It's a typical AnoMALIE-ism.
Here, I spent my years feeling alienated, completely tormented by my peers... feeling as if no one understood me, much less liked me... and then years later comes some dude out of the woodwork with these... lines that are straight out of a soap opera.

Do you... understand how much your words could have helped me back when I was getting hurt?
The only reason I'm not dead right now is because I'm my own damn cheerleader, and I have always had this very idiotic sense of hope that refuses to die.

I'm just... so fucking awed by how my life is working out. It's so fake and unbelievable. There is rarely a week I don't sit back, and extremely bewildered wonder "IS THIS FUCKING REALLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?! WHAT THE FUUUUCK?!"

I have moments where I can just sense myself having an out-of body experience... wishing I had popcorn to munch on while watching everything unfold.
Check it, dude! You're walking alone, in a dark street, fireworks going off in the distance... and your childhood friend comes out to you as having always had these extraordinarily sweet feelings for you! And you, like the imbecile you are, just storm off like a cow looking for leafy greens. GOOD SHIT, AnoMALIE!

I can't even cry about... it's so fucking comical to me... so goddamn cynically hilarious.

Ahhhhh... it's so incredible. So amazing... in a sad way... in an enraging way...
but fuck it.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Manos, labios, ojos

This time around, I did not stay in my usual house in Mexico.
It wasn't my hood, so to speak.
I stayed with my aunt, in the more desolate, but secure part of town.
The area wasn't too foreign for me, considering I spent my childhood running around in that neighborhood with my cousins and their neighbors.
One neighbor, I'll call him Josh-- the english version of his name-- has always been my favorite.
Josh is three years my junior. I always treated him like a kid... but kindly. I never discriminated against him due to his skin color (he's pretty dark. Hometowners tend to be on the lighter side, since they've really fought over their "Europeaness" and try to stay as white as possible. There are few people with dark skin in town... and it crushes my heart to see how poorly they're treated for it. It's a trip) or the fact that he is of the poorer families in town. I just treated him like a baby, but always embraced him into our group.
He, in return, would make me giggle... and eventually turned into a huge flirt. This may seem insignificant to many, but for me... considering the rough bullshit I went through in my teens, this meant the world. He was the ONLY boy who did not taunt me, never said a single derogatory word towards me... he actually did the opposite. Josh tried lifting my spirits, and always, ALWAYS threw me a compliment each time we chilled.
He was always crushing on someone. He was lanky. He was awkward. He was funny. He was flirty. He was witty.
I was alone. I was quiet. I was reserved. I was sad. I was fat. I was hurting.

Before the violence erupted in Hometown, shit had been going wrong for about two years. Starting around 2005, the youth started getting into coke HARD. By 2006, every guy who lived in Hometown was a coke addict... it was pretty unreal, not to mention heartbreaking beyond comparison. Josh didn't escape this fate.
Each time we'd hang out, we girls would just look at each other when we'd see our guy friends, acting a fool. Their eyes blood-shot, noses sniffling, and all smiling like... junkies.
How the hell is this going to stop? IS it going to stop?
Then the violence broke out, and it seemed to answer my question. EVERYONE stopped doing coke-- EVERYONE. Those who didn't suffered the consequences: death by cartel.

Our guy friends were now rehabbed, but the damage was done, we no longer enjoyed their presence, and they forever felt the shame of being recovering drug-addicts. We went our separate ways.

Fast-forward to 2012.
Josh is married. He is now the step-dad to two kids. He now lives in the city. He is tall, he is built, he is handsome, he is STILL funny, and he is still a flirt.
I am still single. I am still quiet. I still take a while to warm up. I still wear this involuntary frown. BUT I'm no longer "fat."
We first saw each other my second night in Hometown. He was dropping by to visit my uncles, since he has done that since he was a kid.
I had no clue he was in the kitchen, chatting up my uncles and his parents, so as I made my way to the dinner table-- in my skimpy PJs-- I took a giant step back, completely startled by his presence.
He did the same.
Unable to contain my joy-- hey, it had been a while since I had seen him, and he was pretty fucked up then-- I missed his hand he was reaching out for me to shake, and instead I went for the giant bear hug. He IS my childhood friend, after all. I was overjoyed by how healthy and... happy he now looked, I just did what my heart told me to do.
Josh was startled at first, standing awkwardly in the kitchen as I wrapped my arms around him. As I realized what an idiot I must have looked like, hugging this scared giant in the kitchen, he slowly but firmly returned the hug.
Josh: Holy moly, I... didn't know who you were at first, AnoMALIE! You scared me!
Me: I'm sorry, it's just that I hadn't seen you in so many years...
Josh: You're... you're... you look... wow... you look incredible.
Me: You look great too, man! Look at you! All... not lanky anymore! You're a freaking adult now! Hahaha!

We spent the rest of the nights hanging out on the porch... in the dark... telling stories, laughing... occasionally talking about serious subjects.
He never told me he was married. He always covered his ring when speaking to me.
The gold band would catch my eye, and I couldn't help but look him in the eyes immediately afterward.
Tell me THAT story...
We had numerous moments where we would just hold eye-contact in silence... a quiet sadness completely palpable, permeating the air.
You get me, bro... you always have... but... now... it's final. It's... a done deal. We can't do this anymore. Our time was... will forever be cherished. But it's done. Thank you... for everything.

We adressed this once, and only once... on the night of the fireworks.
It was extremely late, and I had gotten separated from my group. I was walking the dark part of the main street, which was desolate, making my way to the enormous crowd at the foot of the church. I bumped into Josh as he was coming out of his mom's "restaurant," and stopped in my tracks as he spoke to me.
Josh: You dancin' tomorrow night?
Me: No.
Josh: Why not?
He took a step closer to me.
Me: When have I ever?
Josh: Hmm...
He was now directly in front of me, looking down-- this guy is a gigantic motherfucker, I tell you. I could feel him burning a hole through me, even if I was looking down at my boots.
Me: I only danced at the alamo... with you guys... when we were teenagers... remember?
Josh: Oh yeah! Ha! Those were great times.
Me: Yeah. They were.
I turn to my right, to once again start heading toward the crowd.
Josh: To me you were always perfect...
I stopped and looked over at him, shooting him my "Are you talking to me, you fucking psycho? It's midnight... and people can fucking hear you" look.
Josh: You were my dream girl. Sweet. Funny. Smart. Humble... beautiful.
I was still staring at him as if he were crazy... my heart racing up toward my esophagus.
Josh: I'm glad everyone now gets to see the girl I always saw: AnoMALIE.
I was almost crying by now... but completely immobilized... and probably heaving... I don't remember, I didn't jot that part down in my journal.
Josh: You're finally getting the attention I always said you deserved. Everyone now understands AnoMALIE D is one hell of a woman.
My shitty left eye, which was already watery from some allergies, began to cry.
Josh: Enjoy it, AnoMALIE, you are more than deserving of the recognition. Have a beautiful life.

I stood quietly, slack-jawed... heart racing... and crying... in the middle of Hometown's Maintstreet... in the dark... with fireworks booming in the distance... just me and Josh in the shadows.
Me: Gracias...
I turned my back to Josh, and sped walked toward the crowd in the distance... deafened by the sound of the blood rushing to my face.

Centímetros de silencio... palabras no dichas...
Y algo que brilla así de triste entre tus ojos y mis ojos.

Monday, October 1, 2012

1 toma, un puto día.


Christ. Ok, I'm going to go back to my daily habit of writing once a fucking day. My August and September breaks were good enough.
I would have picked it back up the last couple of days of September, but I've been SO FUCKING SICK for the last five days. The only thing my stomach holds down are protein shakes. Any solid food makes my stomach go fucking crazy and I'm miserable as fuck for about thirty minutes... like my cardiac sphincter is slapping me across the face and daring me to try that bullshit again-- Mom style. Peristalsis makes me its bitch... it hurts so fucking much to feel it contracting... like... that shit is NOT normal.
I don't know what messed me up this badly, but I'm going to go ahead and blame Mexico, like always.
I had to resort to this wonderful third-world remedy:
Hey, look! It's my bedroom!
Where I do a lot of that crying and self-loathing-type bullshit!
So far, so good... though I have not ingested any solid food since downing these magic pills... nor will I, until tomorrow morning.

Here's to an awesome October!
(My horoscope astrology bullshit told me I had a shitty September... and that October was going to blow that fucking month out of the water. See, this is how I KNOW this is some bullshit... 'cause my September was one of THE best Septembers I've had in a VERY, VERY long time... we're talking way back to around 2003. Shit, September was one of the best MONTHS I've had this entire year... so, I don't know what these motherfuckers are talking about)