otro año

You're mysterious, sensitive, introspective, and creative, with a tremendous capacity to understand or reflect the motives and dual nature of others. You are good at keeping secrets, and prefer to leave something to the imagination, rather than putting all your cards on the table at once, but this may be the result of being unsure or guarded about your own agenda or identity. You may have mood swings, and go through surreal phases or cycles, causing others to see you as inconsistent, romantic, gossiping, or irrational, but you trust your unconscious, and accept that the only constant thing about you is change.

You may be lousy at keeping secrets, have issues with women, sexuality, or esteem, but others may see you as solid, dependable, or rational. You might try to avoid extremes or put on a sunny face by day, but the night brings wild passion, sleeplessness, depression, loneliness, fear, or irrational thoughts about your identity. You may go through phases where your judgment is clouded by delusion, desire, lust, or attraction, or you may feel neurotic, unstable, or out of control. You might take pride in your ability to uncover hidden motives, spoil surprises, or reveal tricks or rumor, but this may be an attempt to distract from your own reflection or lack of imagination. There is light at the end of the tunnel once you are on the right track, or have dealt with these mental or emotional issues.

This year your convictions, determination, character, and courage could be tested through an inordinate number of challenges, and you'll come to understand that setbacks, suffering, or loss can either make you or break you. With perseverance, you won't let anything hold you down or cause you to give up, and you'll discover great inner powers of persuasion. You might have more responsibility or obligations than others over the course of the year, but how you handle them could make you an example of willpower and dignity, as well as an inspiration to others. This year, you'll have little tolerance for those who don't take responsibility for their lives, who blame bad luck, make excuses, or have a victim mentality, but learning to express compassion, especially when you think you're the only one going through difficulties, will be the greatest show of strength.
This year, jealousy, bad luck, shame, blame, insecurity, or a victim mentality could reflect an inability to accept responsibility for your choices or decisions. When things don't go your way, you might resort to threats, violence, retaliation, revenge, or other strong-armed tactics of manipulation in order to get your point across, or to get even. Becoming too controlling, getting into people's faces, talking over others, or going "off" on them, will only push them away, show a lack of self-control or willpower, or cause others to question your self-respect, while playing to the crowd could turn the situation into a circus. Your character and courage may be tested over the course of the year, but "what doesn't kill you," could inspire positive transformation.

Ayyyy güeyyy!
That is some creepy shit... but right on the money.

Happy birthday to me... in 59 minutes... ?

Enough. Enough.

Less than 24 hours until I turn 27.
Kind of pointless, since I've been dead for the last year.

All the while... as I suffered that pain... that burning sensation in my chest... the hallowing out... the thought that kept me standing was "Well... shit can't possibly get worse."
As always... as fucking always... I was wrong.
Last year was the year of getting slapped to reality in my "career" dreams. And I took it pretty poorly.

This year... this year has become the year that smears my heart into the wall. Rips my heart out of my chest and throws it fast-ball-style against a cinderblock wall.
It's the year that says "Love? Love does not exist for you, AnoMALIE. Shit... not even 'like' I'm afraid."
The year that makes me realize what a fucking blockhead I've been about this entire subject.
What a fucking stupid fantasy world I've been living since... since I first laid eyes on my first crush... Amadeos.
There's that "Forever Alone" meme that I must say, is often funny... but... in complete honesty... one hundred percent sincere... those two words are me. You cannot imagine how perfectly they describe my life. The extent to which this is true... a subject I don't get into with anyone... not to the full extent. Not even my sister knows. No one does. It's just something I carry in silence... something I've learned to hide and ignore throughout my life... make up stories in my head that I force everyone to believe... myself included... because it makes living much more bearable.

But yesterday... yesterday was that terrible bucket of ice-cold water to my back. The water to snap me to reality while someone screams "WAKE TO FUCK UHHHHHHHHH-P!" in my face.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't been listening to Chopin's Etude Op. 10, No. 3 obsessively since last night... still unable to control my sobs as I blast the song into my eardrums... tears streaming down my face, with no signs of stoping.
That is my song. My song. The song that follows me. The song that plays in the movie of my life. The song of a disillusioned, broken, lonely girl.
The song for the point at which a girl comes to the terrible realization that no matter how hard she tries, how much she dreams, happiness was just not meant for her.

And no, I'm not being dramatic. If you only knew. If you only knew... you'd agree.
But don't worry, if that's what was starting to creep into your mind--fear for my wellbeing. I mean, yeah, I'm not ok. I'm devastated and defeated, but you don't have to worry about me doing anything crazy. I made the decision a long time ago that I'd carry on with life for as long as... well, some freak accident, or sickness, or plain old-age takes me out.

Old age.
27.
It feels like 72.
I enter it... soul-less.
Resigned to be alone. Forever.

No more wishing on stars... or wishing as I blow on a dandelion. No more dreaming. No more hope.


There's a scene in "Love Actually" which made me freeze when I first watched it back in... '03?
It hit close to home. It was my favorite scene.
Mark confesses his love to Juliet.
Then when he's alone, slight difficulty breathing, all he says to himself as he walks away is "Enough... enough."
Enough.

No Borde el Tren

Divina ilusión... que yo forjé.
I watched the last train pull out of the station today.

That lonely girl, sitting on the bench only giving her back to the world in all those images... finally turned around today. Once the dust settled from the commotion... once everything had settled into... that goddamned trite phrase of "deafening silence," she turned around... and it was me.
Un sueño fue... que no se realizo.
It was always me.
No puedo mas.
There is no saving me. No tengo remedio.
I am completely... utterly alone.
Siento que mi alma se desgarra...



... I had been doing so great. This goddamn... delusional... fucking stupid hopefulness that has refused to die after all these years, the only thing to fucking blame.

That song has such a different meaning for me now.
Estoy sola. Mas sola que nunca. Y no hay manera de remediarlo.
I am such a loser.

Never enough.
I went from being a shadow... to being a ghost.

(Shorter, more embarrassing story: On Wednesday, I was walking the Strip with MGH and his friends, but mainly talking to MGH. I was smiling and laughing... genuinely happy. Then some dude in his mid 20s mocked me. He made fun of my laugh... loudly. This hurt me more than expected. It hurt to see someone ridicule my genuine happiness... my very rare happiness. I almost cried... but instead, I puffed up and went on a violent tirade against this guy, ready to rock this 6-foot-whatever guy's jaw with my fist. I had to get held back and taken away by MGH and Fer. 
It has been a rough couple of days, my friends. I just had to get it off my chest so I could continue with my life as a robot)

Take my hand

EVERYTHING in this life comes back to you. Absolutely everything.
Watch who you hurt today, because tomorrow they might be hurting you.

Today has been one of the longest in... a while.

Remember the boys who made my weekend a shit-fest? The elitist Mexican 21 year olds (hmmm... I might have failed to mention their age. But yeah, they're 1990 babies. Something that only added to my frustration because... I don't like younger little pricks clowning on me. I knew how to count, cut, paste, and wipe my own ass by the time they were born... motherfuckers better back the fuck up before they get smacked the fuck up, to quote the late great Tupac).
WELLLLLLLLLLL...
Jesus, God, The Universe... conspired to give me sweet, sweet revenge.

Ok, so maybe not revenge.... but it certainly offered me these kids' heads on a silver platter.

I could have taken the low road, and watched them squirm... or I could have taken the high road and taught them a good lesson, 7th Heaven-style.
Be a vindictive monster-- ANGRomalie-- and exact revenge on these motherfuckers... or... be AnoMALIE-- the real, genuine, sweet AnoMALIE?


If anything can be taken from my upbringing, it's the fact that I was raised to treat others the same way I'd like to be treated: with respect and dignity... and kindness... regardless of their background.
Be of service to my fellow man.
This is largely responsible for so many of my tears. I get so incredibly hurt when I meet people who don't treat me with the same respect as I do. It's probably the most hurtful thing anyone can do to me... hence the hate and violence I then proceed to display.
I always refuse to admit this, because it's painfully true... and I often find it to be a weakness: I'm nurturing AS FUCK. I'm nurturing to the point I'D like to be nurtured. I will hold your fucking hand until you feel safe to walk away... because that's exactly what would comfort me.

I received MGH's distressed phone call at noon, just as I was going out for a jog.
MGH: Hey. How are you?
Me: Hey, man! You back in San Francisco?
MGH: I'm in SFO right now...
Me: Cool. Didn't even text goodbye. That's cool.
MGH: It's been a long weekend... and it just got longer.
Me: What's up?
MGH: Well, back in the room, Fer and *Troll* gave me their passports to keep in my backpack... and when I got home... I realized... I still have their passports. They were supposed to leave this morning.
Me: Veeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrgaaaaaaaaaa!
MGH: What's worse is that they both have to be in school tomorrow. Fer has a presentation due... if he doesn't show up, he fails and has to repeat the whole year.
Me: You have got to be shitting me. That's terrible!
MGH: I feel like shit. I don't know what to do... we all don't know what to do... and I haven't slept since Wednesday. I'm fucked up and so confused right now.
Me: Holy shit. How about Fer and Troll?
MGH: They're panicking. Their entire family's panicking.

That was my chance right there.
Shrug it off with a maniacal laugh and say they deserved every bit of distress they were currently facing... or step up and help out these poor dudes to get them home safe?
Words can't describe how furious... how much I managed to LOATHE Troll in the course of four days. I'd think of him and my stomach would hurt. As a human being, I saw him as valuable as shit. Such a callous, shallow piece of shit.
However... I had to let my rage dissipate. I had to think... with the ruler of my being: my heart.
How would I like to be treated in this situation? I'm stranded in a foreign country... no passport, no phone, no family... no nothing... what do I do?!
Immediately, the nurturing good girl took charge.
I embraced these poor guys and put myself at their service... the same dudes who treated me like a call-girl/taxicab driver/maid/slave/piece of shit days earlier.
My heart couldn't let me throw these fuckers to the wolves, regardless of how shitty they had treated me or how badly they had made me cry. I just had to help.

The most surprised was obviously Little Orphan Annie's Troll Version. The moment I sprang to action, he screamed my name. The same fucking guy who called me "esa" was saying my real name every two seconds.
Yes, Troll, I WILL help you... and FOR FREE, with zero interest besides getting you home safely and in a timely fashion.
I helped them find MGH (because there was a period of three hours where no one couldn't reach him), a place to stay, and a ride (MEEEEEE!).

All this brouhaha... and what made it worth it? The look of relief in their giant, bewildered eyes when they saw me.
They may be 21, they may be on the verge of graduating from college, they may have more money in their bank account than they'll ever be able to spend... but the moment they realized they were passport/visa-less in a foreign country, completely alone, they turned into terrified five year olds lost in a department store.
It's ok, babes, hold my hand, I'll get you out.
And everything was worth it.
I even gave the damn Troll a blank-slate and agreed to befriend him.

Now I just have to get MGH (more on this guy later... after I get decent rest) home tomorrow morning and this weekend will finally go down in the books as "finished."


When I die, I'm definitely getting canonized and becoming the patron saint of the painfully shy, socially awkward, unattractive, potty-mouthed nerdy girls.

Fer!

These last few days have been... anything but stellar, I guess you could say.
I've written various drafts, but obviously haven't published any.
Some were furious rants, others reminded me of depressing suicide notes... but I always had the head NOT to publish them. No need for them to become public. No need to subject anyone to read my shit.

I'm trying to be positive, and not let shit get to me... but considering that my birthday is on Thursday, it's pretty fucking hard not to be emotional. I DON'T want that day to come.
Add to that, the fact that MGH has been in town since Wednesday... and... well... he's the one responsible for my rage... and depression.
Don't get it twisted, I'm not sad because my feelings for him returned or any of that crazy bullshit, I'm upset because his fucking imbecilic friends upset me.

For the most part, I tend to like the friends of my friends, at least, that's true for my close friends.
If my friends like these people, I figure it's for a reason... so I give these strangers a chance.
With MGH and his brother JC, I've done this. I've embraced their friends... and in each case, I've like all the friends they've introduced me to.
I always thought this would be impossible, since MGH and JC are of... a pretty elite Mexican class. When they left Hometown, they left to a city where they became part of extremely high society.
People may think "Yeah, but it's MEXICO! What kind of fucking high society can it be?" And of course, I laugh in those faces because they're obviously ignorant fucks. They clearly haven't learned about the great disparities in the distribution of wealth in Mexican society. The poor are VERY poor... but the rich... well... who's the richest man in the world? What nationality is he? Yeah, that's right, Mexican. While there are people still starving to death in the majority of Mexican states-- many Native Americans committing suicide due to extreme food shortages/extreme weather, we have people like Slim... though the guy is quite the philanthropist and all.
Still, point is: the rich are filthy fucking rich... and MGH and JC's Mexican friends are of this group.

My experience upon meeting these rich kids has always been positive. I'm always weary thinking they might be like the stereotypical little assholes who will look down upon "plebes," but no, each time, I get the "Oh wow, these kids are really cool and sweet! You'd never guess they have maids waiting on their every move back home!" reaction.

Not this time.
No.
No.
No.
No.

One of the boys is the richest one of MGH's acquaintances. He's also MGH's best friend.
And it's obvious--the kid's wealth-- not based on the boy's behavior or personality (he's actually remarkably sweet and innocent), but the other guys. The other boys lick his ass HARD. HARD.
FERNANDO!
FRECHIS!
FER!
That's all you fucking hear them say.
They ask him for permission to cross the street, for fuck's sake! Permission to cross the street!
These guys are like fucking vultures... these two other dudes. They think THEY'RE the multimillionaires... THEY treat people like they're scum of the Earth.
What works me up most is that they're these fucking little trolls. Ugly as shit. Short as fuck. Yet they feel above everyone else.
Yo, Little Orphan Annie! You reek of cigarette from a motherfucking mile away... and your legs are as long as my fucking arm! What the FUCK makes you think you're better than that cashier chick at Walmart? Money? It's not even YOURS! And YOU, you're a natural T-Rexer! Can you fucking walk with your arms at your side like a normal biped? And quit complaining about how "cold" it is, you twat! 63 degrees at night is fucking GLORIOUS! I'd imagine that hobo blazer of yours would keep you warm!
These two made my last couple of days hell.
The sweet rich boy was a delight to hang out with, he's normal and adorable.
But these two trolls... made it hard not to become a felon.

First, they thought I'd be cool with them treating me like a call-girl. Obviously didn't work. I'd rather swallow a cyanide pill than get near the dick of either one of those two trolls.
This irritated them... so they went ahead and treated me like a taxi.
They smoked in my car, regardless of how fucking rude and outspoken I was about murdering the next disgusting idiot who DARED to light up in my car.

I've been dealing with that sort of shit these last few days.
The condescending looks and treatment are just... painful.
I can't wrap my head around that shit. How can people treat others like second class citizens when all they're doing is... being nice?

Hmmm...
I'm tired and now managed to piss myself off at the thought of these jerks...
so... I'll just stop now.

I hate people.

Sugar-induced Lent Rant

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Mardi Gras, we meet again.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Yuhhhhhhhhhhp.
Mmmhmmm.
Yehhhhhhhhp.

First of all, did I participate in today's festivities?
Half-assed.
Considering that I don't eat dairy and my carb count is ultra low, I don't really give a fuck about gorging on food.
Drinking's out of the question as well... since I'd rather EAT my calories-- heaping slice of chocolate cake... peanut butter cupcakes... BROWNIES! Yeah man, I'd overdose on that good ol' sugar over drinking myself silly.
But to each their own.
However, since it IS Pancake Day, I DID make myself three almond protein pancakes... topped with agave-nectar-sprinked banana slices (that were also sprinkled with cardamom. Shit is BOMB! Try it, PLEASE! You'll thank me later).
I also went "crazy" and had some string cheese.
I finished it off with some nice carne asada.
That was me going crazy for Fat Tuesday... in preparation for tomorrow's fasting to kick off good ol' Lent season.

This past week, I've wrestled with what I'm going to give up this year.

I'm definitely not giving up cussing. That's just never going to happen.
I'll lessen it, I'll settle for that. I can handle that. However, it's definitely staying in my life because I become extremely frazzled/frustrated and angry without cuss words.
So
1. Take it easy with the cuss words.
I'll also smile.
2. Smile, idiot.
3. Play nice, asshole.
I'm really mean. REALLY, really mean. I make my poor momma sad. That's never cool.
4. Shut your face and move on.
I harp on shit... and run at the mouth as of recently. Serious apology to my poor followers. Definitely has to stop.
5. Don't. Talk. Shit.
Ohhhh baby. This one's getting the best of me. In the last month, I've felt on the verge of exploding because far too many people are getting a hold of my shit. I now only have this spot to vent. I say this because Pacemaker has found my twitter and instagram (DEAR LORD! Do I fucking love instagram!) accounts... and that girl... she's the fucking town crier. I say something right now, and the entire bay area knows in five minutes... Hometown finds out within three hours.
It feels like I have the meanest muzzle on. It's a terrible feeling. Incredibly frustrating. Like I have an anvil on my chest (agonizing pain that has managed to fuck me up physically. I've been so distracted at the gym--place where I supposedly vent my frustrations by lifting heavy shit AND by kicking/punching like a wild boar-- that I've managed to fuck up my left rotator cuff AND my lower lumbar region. Never clean-and-press/clean-and-jerk while thinking of someone who pisses you off... you'll live to regret it, kids).
So... in hopes of not hurting too many feelings (I don't know why I fucking care to spare so many fucking feelings, but I do. Because I'm an idiot), I hope to just shut the fuck up and bottle shit up until I have time to go out into the mountains and just break shit out of people's sight/ear-shot.

Plain and simple: I'll be a good, happy girl.

I'll also do that usual meatless-Friday thing we Catholics have been doing for centuries or whatever.

Fingers crossed I don't suffer a motherfucking stroke within the next 40 days.
Yeeeee-haaawwww!

Expect to see things added tomorrow... you know, once this fucking sugar high has died down (so I've kinda been snacking on some mini snickers/starbursts while typing this shit up... and a couple of MuscleMilk Protein Bars... those things... magic. Fucking magic. Gotta get those in before midnight strikes and fasting time begins. I'm such a glutenous, cheating little bitch) and my mind has cleared and I'm all holy and whatnot.
Christ, that was a meanass run-on sentence.

La Luz del dia

Este corazón que aún te quiere... ya está muriendo... tarde con tarde... como se muere la luz del día.
Ya no puedo más... tú me haces falta.
Vuelve conmigo, alma de mi alma, vidita mía. 

Adónde estás?
Adónde estás?
Mátame cielo, trágame tierra... quiero morirme si nó vuelve más. 

Ya podrás tener el mundo entero...
Y entre tus manos toda la dicha, y otro cariño mejor que el mío...
Pero ya verás que todo acaba...y al verte sólo, como hoy me siento... siempre hace frío.

Por mas que intento olvidar, no puedo.
Por mas que intento odiar, no puedo.
Extraño. Sufro. Añoro.

Solo pienso en esa maldita flor... como se marchita.

Estaba bien... muy bien.. cuando pensaba que le era indiferente. Que no pasaba de ser... otra mas en el mundo. Que no me hacia en el mundo.
Pero el momento que se me presento... cuando vi mi reflejo en sus ojos (maldito tostador)... se me alegro el corazón. Creí que... por fin ya no estaba sola... que había encontrado mi otra mitad... una versión igual que yo. Me admitió por tan solo un segundo en su mundo.
Luego sin explicación... sin una sola palabra, me empujo fuera... salió corriendo y desapareció. Me dejo sola... para que me marchitara sin su presencia.

Pocas cosas me han dolido tanto como esto.
Quisiera regresar el tiempo... que nada de esto hubiera pasado.
Nada.
Que no supiera de su existencia.

No era feliz creyendo ser una persona solitaria... pero tampoco era tan infeliz como lo soy ahora.

No se que hice...
No se que dije...
pero odio, cuanto odio, esto de no saber ni madres... de quedarme colgada.
Me mata.

For a reason, huh?

Hmmm... haven't been all too consistent with the blog this month.
I think it's for a good reason.

(they totally have me pegged on this one... 100%... even with the corn part. I don't know why I love it so much, but fucking "elotes" are MY joint! ... and the very last part... GUILTY... on MULTIPLE occasions)

I haven't been in the best of moods. I've been pretty depressed actually.
Rather than take to the blog and vent all my sad, shit feelings, I opt to stay away... and paint.
My room looks like a fucking bomb went off... a colorful explosive that splattered all over the walls and carpet... even my covers.
I got problems.

In all of this, I even took care of a baby recently.
I taught him how to throw the horns as he dances to Dora the Explorer... because I'm a great role model.
The creepiest part was that this baby actually likes me... and my food.
Freakin' baby stole my heart.
Kid can keep it, though, since I have very little use for it.

Sobs

Can't lose what you never had, can't keep whats not yours, and can't hold on to something that does not want to stay.

Does everyone have to try so hard to stay positive? Is it always this difficult to keep a smile on one's face?
Should it really be so much of a fucking struggle?

I just want to sob... really hard... really loud. But I don't want anyone to hear me. I don't want anyone to try to get me to shut up.

People really underestimate how alleviating that is-- sobbing.
Just letting the sorrow escape your body like that.

It can't always be this fucking hard to keep a smile on your face... it just can't.

La 69

I have zero intention to hate on this day... regardless of how many things of this nature I may bump into:

So. Hard. Not to be. Cynical.

I find it somewhat off-putting to see so many people hating on it.
I've taken to celebrate this day like any latino does:
El dia del amor y la AMISTAD.

Celebrate the homies. The family.
Don't hate on those who have found love. It's not worth the energy.
Plus, enjoy the motherfucking CANDY!

How did I know I shouldn't hate today?
Why, this was the number the DMV assigned to me the moment I walked in to renew my license:

Shit would not work out for me like this even if I were to plan it...

I saw the number when I took a seat and I couldn't stop smiling.
You're so silly, Universe. So silly.
When my number was called, a couple of young-ish people snickered... including myself (off-topic-ish: I just realized I was rockin' a red purse. I had no idea I was being so ridiculously festive. I just grabbed the nearest bag as I was leaving my house).

My mood has been lovely since then.

No use in harping on the sad memories... or lamenting over how I'm going to die a lonely chinchilla lady (the more I think of this, the more I realize this is going to be highly unlikely... the "lonely" part, that is. I mean, what does a person do when he/she realizes someone in the neighborhood owns a chinchilla? He/she gets the urge to VISIT the chinchilla... 'cause those motherfuckers are soft and fucking cute. The moment people realize I own MULTIPLE chinchillas, they'll be knocking down my door. My place will be a fucking amusement park. No chance in hell for me to be lonely). Bitching about it isn't going to change shit.

Single Awareness Day?
Only if you make it so.

Thanks for the love, thanks for the smiles.
Anyone who has ever been responsible for making me feel this, I celebrate and appreciate you.

Paz, amor, y amistad.

Back to Elementary

My friend posts this:

Funny, right? And on the money.

Naturally, I find it amusing, so I say this (note: no one else has commented. I'm the first):
I love this. love, Love, LOVE!
p.s. I'm stealing this :)
He says this:
LOL, how do you think I got it? Steal way, this is genius lol!
Then this goes down:

No provocation.
No (initial) rudeness from my behalf.
Nothing.
I don't even know this bitch (granted, we went to high school together, but she's a year younger, so I never interacted with her. EVER).
How the FUCK does she think this is REMOTELY acceptable? How is this even civil?
What did I do, again?

And people wonder why I fucking hate girls. Fucking hoes come at me from left field.
Goddamn keyboard warriors.
Get the fuck out of here and mind your own business, cunts... or start taking some boxing lessons, because the moment you try and lob something at me, I swing first THEN ask questions.
Pendejas.

Needless to say, Jenny better watch her fucking (very moronic) back.

I fucking hate Facebook...
... and girls, in case I didn't make that one clear.
"Sisterhood" my fucking clit.

Wrong Way Sunday

I couldn't sleep last night.
I was so disturbed, I woke up at five in the morning realizing my ankles were irritated due to falling asleep with my shoes still on.

I've always been so fucking hard on drunk drivers. Incredibly judgmental and unwavering in my hatred towards them.
You do the crime, you do the motherfucking time. You didn't mean to do it? Too bad, too fucking sad! NO EXCEPTIONS! FUCK YOU, YOU IRRESPONSIBLE FUCK!
That sort of deal. Always.

But last night... was a serious uppercut to my jaw... from... fucking Megatron.

She just ruined her life... oh my god... she just ruined her fucking life.

My heart is heavy for the friends and family of the kid killed. He was a good kid. A young dude... a 24 year old.
How do you ever... make up for taking his life? You can't.
To carry the burden of knowing your irresponsibility... your lack of good judgment... took this guy form his friends and family would be too much to handle. I'd fucking hate myself. Every morning. Every afternoon. Every evening. Every night. Forever.

My head spins because this girl is SO responsible. SO. FUCKING. RESPONSIBLE.
She had to learn to be responsible at such a young age... elementary school. She'd see her drunk dad beating the living shit out of her mother in front of all her siblings, and she'd step in and often take the beating... up until she gained the physical strength to fight her own dad once she entered high school.
She NEVER allows anyone to leave a party drunk, or even buzzed. Ever. She's so vigilant about it. I've seen it first hand, I mean... I see her at about 70 percent of the parties I attend. She has taken care of me.

She was supposed to be at my aunt's birthday breakfast last week, but was too busy helping her sister prepare for her Superbowl party. She did call my aunt to wish her a happy birthday while I was there, though. I just remember thinking what kind of fucking Superbowl-related fun they were sure to enjoy later in the day... because this girl is such a wonderful riot to be around.

I'm just so shocked. This is all so crazy. And I feel so horrible.
I read the on-line articles... with the accompanying (hateful, often racist) comments... and I can't fucking believe it. I repeatedly force myself to read her name and age... hoping to wrap my brain around it.
It's you. It'syouit'syouit'syou! You're the Wrong Way Driver...

She was put under arrest while at the hospital.
It breaks my heart... because I put myself in her place, and I just know I'd spend my entire time crying. They'd have to keep me sedated for my entire hospital stay... because I'd just go fucking crazy each time I'd wake up to see the cops at my door... the constant reminder that I fucked up and KILLED an innocent person. That I was so fucking stupid and selfish... that I killed a fucking kid.

She's a wonderful girl. A selfless girl. A kind girl. A good, brave daughter, an awesome sister, a remarkable aunt, a hilarious cousin, a wonderful friend and--while her grandparents were still alive-- a compassionate granddaughter.

How could you... have ruined your life like that? SO MANY lives like that? That's so not like you.

My heart is broken. My mind is frazzled.
You were driving drunk! You got behind the wheel while drunk! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!
I just think of her crying and feeling so much guilt. God, the unbearable guilt.
The judgement... the hate she will undoubtedly... quite justifiably face.
The friends she will lose. The job she has lost. The notoriety... the reputation... the new "title" she has gained.
The statistic she became.
I just want to hug her.

I don't want the deed to go unpunished. Shit like this should never go unpunished...
but I just want to fucking hug her and cry with her.

How could you fucking do this, man?! How could they fucking let you do this?!

What a terrible lesson I've just learned in the art of compassion.
Fuck, man. Fuck!

Drunk Driving

It is absolutely terrifying how someone's life can change in a matter of seconds.

I've told the story multiple times, of my brother's high school friend who was killed by a drunk driver.

Now, I have the distinction to say someone close to me was on the other end.
I know a drunk driver... whose irresponsible.... thoughtless act, killed an innocent young man.

Holy shit.

1 cupcake, 2 cupcakes, 3 cupcakes, 4

Valentine's Day.
Ah yes.
Lovely.

I'm not supposed to hate on it.
And I've been pretty good about adhering to that resolution.
I know it's technically... 3 days away? But my sister and her friends decided to kick off the celebrations tonight.
I had to take part in tonight's festivities due to the venue... which happened to be my house.

The three lovely ladies decided to have a salmon dinner, followed by chocolatey dessert and some good ol' vino rojo.
I passed on the vino and opted for straight tequila shots... 'cause that's how I do... because nothing bores me quicker than wine.
And well... I more than overdosed on the chocolate desserts.

The chocolate overdosing began once the girls started man-bashing.
After the lovely dinner (which I bowed out of participating in), they each shared their stories of woe... and rather than share my own man-hating stories, I opted for stuffing my face with molten chocolate mini cupcakes.
My husband bores me... but it's like... we have a son... so... we're working on the marriage... even after I told him of my infidelity.
Oh my God... I'm associating with a cheater? I hate myself so hard right now. Cuuuuupcake!
Men are dogs. They just want fucking sluts. I'm sick of being a good girl.
Cuuuuuuuuuuupcaaaaaaaake!
If a dude were here right now... he'd be so fucking dead. FUCK MEN!
Whoa, there ladies... are there... any more cupcakes back there?

As if that wasn't enough, Momma wanted me to take shots with her in her room.
You don't have to ask me twice if tequila's ever involved. I have the esophagus of a 50-year-old mariachi singer... I will down that shit without flinching and I'll match you shot for shot when it comes to that.
So technically I'm buzzing hella hard right now AND I'm chocolate wasted.
However, as trashed as I got, I'm proud of myself for not participating in the man-bashing.

True, guys have cut me deep... and I'm hell of hurting over dudes... but... I can't lie: I love them. They make my world go round. They make me smile. They make me... enjoy my time on Earth, shit, they help me keep my feet ON Earth (as in, like, not get carried away with my lofty dreams... not that they're the reason why I don't commit suicide. No no, not like that. They just help keep me grounded).

And while I HONESTLY feel that I will never find my other half... that my "lobster" has been caught in some fishery... that my Prince Charming was trampled to death by a minotaur...
I can't bring myself to hate on men... at least not while in the presence of a group of girls.
Sure, a lot of male behavior drives me ape-shit, but to go from that to "I'm done associating with guys!" is a bit too drastic. I don't have the heart to rip them to shreds in front of my kind.

Men are funny. They're nice to look at. They have a story.
Does it hurt to know that I can't find one who will like me as much as I like him? Hell yeah. It hurts a lot... like a hot blade slicing longitudinally along my trachea. It has hurt my entire adolescence... and now my supposed "adulthood."
I'm a 26 (almost 27! Christ!) year old virgin... are you fucking kidding me? I feel a pang in my heart each time I see a couple holding hands... as much as I hate to admit it.
I bet that feels nice... to know... what that's like... to have someone hold on to you in public like that.
I continuously tell myself that I'll just settle for someone who likes me more than I like him... but that's impossible. My stupid heart doesn't allow it... because it isn't fair... to anyone.
Not too long ago, one of Kelley's friends said something incredibly sweet about me. It made me blush.
Kelley: To him, you're "the most beautiful girl in the world."
It helps me understand when the shoe's on the other foot... why the dudes I like can't like me in return. It makes me more compassionate, I guess.
It's flattering, and greatly appreciated... but just... not possible to be reciprocated.
You can't ask an olive tree to give you pears.

So, as my turn to "cheer" to "this miserable day" came up, what were my scathing comments? My story of woe? My famous last words?
... 5,600 miles... might as well be on the moon. Non-exisistent. All in here ::taps right temple three times with right index finger::

One... more... cupcake.

One too many fucking cupcakes...

And yes, this post took me about two extra hours to post... I had no idea it was this difficult to revise shit while under the influence (I usually just ignore shit and post away with reckless abandon. But not today. Tonight? No, sir. Not today. Tonight?).

Lucky 2B Alive

... wait... what the...

AHAHAHA!
...
AHAHAHAHAHA!
...
....
AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ok... ok... I think I'm breathing again.
In order to quit laughing hysterically, I have to imagine being the recipient of this Valentine's Day card... being the mother of Satan's spawn... Damian-lookin, The Omen-esque kid... rockin' all-black clothes, dark circles under his eyes, and a bowl haircut...
But then I lose control thinking of ever having a kid with a bowl haircut.

Man.
I love having people in my life who know how to make me turn into a hyena when I'm finding it difficult to find any reason to smile.

Laughing feels good.
I like being myself.

Like the wind

Today... started out rough.

For the last month or so, I've been going to English Mass at eight in the morning.
At first, I attended so my sister wouldn't be alone... but now, it's something I enjoy. It puts me at ease. I can't explain it beyond that. It's just like it used to be. It allows me to be wrapped in my solitude... my quiet, meditating solitude.
I like quiet solitude.

ANYWAY.
I went to mass alone.
Like a dog, my ear perked the moment I heard the first reading.
In all my years, I had never paid attention to that reading... until today.
It was from the seventh chapter of Job.
This line made me sit completely frozen:
‎"So I have been assigned months of misery, and troubled nights have been allotted to me."
Whoa... whoa...
I pulled up a missal and continued to read.
"My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle;
they come to an end without hope.
Remember that life is like the wind;
I shall not see happiness again."

I almost cried.
Bingo.
I decided to read the whole thing once I returned home.
Deep. And painful.

"My own utterance I will not restrain; 
I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; 
I will complain in the bitterness of my soul."
Yes. Yes. 
When I say, “My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint,” 
Then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions, 
So that I should prefer strangulation and death rather than my existence.

I waste away: I will not live forever; 
let me alone, for my days are but a breath. 
What are human beings, that you make much of them, or pay them any heed? 
You observe them every morning
and try them at every moment! 

How long before you look away from me, 
and let me alone till I swallow my spit? 
If I sin, what do I do to you, 
O watcher of mortals? 
Why have you made me your target? 
Why should I be a burden for you? 

Why do you not pardon my offense, or take away my guilt? 
For soon I shall lie down in the dust; 
and should you seek me I shall be gone."

Rocked. My. World.
However, while I did identify with this reading FAR too much, instead of feeling happy over not being alone in my desperation... my sadness abruptly attacked me.
Right there, as I searched the internet, feeling bummed, I noted my sister had quoted "He's Just Not That Into You." I nearly lost it... especially since it took a swing at the "love" portion of my soul (the bible verses hurt my entire being, not my romance department...):
"No matter how powerful and real your feelings may be for someone, if that person cannot fully and honestly return them and therefore actively love you back, these feelings mean nothing.”

FUCK, MAN! WHAT THE HELL?! Does February 5th WANT to see me cry?

But suddenly, everything was all right with the world...
I was treated to a breakfast birthday party... where I had wonderfully delicious pancakes AND numerous variations of french toast... and bacon-infused scrambled eggs... and then this fucking beauty to top it all off:

Chocolate mousse, flan, cheesecake, and that bottom layer? TRES LECHES!
Ufff! The mere memory makes me salivate.

All celebrating my sweet aunt's birthday (and secretly, I kinda did it for Cristiano Ronaldo... but shhh).

And so... the smile returned to my face... and my brain filed the quotes in the "cherished" section.

Friendly February

"Friendly February"
That's what I'm calling this month.

Today, I decided to increase the kindness factor, and I donated to two charities. Yes, broke-ass AnoMALIE donated to charity.
Now, I'm of the "Don't let your left hand know what your right hand does" mentality, but I'm just mentioning it here to keep track of how hard I'm trying to go back to the kind, caring version I used to be.

I must say, donating feels pretty good.
First my hair (ok, so I cut that shit back in July, but it wasn't until Friday that I sent it out... yeah, yeah, I'm a procrastinating idiot. Like with my unrelenting stubbornness: I get it from my momma), then some cash... come Monday, I'm going to donate my clothes to Safe Nest.

It's my form of apologizing to the world for being such a self-pitying asshole this past year.

Only four days in, and I can feel the difference-- I was dancing in my car, for fuck's sake.
These acts of kindness are helping me forget that my heart really looks like this:

My "29 Days" submission for today.
The word was "smoosh."
Too easy. Too revealing.

I'm well on my way to sainthood... now if only I could do something about this potty mouth... though I'd work so hard at being a saint, I'd make them overlook the fact that I curse every other sentence. 

Photo February

Christ!
I had the most insane dream last night... and now that I re-read yesterday's post, I hell of understand why.
The dream was "insane" in that it was so wildly amazing. The moment I woke up, I immediately became bummed out because I figured it had never happened... and that it definitely wasn't going to happen.
But shit, it was beautiful.
Sure, it made me curse my brain for creating that fictional life... but after my disappointment-induced rage, I proceeded to thank it for the good time... then I asked it never to do that again.

Anyway,
Part of this February mission of mine... you know, my search for happiness and whatnot, is taking a photo every single day of February.

In January, I added a photography-related app, which is meant to make you post a photo a day and it keeps track of your photo on a calendar. I was informed of its existence halfway through January, so I was already failing at that.

On Tuesday, in my infinite road-trip boredom, I checked out the calendar app. Seeing my empty little calendar saddened me, and prompted me to get disciplined to do what I had set out to do: post ONE motherfucking picture a day.

This reminded me of my abandonment of another photography-related app: Instagram. I had the app since October because my sister was on my case about it, but I didn't pay attention to my account until Tuesday's LA trip. What can I say? I do weird shit when I'm bored.

In my snooping, I noted my friends were doing a "photo a day" deal for the month of February... and a list was involved.

Well, fuck! If they're going to tell me what to photograph, I'll join. Half of my fucking work is done-- the most tedious part, actually-- the brainstorming!

Then I noted a problem: a couple of my friends were doing a different list.

AH FUCK! I like this list as well!

So what do I do?

I overachieve and do BOTH ("overachieve" mostly because I'm an impulsive imbecile who just jumps into shit without a second thought, then instead of backpedaling, I go off and do both things).

This moment of impulsive discipline has reminded me how much I adore photography... and more importantly, how it makes me feel: Happy. Complete.
I hadn't felt that shit since High School, when I was first introduced to photography.
I can't describe the feelings it brings up in my being beyond: it's like a motherfucking lightbulb is switched and a light turns on in my heart...
Corny, but it's the truth.
Shit even has me reposting my photos on my Twitter... and I loathe sharing my "work" because I'm so shy about it (don't ask me why. I just am. I can't help but feel stupid. Always have), yet there you have me... showing a bunch of faceless folks my shenanigans.

This photo-stint of mine also made me realize:
FUCK! I LOVE MY iPHONE! THE motherfucking SHIT!

Like how I tried to hide the fact that my E-string is missing?
I'm such a bum!

Seriously, iPhone, you're going to make my head explode with joy.
You can't even tell I snapped that as I looked for dog food at Walmart!

Needless to say, I'm a happy girl right now. I'm smiling a lot... and once again utilizing the creative side of my brain...
and it feels SO. GOOD.

Happy Friday, corazones!

Every time she closed her eyes

So what was the verdict? Six more weeks of winter or something like that? I'm Mexican... we don't do this shit.

I can, however, relate to the movie "Groundhog Day." That was pretty much my 2011.
But I won't let it be that way this year. I won't live in a perpetual Groundhog Day... no matter how often I hear Coldplay's "Paradise."
I had never paid attention to the lyrics until the other day, and I started to cry... right there in the gym's parking lot... like the overly-sentimal loser that I am.
But seriously, it's like Chris Martin read my diary and wrote that shit for me:

When she was just a girl 
She expected the world 
But it flew away from her reach so 
She ran away in her sleep and dreamed of 
Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise 
Every time she closed her eyes 


When she was just a girl 
She expected the world 
But it flew away from her reach and the bullets catch in her teeth 
Life goes on, it gets so heavy 
The wheel breaks the butterfly 
Every tear a waterfall 
In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes 
In the night the stormy night away she'd fly and dreams of 
Para-para-paradise Para-para-paradise Para-para-paradise  


And so lying underneath those stormy skies She'd say, "oh, ohohohoh I know the sun must set to rise"

But it's February... it's 2012... I'm not going to be sad and mope around the house... or in my car.
Curse you, radio!

Reds and pinks and whites

It's the first of the monnnnnnnnnnth!

I associate two things with February:

1. The colors red, pink, and white.
2. Love/Happiness.

The first is a weirdo thing I do with months thanks to my elementary school days. I remember being freakishly attracted by the class calendar; I always looked forward to seeing how my teachers would decorate the damn thing.
Thanks to this, I always associate certain colors to months. I'm sure I'm not alone in my color-association game... especially with assigning February with the color red.

The second, well, no fucking shit. That's engrained in our heads since pretty much birth.
We have lovely Valentine's Day to thank for this.

Now, I can take the bitter route, which I usually do, but this year I want to change it up.
Last year was my Pity-Party Year. This year is my ENJOY BEING ALIVE, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE! Year.
I'm making a conscious effort to be a much more pleasant, happier person.

Last month I tried achieving this by letting the past go.
I wasn't overly successful in this endeavor... but I did do a decent job.
I also only cried twice... that's a vast improvement from any other month last year, where I'd cry at least once a week.

This month, I'm going to be happy. Smile. Not shit-talk the month's activities. I'll seriously celebrate love. Seriously.
And I'll have festive nails.

I'm going to fix myself. Promise.