Hello, pleasure to meet you.

2013-- best year of my life... at least of the last 20.

Yes, I spent a number of days depressed and crying and struggling through the motions of every day... but... I could not have asked for a better year.

I'm getting emotional and I'm stone cold sober... although I'm still sort of woozy from the travel and illness.
I'm short on time, but I'll have more than enough time to type tomorrow.

I fucking loved this year.
I loved everything.

Thank you, Universe.
If last year was the Goodbye Year, this year was definitely the "Hello, pleasure to meet you!" year...
New beginnings are scary, but oh so wonderful sometimes.

I'm a happy girl. I'm so very happy.

1995?!

Uh... Guys... Totally nix the part where I said Homeboy didn't like me.

... He does. A lot.

Guess why...

Take a WILD GUESS why this pretty boy likes me and stalks me...

BECAUSE... He's FUCKING EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!!

What. The. FUCK?!

What the fuck?!

I don't know what to say... At all... I've been like this for the last five hours or so.

When he dropped the bomb of being born March 3rd, 1995... I froze, and initially though "Oh shit! I'm two days older than him! Nice!"

Then he kept talking... About how the groom is a decade older than him... And I froze again.

The groom is MY age.

"This homeboy just... He just... Holy fucking shit! He's FUCKING EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!"

Homeboy got PLASTERED. Everyone at this wedding did-- drinking began at 10 in the morning.

300 BOTTLES OF TEQUILA. THREE HUNDRED! A bottle per attendee!

We walked to church-- drinking along the way.

We walked to the reception hall-- drinking along the way.

Had cocktail hour-- for THREE HOURS.

I'd notice Homeboy staring over at me all the time. Smiling. I would be lying if I said it wouldn't make me giddy.

But he never approached me (though now I know he practically wanted to know my life story from my brother. Apparently everything he talked about with Rafa revolved around me, no mention of D).

Aww.. He hates me...

The party is still going on as I type, but I have been sick as fuck with a runny nose and violent cough all day, and since the reception was in the open of an hacienda, I was cold and getting battered by the weather.

So I decided to bounce out early-- at 1... It isn't ending until 5.

Anyway, Homeboy came over to my table and very drunkenly tried apologizing to the girl next to me. (He called her old-- 40 year old. She's 26. So she was offended and he was trying to make amends)

He tried explaining the issue to me.

"Oh, I know all about it. She keeps harping on it," I said.

And this comment pissed BOTH of them. 

He proceeded to playfully cover my mouth... But in doing so, he'd wrap his arms completely around me (fucking kid knows the allure of his grasp... Damn it!). He'd also force my head up to look me right in the eyes, and place his (tequila-reeking) mouth so close to mine, I'd taste his breath.

He did this about three times, with the excuse of making me "shut up." I have no voice, folks...

He then asked me when I was leaving (fourth time asking me this), and I told him I leave Monday, but D leaves tomorrow. 

"Who cares when she leaves?! When do YOU leave?"

"Monday."

"Why?! What is so important you have to leave Monday?"

"I want to spend New Years in Vegas..."

"No! Stay here! Vegas is boring!"

And he proceeded to play his little arguing game with me... Constantly covering my mouth and overreacting to whatever I'd say.

He proceeded to tell me he was going to take me out to dance the rest of the night (?!), but just as he said that, they ushered us into a different room and I BOLTED.

... I know, I have issues.

Outta the way, you!

I guess I should probably elaborate on yesterday's post, now that I have time.

Since I arrived in San Miguel de Allende, the groom's brother became my companion. I didn't really notice him, despite the fact that he was pretty much my shadow.

I noticed him on Wednesday, when we all went to these underwater baths, and he was on my end of the cave (it was a very long cave with pools on both ends, one pool was inside a cave, the other overlooked this amazing cliff).

He wouldn't move. He just sat there in the pool (it was warm as fuck. It's a hot spring). Then they turned on a waterfall and he got up to stand under the stream. JESUS! His body was AMAZING. And he just stood there... Looking like some fucking god... While I stole glimpses of him like a total creep.

After we left the water, we had tilapia ceviche in the caverns... Where I once again noticed he was one person away from me... And it's when I started paying close attention that this homeboy was always near me. 

A couple of us were tired, especially since we were comming down with a cold, so we decided to call a taxi to take us into town.

Originally it was going to be my sister, our cousin, that cousin's cousin and his four year old son, and me. But then the groom's bro tagged along.

In town, it was just us... And we decided to stroll the town's streets.

He once again never left my side, and he kept asking me to do little things for him.

Little flirtations.

Then yesterday we went to these... Traditional Durango pre-wedding celebrations, and he put on the charm HARDCORE.

He grabbed me as I stood by the wall (I was staring at the roosters) and made me dance with him. This was in front of his entire family (I'm related to the bride, and only four families from her side are present. He has a minimum of at least 20 families on his side), so I obliged without protesting. 

The music is... Banda. Loud and fast. I've never danced to the beat... well, not seriously or in front of a crowd... So there I was at his mercy.

Jesus... Was he good. And strong. And sturdy. And... smelling of onion-y tacos. Did I mention he was strong? Yeah, fuck the smell of tacos, I held on to him as he twirled with me for five minutes. His legs were MONEY-- strong and muscular and awesome. He dipped me to the floor three times, all three times making me squeal with both fear and delight (weird, I know... But GOD!).

He also swigged tequila twice... That was nice. 

Then his family made us pose together and took a photo of us as if we were some celebrity couple at a red carpet event.

This whole time homeboy is gripping on to me as if he were rock climbing or some shit. (Again, no complaints here... His hands were awesome)

The night continued with some bull fighting... And we were then given a thirty minute recess to change into dress clothes for a weddig anniversary.

This is where my sad/angry post came in.

At the dinner, I noticed homeboy constantly staring in my direction. I'm all blushing and shit thinking this dude is sprung on me-- you know, 'cause I'm hot as fuck (but not nearly as much as I am DUMB AS FUCK). 

After dinner, the dance began.

Homeboy giddily walked to my table.

"YES! Dude! Score! Fuck! A hot young dude digs me enough to parade me in front of his entire snobby family!" I VERY IDIOTICALLY thought. 

What happened next?

"Gabe (my cousin I've been hanging out with this entire trip) come out and dance, buddy!" I hear Homeboy say. 

Gabe looks down at me then back up at homeboy-- who was standing directly behind me-- and shakes his head no.

Then I see another young dude invite the girl next to my sister (who was sitting between us) and then my sister gets up.

Homeboy asked MY SISTER.

I wanted to cry SO BAD. So instead of being the LOSER GIRL sitting ALONE at her FRONT TABLE, I got on my phone and wrote the blog entry... no tears on my face, just a smile... my usual cynical smile.

Turns out Homeboy had wanted my sister all along... apparently wanted to butter me up to make way for the actual reeling in of my baby sister, the hottie.

And that is how I'm always a fucking idiot, and why I prefer to avoid people. 

And why I HATE allowing myself to feel any sort of idiotic "pretty" thing for anyone.

I'm a fucking idiot.

Juuuuust my luck

You know when you think one positive thing--let's call it a dream-- and then it turns to an incredibly shitty reality?

... Yeah, totally just happened to me... Again.

Fuck.

No tears though, this is actually making me laugh because, well, it's just so fucking wack, it makes me crack up. 

Nunnery, that's where I'm going. 

Billones

Well I'll be fucking damned... I met the most beautiful man in the world today...

... and three billionaires.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Travel blues

I don't know if it's because I'm grouchy from the traveling... Or tired from fighting this weird throat infection... But this new place, San Miguel de Allende, sure isn't living up to the expectation. I want to go home now.

COMO NO TE VOY A QUERER?!

I. 

Fucking.

LOVE.

YOU!

Bloody Spoiled

I've had an awesome time here. The city is... Well, full of MY people. 

Today I spent my day in the company of my friend and her best friends. They were all eager to meet me because they think our friendship (the friend I'm staying with) and how it came about is weird (I'll write it some other day).

They are a fucking riot. I can sit and listen to them all day... Mexican slang is music to my ears and I gladly sit back and enjoy the melody.

I experienced an activity that is well known down here, Xochimilco-- they call it the Mexican Venice... But I like this one better, because as bad a rap as Mexico City may get, it's not bad at all... Starting with the smell. On these boats we were allowed to bring in as much of our own food and drink as we wanted. It was MAGIC!

We followed Xochimilco with a trip to their version of the swap meet... As in, the swap meet of the pros. I felt eerily at home, when the whole time my group thought I was going to be scared half to death.

We then returned home to a surprise get-together (wouldn't call it a party because we weren't dancing or singing... It was basically a kick-back) where I met more friends of my friend.

There was one negative incident that made me frown.

See, I get along with these people because we're so alike, especially the girls. They're chicks who swore up and down they'd never marry or have kids because they loved doing their own shit.

Well, two of them, including my friend, have daughters. My friend's daughter is a sweet, rebellious smartypants... With a TINY bit of a mean streak. The other little girl, the daughter of my friend's BFF, is... a somewhat timid little girl, soft spoken... Imaginative... Talkative Girly girl... With a weird tendency to be a little spoiled brat.

The timid little girl only wants to be liked, it's obvious based on the embellished stories she tells... And her constant need to break silences. However, if ignored for too long, or told to zip her lip, she turns bratty and mean.

So, we're dealing with this little girl's sudden mood shifts. She had been playing races with my friend's daughter, so she wasn't paying attention to her mom, who was telling her to come back and hold her hand (understandable, we were going to cross a big intersection at night).

As we reach the curb, the little girl is still refusing to hold her mom's hand and instead wants to scurry next to my friend's daughter. This infuriated her mom... And I turned just in time to watch the mom SHOVE her daughter off the sidewalk, where the kid landed on her knees on the asphalt and banged her head on a parked car.

My heart SANK.

We were all quiet.

Girl'sMom: KEEP REFUSING TO HOLD MY HAND! Brat! SEE WHAT HAPPENS! Now quit crying and cross the street on your own!

The little girl was hysterical (not the funny type) sobbing wildly... Her right knee bleeding.

My heart was pounding so hard... And I was trying my best not to join the baby (she's five) in her sobbing.

Oh you sweet baby... Oh you sweet baby!

Our group was at a loss... I mean, if we were to coddle the kid, comfort her, who knows if we'd just make the situation worse for her... Since we'd be embarrassing her mom.

Each time the little girl would look down at her knee and see it was still bleeding, she'd start a new round of sobs. Her hair was all sloppy from the fall... It was all such a fucking heart breaking scene...

After maybe AN HOUR of walking around, the little girl's mom came around and started acknowledging her daughter... Then started buying her everything... in what I can only assume was her method of apologizing for getting straight HOMICIDAL on her kid.

And that's when I understood why the girl was a brat...

And this is why I don't have kids...

I am SO MUCH like this girl--the mom-- that I just KNOW I'll fuck my kid up. Clearly she loves her kid... But she says and does some heartless, mean shit to/about the little girl... it just ruins the poor baby. Little girl's naturally sweet and caring... but after feeling wronged, she turns into an insufferable little monster, and you can't really blame her for it.

Parenthood is a fucking mess.

Sinking City

Rooming with a 6 ("AND A HALF!") year old who thinks I'm the coolest human on the planet. 

She cracks me up. And educates me. 

Mexico City is like they say... Only friendlier and less ghetto. I'm more fearful of Oakland than I am of this place... Maybe it's because these folk look just like me. (Well, I AM about three inches taller than most people here... But you get what I mean)

?

Anyway, as predicted, yesterday was a shitshow... Arriving in el DF two hours behind schedule...

It was a nightmare to deal with all those travelers... Especially since they all had the maximum amount of luggage. Bunch of crazies. Jesus. 

But, the thing is I'm finally safe in the house and not in an airplane.

I hope I don't get mugged...

No mamen bola de barbaros

Mexicans flying home for Christmas-- most fucking atrocious thing I've ever seen. 

Damn near missed my flight as I stood for two fucking hours to DROP OFF my bag.

Sorry... Had to vent. I'm frazzled as fuck. 

I really hate people. 

Adiosito.

Not entirely sure if I'll be able to connect while in Mexico, so...
Here's to a Merry Christmas... (I know I already received my gift. I'm in a good place)
Not getting lost...
Not fighting...
Not crying...

I return on the 30th, Monday at 1:30pm (uh... Mooney, can you pick me up? Terrible time to bring it up, but looks like I'll be alone when I return-- how terribly appropriate).

Impossibly Perfect

Wow.

You know how I hate running my mouth about things because then things only grow worse?

Well, for most of the day, I was away from my computer, away from my email (fuck getting that shit on my phone. I refuse to read my email that way. That would just keep me glued to my phone). I checked my mailbox after I finished my rant here, and I saw an email from the bride.

The names of our partners and our seating chart.

I read my partners name, and did only what any other human would have done: I facebook checked that shit.

Bad idea.

He. Is. Gorgeous.

FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

A graduate from Columbia... Law.

Did I mention he is fucking gorgeous? His profile photo is this... impossibly perfect candid image of him smiling (open mouth) while looking away.

... ?

Oh god...

This is right about the time where I'm HELLA wishing for that naco dude who only listens to corridos and whose sole aspiration in life is to own a cattle ranch somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I want THAT dude.

The fuck am I supposed to talk about to a beautiful creature who graduated form the university of my dreams?

I am a grouchy med school drop out... who only wants to spend her life writing, painting, and lifting heavy objects... occasionally punching bitches in the face. I curse up a storm... I'm timid to the point where it should be-- and probably is-- considered some sort of disorder... I am bitter and sarcastic and distant. I'm in a life-long battle with depression, struggle I am pretty sure I'm LOSING-- hard. I don't fuck. I don't hook up. When I drink, I tend to cry... or pour my very idiotic heart out... or just fucking fall asleep in hopes of keeping my mouth shut and eyes dry. I don't work. Never have... well, there have been little stints, but they've all ended in a very embarrassing fashion.

I am a mouse who never speaks, only smiles... and spends social interactions praying the night away that NO ONE will notice her and allow her to leave inconspicuously. 

I think this is the time I'm going to go to bed and cry myself to sleep.

Ya vali verga... fuck.

9 days away

Good God... the panic is starting to seep in.
I leave Saturday afternoon... and what do I have ready? Absolutely nothing.
Well, no, correction, I do have my bridesmaid dress ready to go. That's it.
I don't have shoes, or jewelry, or... makeup... or... fuck, dude, I have NOTHING.
I must be the worst at packing.

I'm also a little scared. Just a little.
Ok, no, I find myself trembling when I think about leaving. I'm not cool with this.
On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the MOST anxious, I'm probably an 8 right now, on the social anxiety scale.
I'm starting to think of standing in front of all those people... and I'm not a happy camper.

I am fucking hurting right about now.
Someone needs to slap some sense into me.

I don't like that name

I woke up with that itchy feeling under my left tonsil, that tickle in my left ear canal that lets me know I'm fucked-- I'm sick.

My weekend was spent visiting babies... a bunch of babies. My sister dropped by for the weekend, only purpose being to get her bridesmaid dress altered by our tailor (I mean, we've known the man since I was thirteen... so of course I'm possessive of him. Ha. He's the gentlest man in the world... never allowed me to feel shitty about myself when he'd be doing my quinceañera/bridesmaid dresses. He'd actually very kindly encourage me when he'd have to take in my dress. He wouldn't be like other seamstresses who'd do mean shit like tell all the other chicks in the wedding party about how "AnoMALIE's dropped SEVEN INCHES since I started making her dress! That's... what is that girl doing? And why doesn't she keep it up? She'd be a  NORMAL size if she did").
Since she was leaving at midnight, yesterday was spent in a whirlwind tour of her friends.
The first house was awesome. We decided to visit our "adopted brother"... and he had chocolate chip BACON cookies. Let that sink in. Chocolate chip BACON cookies...
He also has three kids under the age of five.
My sister took the three month old baby, while I was left to play with the toddler girls... well, more like "left to be harassed by two toddler girls."
I hate saying this all the time, but it appears this curse of mine, where adults randomly hate me for NO reason, and make up their mind about hating me before meeting me, is the exact opposite with kids. This is somewhat unfortunate, because everyone knows I fear/avoid children... because there are SO MANY WAYS in which you can permanently damage a child. I don't want to be responsible for messing up a kid with some idiotic remark that comes out of my mouth.
Anyway, these kids wouldn't leave me alone. They would roar at me (one minute they'd claim to be lions, the next I had to refer to them as dinosaurs), want to be thrown in the air by me... play all kinds of violent games with me... all the while, laughing like baby maniacs as if I was the most entertaining... THING in existence.
Then they'd force-feed me the cookies.
5YearOld: Excuse me. Are you hungry?
Me: Me? Ummm... no... not yet.
Two minutes later.
5TearOld: EXCUSE ME! Are you hungry?!
Me: Ummm... maybe in a little bit.
A minute later.
5YearOld: EXCUSE ME! ARE YOU HUNGRY YET?!
Me: Um... yes, yes... I'm hungry.
Melted cookie is slammed into my hand... chocolate smearing the fuck out of it... grossing me out, since it only manages to remind me of... well... poop.

As I was trying to calm the kids down, the younger one calmly sat next to me and started playing games on her mom's phone. The five year old girl walked into my lap, grabbed my face, and whispered
"Excuse me... what's your name?"
"AnoMALIE... but if that's too hard, you can call me Mimi... people call me Mimi," I say.
The five year old giggles and shakes her head.
"No. I don't like that name..." she says.
Join the club, homie.
"EXCUSE ME!" she says. "I like you!"
She was still gripping onto my face, and then proceeded to give me the sloppiest kiss on the right side of my face... chocolate, slobber... teeth.
"I like you too. You're awesome," I say.
"And smart! I'm REALLY smart!" she says.
"And don't EVER apologize for that, my friend."

The rest of the day was quick, a little on the sad side, since it was constantly reminding me that my sister was leaving in a few hours... but I did feel better knowing kids aren't terrified of me.

Then I woke up all sick.
Fucking kids...

chamomile

This girl has not been doing so well.

I've been crying since yesterday. I went to the gym with my swollen eyes and coarse voice, always having to clear my throat in order to respond to any questions from my very kind gym buddies. This pathetic sight is becoming all too common, now that I think about it-- me kickboxing or lifting weights with pink, puffy eyelids, permanent frown plastered on my face... gym buddies trying to get me to giggle, only to have me sound like some... chick who has been wailing for days.

I've been downing cup after cup of chamomile tea, trying to calm down long enough to finally just fall asleep.
I tried reading, but the books are too exiting to entice me to sleep... and it's not like I'm willing to bust out a biochem book any time soon-- FUCK THAT SUBJECT... I want to sleep, not traumatize myself.

All I remember when I wake up from naps are nightmares.
I'm not having a good time.

The only thing that has gotten me to put down the kindle is when I find myself unable to stop my tears. Reading's pretty useless... and difficult to do when giant tears are continuously blurring your vision.

That feeling, the one where it seems as though I'm being held under water against my will, is stronger than ever. I can't shoo away the discomfort... or quiet the mean voice in my head.
You're NO ONE. NO ONE, my friend. If he gave a shit, HE would let you know. Now shut the fuck up, cut this nonsense out, and grow the fuck up.

My heart just wants to see him... be near him... hear him.
But my brain wants to keep me as far as possible... to not bother him... to not be that pathetic girl.
Don't be that pathetic girl... even if you ARE a pathetic girl... keep it in the privacy of your room.

It shouldn't be this difficult-- to accept my place in one person's life-- but this time, I can't keep from crying... my heart is getting ripped out of my chest.
I'm that chick who WISHES she were invisible, visible to only one other person... and he's perhaps the dude who is least interested in seeing me at all.

Battery acid... this chamomile tea feels like battery acid.

La del medio

Brother: Hold up hold up... is this real?
He holds my first place blue ribbon in his hands.
Me: Yeah. I won it back in 1998...
Brother: What did you do?
Me: I drew a poster. I won.
Brother: For the state of Nevada?
Me: Yeah.
Brother: How come I never knew this?
Me: ... I don't know. It has been hanging there for 14 years.

No... it's ok, really.
I'm a middle kid-- my older brother is intelligent beyond belief (and successful in all areas BUT the romance department, but that's all three of us), and my baby sister is quite the stunning beauty.
I am the stereotypical middle child.
I'm used to being overlooked. I'm used to "settling" and keeping quiet in the name of keeping the group harmony going.
I'm used to getting trampled... embarrassed, humiliated, overlooked, ignored... and all that good shit.

I'm used to it.
But it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

But it's ok. A kid learns to deal.

I'm going to go jump on clouds with some Care Bears and then try to get in some time to walk along the Korean beach in the company of my handsome, young, caring grandfather.
(Imagination-- that's what has kept my heart beating all these years. That's how I can deal. That's how I handle anything. Just give me enough time to dream, and I'm good)

Shimmering baton

Holiday parties... they're draining me.

Parties this time of year are growing especially difficult... you know, because I'm alone... surrounded by couples and babies.
It's not that I WANT a baby, and honest to goodness, I've come to terms with the fact that I'll die alone.
I just HATE having to explain myself to others, and I especially hate the fucking pity others give me, regardless of how sincere it is or whatever the fuck-- it's pity, and I hate it.

There's a difference between pity and sympathy. I tolerate sympathy... even if it also makes me cry at times. Pity makes me cry... out of anger.

I was reading at this party today. My brother gave me his kindle, so I've been reading every single day for as long as I possibly can... even while I wait in the gym parking lot, that's how bad it is.
Anyway, I'm sitting at this party, completely engrossed by this book... not giving a shit about interacting with anyone.
Crying babies are being hauled away here and there... screaming pre-schoolers are jetting past me as they play their usual nerve-racking game of tag... older ladies gushing about babies or talking about Jesus/church/Virgin of Guadalupe festivities every other minute.
I sit in a chair, completely immobilized... mute.
And my wish is granted-- I'm given the power of invisibility.
Occasionally a lady or girl will come up to me and ask/offer a hug or kiss.

Then I feel sad.
I look up and I am completely alone, without a soul in the entire room-- the fancy living room, and no one has cared to inform me where they're heading.
I go back to reading.
Fuck it, if I'm needed I'll be called.
Then the boy sits next to me.

A few years back my cousin married a widow. The widow had two kids from her previous marriage, and were sort of having a difficult time blending in with our family.
One day, at a kid's party, I was doing my usual quiet-girl shit of sitting in an empty room, observing people-- smiling at anyone who stared too much at me, then reading some notes for school when NO ONE would look at me.
Two cousins had entered the room to sit with me as I highlighted away, and we chit-chatted a bit.
This is where the little boy, the widow's son, walked into the room and my cousins fell silent. They wouldn't acknowledge the boy, no one under the age of 30 would do it.
Me: I like your shoes! I hear they make you run faster.
The boy smiles... a huge smile, and looks up at me.
Me: I don't think I've ever seen you before (lie, I had). What's your name?
Boy: Justin.
Me: Oh wow! Really? Some of my favorite people are Justins. That's cool.
And so, I engaged the little kid into a conversation that ranged from shoes, to video games, to school, to childhood games.

When Justin sat next to me today, he did not say a word. He just looked into my face and smiled.
Me: I'm reading... this is some fun stuff.
Him: I know.

When I had first taken a seat, one of my idiot cousins had mocked him for catching him in the middle of a Candy Crush game. I told my cousin to shut the fuck up, because shittalking Candy Crush in my presence is forbidden... because the game is so fucking awesome. Justin smiled, "Yeah!"ed, and continued playing.
He proceeded to keep me quiet company at random times of the night after that... even bringing me little gifts like glow sticks and ribbons from time to time.
At one point, Justin brought me a shimmering baton.
Justin: I won this for you.
Now, shimmering batons aren't really my thing... maybe if it was a billy club I'd be all about it... but a shimmering baton? I wouldn't really know what to do with it (besides preside over some faaaabulous parade). Apparently, in the world of this adorable 13 year old boy, I DO know.
Me: Thank you... that's very nice of you.
Justin: You've always been nice to me.
And like that, the boy went on his merry way... probably to win more shimmery shit form the creepy clown lady my cousins hired for the party.

Random acts of kindness fill my heart... and make me forget how badly holiday/family parties make me  want to jump off a cliff.

Les etoiles

Knowing we're under the same stars makes me miss him more than ever... constantly... terribly.

It hurts.

What is there to miss? You hardly see him, you hardly interact with him...
I don't know... everything-- his eyes, his smile... even his fucking teeth. I miss listening to him talk, never mind if the words were ever directed at me.
I don't know anything... except that when I think of him, it becomes harder to breathe... I feel that anvil on my chest that makes my eyes sting with tears... and I just... I feel as thought I'm getting ripped apart-- a serrated knife carving away at my chest.

What I do know, is that somehow, this girl needs to keep moving, because those eyes and those smiles and those words were never meant for me.

You're just another girl, AnoMALIE! CUT IT OUT!

I'll be fine.

Pinch me

As we danced the night away, the crowd pushed me closer to Jose.
He dances sort of wildly... he likes to throw his hands up in the air.
We were in the middle of bouncing up and down, when some idiot girl pushed me from behind and sent my face directly into Jose's shoulder. My cheekbone bounced hard against Jose's deltoid.
I laughed.
Immediately, Jose reached for my face and gently, but oddly firmly, rubbed his thumb across my cheek... in a gentle, quick pinching fashion... if that makes sense.

Some people have this strange affect on me-- their touch lingers.
I know I've mentioned it numerous times, but it's only because I probably only mention it when I come across a person whose hands/arms have this power.
The touch lingers because it feels like... I get a sense of... it feels like they understand me... a sense of caring. There's a gentleness to it, but at the same time feels unusually hot... like I'm getting burned. I feel every finger, even the mounds of flesh on their palms.

A few weeks ago, one of my friends reached over to clasp my right forearm with both of his hands. I could tell he thought about it because he did it cautiously. I had told him something that made him sad, and he was compelled to comfort me, but comforted me cautiously. He gently squeezed my arm, and the burning sensation it sent through my body made me look down at his hands, then back at his face.
"... how long have you been waiting to touch me? Looks like when someone convinces himself to pet an alligator. But thank you..."

As Jose tried to "wipe away" the injury he had accidentally caused my left eye, I felt... so comforted. I smiled, closed my eyes, and allowed him to cradle my face. His firm grip on my cheek made me melt. The gentleness of his caress made my knees weak. That strange warmth his touch was emitting comforted me to the point where I had to back away before I lost the war with my tears.

It's so weird how I can sense people's sympathy for me based solely in their touch. I don't allow many people that right-- to touch me.

So many hands have slapped or poked or punched me... but the memory of them fade within minutes.

I'm always, ALWAYS shocked when I find those few whose hands possess the ability to leave lasting, comforting impressions on my skin. It makes my heart stop... my throat close... my heart burst.
I forget my troubles for those few seconds, and for that instant, begin to believe some people out there actually give a shit about me.
Not everyone out there is hellbent on hurting me, and this truth I truly appreciate... and need.

Because I love you so much

I'm only doing this because I love you so much.

Last night we partied in San Francisco with my gang and the Bay dude I fancy.

Everything was fine and fun and... well, I was enjoying my very limited time with the dude... I had missed that shit.

He very much admired my brother, and they bonded almost immediately.

Jose: AnoMALIE, do you like how I show off your brother?

Me: Indeed, I do.

We pre-gamed pretty hard in Jose's apartment. He was incredibly charming and sweet before the shots started to fly. His undivided attention was for me. I loved every fucking second.

By the time the group stepped out of the apartment (he lives in the heart of the city... very, very stunning place), I noticed good ol' Mario was a little on the defensive side... as in, he was sort of cornering me and sectioning me off from the rest of the people (seven of us). Most noticeably, he was cockblocking THE FUCK out of Jose-- he didn't allow Jose to be near me.

We proceeded to participate in a pub crawl, where the cockblocking only worsened. 

At one point, when I'm sure Mario noted my exasperation/frustration/irritation, he turned to me and wrapped his arms around me. His hug was so tight around me, I could not move my arms in any direction.

Mario: I'm only doing this because I love you so much!

He then leaned into my mouth. I quickly and VIOLENTLY turned my head away from him, as far as I possibly could.

The entire group looked over at us-- Jose included. They were all shocked... eyes were wide open.

Night ruined. I drank like I haven't done in my life. I threw caution to the fucking wind and drank every single fucking drink that was given to me (that was seven jack and cokes... seven. I had taken three Honey Jack straight shots at Jose's apartment. I was fucking DONE).

Love me? LOVE ME? Bro... no. No... no. No. Not fair. Not fair at all.

He had Skyped with his girlfriend hours prior to this bullshit move, where I even "met" her and chatted with her... then he goes and does this? Dude. No.

So much about this upset me... but I would not have been so irritated had this not occurred in front of Jose, you know, a guy who is interested in me as I am in him.

When I'm alone and miserable... and... infatuated with him (Mario), he hurts me with his indifference and that shit of which I complained so much throughout 2008-2010. Then, when I'm on super good terms with him, where I FINALLY truly see him as my brother and move on... even ask him for help to hook it up with his friend... he gets all clingy. The moment he sees that yes, I have a spark with someone other than him... the moment a decent guy thinks I'm pretty fucking cool and attractive, homeboy gets possessive.

I did dance and flirt and enjoyed some together time with Jose later in the night as we hit a club to "dance off the alcohol," but it was no longer the same. And yes, plenty of times good ol' Mario positioned himself between Jose and I... ruining moments and whatnot. The vibe turned more into that vibe of a couple of bros "respecting" the chick of one of the bros... but the WRONG BRO.

I didn't cry, but I did feel this horrible ache in my chest the more I thought of Mario's actions.

"Dude... why? Why would you do that?" was the only thing running through my head as I tried to get some sleep at four in the morning.

That's some fucked up shit. So fucked up. 

I tried for so long, I cried so much, I TRIED SO HARD to get him to love me... shit, I was even fine with just being USED by him... and he didn't take it, he didn't WANT IT.

He was young and stupid, some might say... but... nah, man, nah.

If I can describe what I felt when he said that phrase to me, when he hugged me so tightly... it would be the image of a plain, cinderblock wall under a spotlight... in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night.

That.

500/2

Today, I was reminded why I've always fucking hated jewelry and resisted buying any expensive shit: I lose EVERYTHING.

Last night was freezing, so I wore a scarf. 

I enetered a bar and removed my coat... and scarf. I did this numerous times.

Cue this morning. 

I feel my right ear-- a sharp object is bothering it.

The sharp metal object, I come to find, is the back of my earring-- that is all that is left of my earring.

$500 sapphire earrings... no longer a pair. 

I fucked myself in the ass by REPEATEDLY REMOVING MY SCARF.

I have never been so angry at myself. Ever. 

I cried... and fought the urge to punch myself in the face. 

Soy. Una. Pendeja. 

Love and Detached

I am more in love with this city than ever. 

I've bonded so much with my brother... Not because I'm telling him so much, but because I'm listening to him and watching him interact with others, and I'm in complete awe of him. 

He's still absolutely, irreversibly in love with Alo. His music library tells me the sad story of his heartbreak. 

I see so much of me in him...

My heart is shattered for him. 

Mario kept looking at me yesterday as we ate at a restaurant. I would not look up at him.

"What's wrong? WHO is doing this to you? You're sad... You're... Broken... But this isn't something, this is someone." I stayed silent, fought back tears, and looked down at my food. Without uttering a word, I took a deep breath, shook my head and shoveled a piece of sushi into my mouth-- my eyes set on the candle located in the middle of the bamboo table.

It's a trip to hear my loved ones say the same thing each time they see me for the first time in a long time.

I am broken. I am distant. I am dead. 

Made into a bird

Te espero, te espero, te espero...
como la niña estúpida que soy.

Me alegro con cada día que pasa, entre mas se acerca el fin del año.

Te espero, te espero, te espero...

Que coraje.

December.
I've always anticipated this month, for one reason or another.
This year it's a bit of... anticipation and dread.

It's not easy, getting accustomed to this "No Darcy" deal with myself.
Some days I do well, carry on with my life without thinking much about the absence of my heart.
But other days... something like... the sight of a Starbucks cup makes my chest cavity hurt.
I miss him. My heart is his, no matter how hard I try to tell it he doesn't want it. He gave you away like some raffled gift, for crying out loud! How the fuck can you still only beat for him?

What makes things somewhat easy is the thought of him being so far away.
There's no way you'd hang out with him anyway, he's SO FAR AWAY. So chill, AnoMALIE. Carry on!
But now he's returning. Now, he'll be a few minutes drive away from me. How will I handle having him so close... yet... knowing... knowing he's so indifferent to me? So impossible? So not mine.

I feel this ache in my heart when I think too much about it... when I think of his return.
I know when I last saw him, I felt this wave of serenity... I felt I was fine. I enjoyed everything.
When I look back, it all feels so... airy... like I'm on clouds... but everything is silent... or like the lull of the ocean.
But... I don't feel fine now. I gave myself these month to let him go, to let the idea of My Darcy fade away, to go to rest... and it hurt, and the hurt never left.
I think of the feelings I will have to knock out if I'm ever again in his presence, and I feel sick.
He's right there... the one person your heart races for, your sight blurs, ears deafen, and room spins-- is right here, in front of you, feeling ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for you.
The thought kills me.

So I did the only thing I know how-- I planned a getaway. I am running away.
I'm leaving for a good chunk of his return to the states. I will be road-tripping during the first few days of his visit (ok, this is questionable because I still have shit to fix over here), and will be visiting Mexico from the 21st until the 30th. I will return the day after he has left.

It won't be necessary to learn to withstand the agony his indifference causes me, because... you know, "I'm not even there, so I couldn't even get an invite anyway."

... Delusions that help me go about my life-- they help me smile on good days, they keep me from crying in others.
You're not seeing him because he's not here, not because he doesn't want to see you.

It's the best I can do when trying to explain to my stupid heart why in the hell it's impossible to be loved by the person it chose to belong to, and was instead returned to sender.
(But no worries, my brain knows the truth-- He. Never. Liked. You. He. Never. Will. My heart is the only idiot that occasionally needs that tiny comforting lie)

Metallurgy

Guy 1: "One day, you will be rewarded for that heart of gold that you own."

Guy 2: "You are extraordinary."

This week, I heard that.
Of course I cried.
I cried because I don't feel extraordinary.
I cried because deep in my heart I KNOW I won't be "rewarded." My heart is not gold, or titanium, or even iron-- it's coal... an energy source which is consumed for the generation of cooler shit.

I cried because I had never taken the time to notice how convinced I am of the contrary of what I am being told.

Some days I can laugh and smile and joke around...
Other days I just want to curl up into a ball under the covers, and cry until my eyes swell shut... those days I just want to be invisible.

I feel like garbage.
I want to be numb again.

It's a trap

The word was "Ethnic Cleansing" and it won.
"Sorry, AnoMALIE, but... looks like you're out."

...
I swear, this girl is crazy. Each time, each and every time she has some passive-aggressive, sort-of inappropriate, incendiary comment to toss my way.

Ohhhhh girl...
This is how I know I'm going to purgatory, and not straight to hell... because while I could take the easy way out and just knock this girl out, I just blush, smile, look at the floor, and tell myself she doesn't know what she's doing.

I also feel validated in seeing how the rest of the room does not find her comments hilarious... but rather out of line. They sit there in irritated silence... and keep the party going.

"___. It's a trap!" was my card...
The answer that made the entire room roar with laughter, and thus I felt compelled to select as a winner?
"My vagina."
Musketeer, homegirl's hubby, was the one responsible for that response.
We were all laughing pretty loudly... then, OF COURSE, homegirl has to interrupt.
"Well, IS IT?" she asked.
"A trap?" I ask.
I shrugged.
"Awww... I think your face says it all."

??
Why, man? I have to laugh and wonder why of all people, I always seem to be the one others choose to randomly hate.
I'm sighing so hard right now. Sigh sigh sigh.

No, really, get me some purple capris already

I've been a strange combination of an angry AND sad mess these last few weeks.
If I'm not crying in the fucking dark like some unstable creepy idiot, I'm taking deep breaths and counting to a billion in hopes of not breaking shit all over the place.
I'm in that scary angry stage where I feel I can crush shit with my bare hands... all fucking Hulk 'n shit.
I'm not even taking any meds or PMSing or ANYTHING I can blame... I'm just really fucking frustrated and fed up with people's behavior. People are REALLY fucking pissing me off... BADLY.
I need Vicodin or some shit... a fucking dart to the neck like some goddamn rhino.

Since I'm so anti drugs (mainly because I have a WILDLY addictive personality and I know once I pick something up, I'll beat it to death [figuratively speaking]--- which in the case of drugs would undeniably result in MY death... which I guess I wouldn't mind, but I sense it would be a painful crazy fucking death, so yeah, no, let's avoid that shit, yeah?) and I'm cheap as fuck... I don't pay for counseling OR drugs, so I resort to easy shit... like drawing... and long baths where I just sit in the fucking tub without thinking a damn fucking thing beyond "Goddamn.... I HATE this fucking tub!"
And I'll listen to HOURS of classical music.

... now that I think about it, this sounds like shit serial killers enjoy. Umm... uh... hmmm.
Sad.

I haven't even grocery shopped in weeks. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE GROCERY SHOPPING?
Ugh.
Stress sucks dick.

I want to be normal.
And not cry all the fucking time like some weak pussy.
God.

Well, this was of no help.
I'm sorry guys... I'll be better in a few... hours... after I eat and lay like a corpse on my bed... listening to Bach and Strauss and Chopin and all that shit that makes me calm, like a peaceful bunny.

Todo para que?

Wasting away.
Pining.
Lost cause.
Game over.
Hope, gone.
Defeat.

No sirve de nada...

All of it, I was thinking all of that and more here.
I caught a glimpse of myself on my camera, and immediately felt my heart break.

Multitudinous-- the meanings to this year's costume.

It earned me a number of compliments... even a handsome legit military, country gentleman was trying to get me to flirt... and as always, I froze and turned catatonic. I tugged up on my dress until I gave myself a rash.

"Even as a corpse you look stunning."
Thank you... but I don't feel it... and quite frankly, it no longer matters... it never did.

"Is your Romeo showing up later?"
No sir... not at all.

Podría ser todo suyo, solo suyo, y no lo quiso. Que más da?

Te Pertenece

This drama with the pigs I've been dealing with recently... you'd think I'd be able to keep my mind busy.

And it had been busy... I had been good... so very good.

I wouldn't think... I wouldn't... I wouldn't miss. I wouldn't wonder. I wouldn't daydream. 

I just lived.

But this time of year, it always has, and always will, resuscitate the ghosts I try to forget.

Halloween for AnoMALIE is owned by one person, and one person alone.

And so I remember him. He comes to mind. With everything that is associated with this holiday. At all hours of the day... mercilessly on the actual day.

I remember his smile, and his eyes when he smiles-- it's probably my favorite thing in the world. I think of... everything I've ever heard him say.

And I miss him.

Now I can even add missing how his hand feels on my waist.

I miss his sarcastic little comments... even miss seeing his nails painted black back in the day.

I had been good. I had been good at keeping any and all thoughts and memories of him locked. Any and all feelings for him subdued. Numb.

I hardly spent any time wondering what he might have done in the day... or if he had at all looked up at the stars at night... or if he even COULD see the stars at night that day. How many times did he smile? I wonder if anyone aggravated the fucking shit out of him today... How many jokes did he crack? How many times did he smile... ?

But not today. Today... this past week... the memory of him has been haunting... reminding me. I have caught myself thinking such thoughts... wondering such things as I go about my daily routine. I catch myself smiling when I think of his cute mannerism... his peculiar walk... and I catch myself frowning when I catch myself remembering all the things that made me like him... when I catch myself remembering him so fondly.

Here I am, being consumed by this... weird, stupid shit... and he's out there living a pretty damn cool life... with me not even being a motherfucking blip on the screen.

But alas... I don't care about this... about not being an afterthought in his world, while he is the main attraction, the star of my show.

Fact of the matter is, ever since I met him, this day belongs to that boy. That dark, alluring, intriguing, interesting, sarcastic, cynical boy I met nine years ago. The boy with the dark, curly hair, black nail polish... and sly, sometimes sardonic, smile.

And it makes me smile.

Perks?

After months of putting off watching "The Perks of Being a Wallflower," I went ahead and watched it yesterday.
Then again today.

I've been crying for god knows how long.

I am the female version of Charlie... without a shadow of a doubt.

After a month of keeping the sadness at bay... I'm finally, once again, defeated and... devastated.

It sucks, it sucks so bad that it's so much against the laws of the universe for me to be happy and at peace.

pig. fucking pig.

I hate guys SO FUCKING MUCH sometimes...

Tonight, for example... tonight is a perfect example of WHY I hate them so much.

"Uh, no, buddy. That's something you ask earlier"

"Suegra" = mother in law

My timid nature is NOT an act... I don't understand why some pricks think it IS... like... I am naturally quiet and reserved as a way to ward off any suspicion to my "true inner slut."
I mean... a girl with such pouty lips CAN'T not be a slut... those lips are there for a reason, right?!
Or... maybe I'm so good at being quiet, and I'm "so lonely," I'll jump at the first opportunity to be...
FUCK man, I can't even continue with that fucking though.

What upsets me more is WHO this person is. It upsets me so damn much. SO. DAMN. MUCH.

Fucking disgusting. FUCKING DISGUSTING!
Then he followed it up with this... as if I didn't feel gross enough.
I had told him to enjoy his alone time, because we all need it sometimes, and it tends to be a rare gift form the universe-- alone time.

Excuse me... I'm going to go vomit, then cry myself to sleep.

... I was doing so well... I was so happy and carefree... and now this.
FUCK this shit. FUUUUUUUCKKKKK IIIIIT.
GODFUCKINGDAMN.

My face

Ohhh! I can now add a nice little doozy to my list of "Fucked up shit people randomly say to me."
Ready? This one's pretty good... I don't know why it took so long for someone to say it, or for me to hear it, but here it is:

Discussing my ability to cook... and how (I guess) I'm pretty good at it.
"That's good. Your face isn't going to get you fed."

... ?
At first I laughed. Then I thought about it.

Cold, my friend... that's cold.

Lost it all

I've been reunited with my laptop for a couple of days now.
I suffered what I like to call the equivalent of post-partum depression, but with electronics.
Well,  guess it's just a general attitude I take with my possessions once they've been fucked.
For instance, my 4Runner when I first got it back in... '06? Oh shit, I totally don't recall the year... but I can almost swear it was '06. ANYWAY, it was 11 days old and I had been happy with it (for the most part) when I then had to deal with my sister crashing it. My love for Bambi was gone. When I got her back, I no longer cared for her... I rejected her like some momma bird rejecting her babies after smelling the scent of a human on the little guys.

I don't know what it is, but once something is "tainted" I quit giving a shit... I get heartbroken and then reject whatever it is.
So... MacBook pretty much suffered the same fate.
Upon bringing it home with me form the store, I left it in my room, and continued with my home task (I was going through some serious cleaning-lady issues... turned my fucking house upside down cleaning like a madwoman-- you know, that thing I do when I'm VERY upset and trying to keep busy in order to keep from thinking too much).
I was scared and reluctant to turn it on.
MacBook chilled in my room for a day.

When I finally used it, my fears materialized.
I wasn't shocked. I expected it... because I know how fucking idiotic I can be.
I lost everything.
Because I backed my shit up... into my sister's external hard drive... which is in Chicago.
Yey.
Now, I wasn't upset about the music... I have what I want on my phone... and there's also Spotify to cover me on my playlists.
My photos? I was slightly upset about that one... but the important photos are either in my phone or in different flash drives... so I'm ok with that.
What was the one fucking thing I did not backup ANYWHERE?
My writings.

This made me cry, hard, for about two minutes.
I did not cry out of sadness, but out of 100% unadulterated rage.
How could I be so stupid? FUCK!
And that was it. No sobbing, no whimpering. I allowed the tears to roll down my face as I screamed "GOD! I'M SO FUCKING STUPID!" for no more than two minutes, I took a deep breath, and I was good.

So... pardon me for not touching my laptop for a while. I don't really give a shit about the internet for now... or anything that involves a computer (well, aside from listening to music. That's imperative in my life-- music).
I've been cleaning, running errands, being an adult, making decisions... and none of it requires the internet.

I'm a very happy girl when I'm away from technology. Like... really, really happy.

So fucked, but SO COOL!

Don't ask me how this happened, but somehow, I managed to completely fuck up my MacBook.

Two days ago, as I was in the process of ranting on Facebook (because what else is that place for BUT to vent out my frustrations with the world? It's my fucking soap box... Though Twitter is QUICKLY taking over that top spot), I walked away from my laptop to grab a drink from the kitchen and when I looked over at my compute's screen, I had been redirected to an error page.

I then noticed Twitter wasn't working... And neither were any of my email boxes... And The entire Chrome browser was having NONE of it, immediately booting me off when I tried loading it.

THEN I couldn't install software updates.

THEN I couldn't set up an appointment with a Genius via internet, so I went ahead and drove the two minutes (literally) to my nearest Apple store... Where I was given an appointment for this afternoon.

What happened? No one knows. I had THREE (bearded, mind you. Why are so many male Geniuses rocking huge beards? Is it a requirement to look like you're a pitcher for some baseball team?) "Geniuses" working on my MacBook. The proclaimed Mac-Whisperer was originally unimpressed until he started playing with my poor little guy. The dude's apathy quickly turned to excitement. "In the seven years I've been working with these things, I've only heard of this happening ONE other time! We don't know WHY or how it happens... But it is SO interesting. Check this out!" And so, the three men turned into teenaged boys staring into my poor, deathly-ill laptop... giddy with curiosity, pressing buttons and clicking away and "OHHHH!"ing in geeky amazement.

I sat there deflated and concerned... like some dog-mom who has been told they're going to have to put down her dog.

The (adorable) men sat there trying to explain what was going on and why it was so bizarre and exciting for MacBook pros. They weren't condecending or patronizing... They were all adorable (Something about guys trying to teach me makes me want to procreate with them... It's a terribly dangerous thing...) and genuinely stumped, trying to comfort me and educate me. I was simultaneously pouting and "smizing"-- giggling at their kindness and HELLA bummed about my busted laptop baby.

They then rebooted (or whatever the fuck that's called... Where they "clean the slate"... Erase everything and start from zero) and what happens? It FAILS!

Astonished men, very sad idiot girl.

SO! My appointment that was supposed to last 10 minutes (max), lasted an hour and a half.

I made three geeky boys GEEK OUT about my ("really fucked up" "I feel terrible for you... but this is SO cool and weird!") laptop, and I reconsidered my no babies/no marriage rule.

My laptop is going to be played with for three days, when I'll finally get it back.

My poor baby.

My phone can't handle this job.

Am I the Romy or Michele? Romele?

I've watched my fair share of high school reunion-themed movies.
There are funny versions, dramatic versions... and I think there might be a horror flick up in there somewhere.

I finally became part of the population who can admit to attending such a thing-- a high school reunion.
I feel like my version of the reunion was a little bit of everything.

First, the preparation.
The day OF the reunion, I was running late due to the gym, a broken water pipe at home, and a very violent outburst from ANGRomalY.

So, thanks to this violent mishap, I was running late to the tailgate.
When Kelley and I finally showed up to school, to our not-so-surprise, we saw there was only a small table of our ex-classmates located in front of a food truck (overall, our graduating class was roughly 200 kids).
NONE spoke up to us. NONE.
No surprise there, either.

We walked around the school, feeling a horrible case of unexpected, unwelcome nostalgia... so we walked back out to the classmates.
I waved at one of the ex classmates, and he waved back.
Kelley and I stood by the trashcan, since Kelley's dude (our "group" was Kelley, her dude, another ex-schoolmate, and me) was eating his food (ordered from the food truck).
It was like we were living an episode of Freaks and Geeks... a 2013 episode. Cool kids sitting and mingling at a round table, us four geeks standing by the trashcan, observing.
After a couple of minutes of debating whether or not to go to the Homecoming football game going on in the distance, three of the "popular" girls approached us.
"I remember your name, you're Kelley. You (pointing at me), your face is familiar and I remember seeing you around at school, but I can't remember your name..." said the girl who finally decided to speak up. I remembered her FULL name... I had ONE class with her ever, and there I was, mentally repeating her name, but refusing to utter it.
The shortest girl sensed our uneasiness, and it was visible in her face-- she wanted to leave us alone... but the other two continued yapping away, wanting to introduce themselves (again, I remembered their full names, but acted as if I had NO fucking clue who they were). It was all so fake... SO SO fake. So fake, I felt SAD.
I stood there and listened to their life stories... fake smile plastered on my face as I debated how I should respond when my turn approached.
Cunt-y? Pretentious? Condescending? Curt? Sincere?
I went with sincere... then turned on the bitch-level when I heard their questions.
"So... when do you find the time to travel? You've managed to visit all these places while... on summer break? How do you get time off from work to see all these places?"
Me: I don't work and I travel whenever I feel like it.

No one else was getting questions... why the fuck was I?
I'm sure to anyone reading this it might seem uncalled for-- my behavior-- but see, you had to be there to get a feel for the air... to hear their tone... to see their faces. These girls were self-centered chicks... chicks who never gave a fuck about anyone who was not part of their tight-knit group. They didn't even smile at you if you weren't part of the group. How would people be admitted to their group? Be pretty, of course.

Anyway, once that weird exchange was over, we went ahead and, as a band, headed for the football game and our designated seats... my group of 4 being the ones at the back, of course.
We sat there for half the game... getting group photos taken and all that.

Once the cold became uncomfortable, we headed for the bar.
The bar was where things got super interesting. We all had name tags and seats... and warmth... and alcohol.
More photos were snapped and more mingling was done.
This is where the distinction was made in the chicks. Men, for the most part, looked good regardless of their life choices, but girls? It was blatantly obvious which girls were the nerdy/studious/good girls because we (yes, obviously I include myself here. I have anger issues, but I'm a good girl) were the younger looking broads. The hard-drinking/obsessively tanning/ heavy make-up wearing girls looked old or tired. But I shouldn't talk so much shit, because overall, we were a decent group of people who aged sort of well.

I looked around and felt like an out of place kid (I should have been keen to this earlier, since the lady who sold me my game ticket asked me if I was a kid... ME... a kid. Must be my perpetual look of confusion that made her ask this). Many guys and chicks were trying to hook up, or looked interested... I just looked scared or repulsed.

Then I saw my high school crush. World stopped. Heart moved to my esophagus for the rest of the night.
In high school, this guy had a beautiful face... and a cartoon voice. His smile would make me smile... and daydream. His eyes were big and bright. He was funny, but never by making fun of others. He wasn't very bright-- normal, I guess, and he was very, very short... and scrawny. I never spoke to the boy, though. Since we never shared a class, I had zero reason to speak to him... had to settle for watching him walk by during lunch... or by chance bumping into him in a hallway.

Now? He is beautiful. His voice is hot. His smile is still radiant AS FUCK. His eyes are a little sad now, however... which sucks. He has this scruff going on... and BOY! did that shit inspire sighs out of me! He's bulky... thick neck and thighs and broad shoulders and big hands... and damn! Just so beautiful.
Best of all: he's tall! Taller than me!
He's an engineer of some sort, so I guess he was smarter than the average bear.

As I was chatting up one of my best friends, she spotted him walking by and called him over.
I froze. I looked him straight in the eyes... and I froze.
What do I do when I sense I'll like a guy too much? I separate myself... I run away.
And I did just that. I let my friend walk over to him alone, and I took a seat ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM, like the total fucking idiot that I am.
I held eye-contact with him three more times throughout the night... and he would often be near me... but I never worked the nerve to SMILE or introduce myself. I just looked at him like a fucking deer caught in headlights... suffering weird, panic-driven thoughts. Fuck fuck fuck! He's so gorgeous... fuck fuck fuck... I'm gonna puke! Is he behind me?! WHY is he behind me! Get away, get away, get away! God... he's so gorgeous. Goddamn it, I should have dressed up!
When my friend offered to introduce us, I threatened years of shunning.
God, I'm a moron.

::sigh::
In all of this, there was ONE very cute moment where this precious boy from my freshman year of French class addressed me. I entered his circle of dude friends to say goodbye to one of my friends and the boy took my hand and shook it.
Him: Hi! I remember you! I KNOW we had a class together because I had a crush on you. You have the same face... and you had your hair down to here (puts hands down to his chest) and always wore it down. You were very shy and always doing your work. Don't wanna sound creepy or anything... but yeah.
Me: Haha. Yeah, I remember you too. It was French class. You sat behind me. You were very funny.

It warmed my heart to hear that... this boy was one of the very few to EVER be kind to me Freshman year of high school. I remember almost everyone who was mean to me... but every single person who ever showed the slightest sign of kindness to me I remember with a special light. This guy always clapped after my French presentations, and always smiled when I spoke-- no way will I forget that.

I hate admitting this, but overall, I enjoyed this reunion... even if I woke up the next day sad as a motherfucker and unwilling to participate in social activities... and that I cried a few times between the end of that night and now.
Once alcohol did some lubrication, we were all (for the most part) kind to one another and laughed quite a bit... I even drove one of my friends home-- one of the most uptight, straight-edge chicks of our class was a bit too wine-happy to drive.
We laughed the entire car ride to her home... where her angry husband waited after putting their two young daughters to bed.

My... time sure is wonky.

10

Round one of my high school reunion is in 15 hours.

I can't sleep.

I feel nostalgic and angry... and vindictive... and sad.

I met some awesome people in those horrible, incredibly traumatic years of my life... but... I get anxiety even thinking about pulling up to the parking lot of that place. I'm getting teary-eyed WRITING about it.

There are two parts to this thing. First part I agreed to: tailgating, football match, then a bar afterward. 

I think I can handle that shit without hyperventilating. I also don't have to be dressed up.

Part two is a night club... I think? I didn't RSVP to that shit.

Here's to me not creating any further psychological damage to myself by attending this shit and subjecting myself to the company of some of the shittiest human beings with whom I was ever forced to coexist.

(That was a weird sentence... I'm too flustered about this shit to care to fix it)

Old Dudes: my joint

I have found the best counselor in the world...

As I've said many times: I was born in the wrong decade... the wrong era. Old men love me... and not physically speaking. Yes, there are always those fucking perverts who look at me in ways that make me want to go home and scrub my skin viciously in the shower... but the older gentlemen who AREN'T pervs and prefer talking to me, think I'm the bees knees.

So... I've cried about this science things for... nearly two weeks now. Feeling like dirt and whatnot... and yesterday I decided to respond to the homie. I was sincere-- I was sad, but I was sincere.
I apologized for not responding sooner, but that I had been dealing with many unfortunate circumstances... as well as a lot of soul-searching. I told him while I wasn't IN LOVE with science, I did have a fondness for it due to dedicating so many years of my life to it. I told him I was willing to help, to take up the PhD offer if it was still on the table.

His response?
Ire. Disappointment. Frustration.
Just kidding. I said old men love me, remember?
He was intrigued... almost happy, about my frankness.
And he presented me with another idea... an idea he very enthusiastically presented... an idea that made my heart skip a beat, the color return to my dreams and memories... it made me... lightheaded with excitement.

Guys, this second offer-- I'm taking it.
This second offer is... how I KNOW I truly love something.

It was easy to go around thinking I was going to be a doctor, when all I really knew was science. It was easy to believe school work was not supposed to make me anything other than miserable and stressed... downright nauseated.
Then Fall semester of '04 came around the corner and I took that creative writing class to fill a gap... a useless class... a class for shits-and-giggles with my best friend. That's where I learned what it felt like to ENJOY work. I learned I was good at something... good at it and I LOVED doing it. It was stressful to complete the assignments in the allotted time... but I LOVED every second.

How do I know I love a guy? I FEEL it... it's indescribable... it's immediate, it's a spark.
How do I know I love a job/hobby/activity? I smile, my heart races... I clap... I FEEL.

I'm running with it. I'm taking this and running with it.
I am SO fucking excited. I can't sleep.

shittyshitshitshitty

This week has been so fucking shitty.

So fucking shitty, I wrote back to the french researcher-- accepting the offer to move out to Mexico, to get that PhD... regardless of how much I fucking hate studying science. I did it for over a decade, what difference is six more years? It's not like I'm happy now... might as well be a productive sad person.

So fucking shitty, I'm now positive I'm going to be turned down... position filled or whatever the fuck.
Perpetually stuck in this limbo, where some days I'm functioning, and others I'm immobilized by this paralyzing sadness.

Rad.

Poorly, but...

My parents sure have a way with words...
Never thought I'd miss the days when he'd just accuse me of being a "dyke" as I tried eating my fucking cereal at the kitchen table... at least that would happen in the privacy of our home.

This exchange also occurred a couple of minutes after hearing my friend's father was at the hospital after suffering a heart attack, by the way.

Aaaaaand how has your day been?

Hot Sauce

Went to bed with "nictitating membrane" plaguing my mind.

I cried... I ruminated... I sketched... I fucking did all that typical AnoMALIE shit.
I didn't puke though... I mostly just cried.

It's that scenario I dread: Hey, marry this guy. He's rich, prestigious, he likes you and wants you... you're old and no one else is hollering... marry this guy and just LEARN to love him.
Just rework it so it has to do with my career.
It wants you, it's interesting, nothing else is biting... sure, you'll vomit on the regular due to the stress of your unhappiness... but FUCK IT! You've been unhappy for the greater part of your life, you'll learn to handle this.

This research takes place in south east Mexico... the beach.
I like the beach... for two days. Years? After a month, I'll jump into the ocean... never to be heard from again, like in the REAL Little Mermaid (I won't turn into sea foam, but I'll definitely DIE).

But... after much thought... I'm contacting this guy and seeing where this takes me.
Who's to say the Universe doesn't conspire to fuck this up for me as well? Maybe FrenchDude (SUPER stereotypical name... just GUESS... it's like if I were named "Maria") catches on to the fact that I'm not as cool as Daniel made me sound... and he cuts me loose... ?
If this opportunity ACTUALLY works out? No worries... I won't really commit suicide... I'll just live a really, REALLY sad life... with a bunch of scientists and crocodiles... in the Mexican humidity... my skin in fucking perpetual adolescence.
At least... I'll be legitimately alone, right? Away from everything and everyone...

Jesus Christ.

(When I was about 10, I remember helping out at church for a Virgin of Guadalupe celebration where they had 32 little kids with sashes representing all 32 Mexican states. I wanted Durango... but of course, the person running the show made her daughter be DGO's representative. I was given a random sash, and read the name to myself: Tabasco? Isn't that a hot sauce? Is that where they make the fucking hot sauce?! I'm representing a HOT SAUCE in front of THE VIRGIN OF GUADALUPE?! TABASCO?!

... This is where I'd be relocating if it all works out. I wish I were kidding...)

Crocs are ugly.

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!
I'm only writing this because I want to... have the Universe do whatever it may with me opening my mouth about this:
I've suddenly been presented with the opportunity to get a PhD in my field of study.
The professor/lead researcher is FRENCH, of all things.

Normal people would be excited about this... since it found ME... not the other way around.
Serendipity?
But I'm miserable. I want to cry... so bad.

It's a cool research opportunity... it has to do with climate change and shit of that nature (I don't want to give too much away out of paranoia). Animal of study: crocodiles.
...
....
........... ???
What the hell do I know about crocodiles beyond them having that extra eyelid? Or is that just alligators? And then there's that rounded snout thing.
???

GODDAMN IT! THIS SUCKS.
GODDAMN IT GODDAMN IT GODDAMN IT!
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

I'm such an ingrate.
Such a fucking bum.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.

Destiny? HAHAHA!

So... I'm sure it's well established that I truly do wish for the best, but almost always, my dreams are dashed, right? Or at least, that my hopes and dreams get smothered once I open my big mouth like the giant idiot that I am, right?

I'm not sad-- more like amazed.
It's hard to feel sad about something that was in its fledgling stage.
That whole moving to Mexico thing-- yeah, no, don't think it's happening.
I don't know how much attention anyone pays to Mexico... but it has been pounded by two storms (one coming in from the Pacific, the other from the Atlantic, then meeting in the middle like a happy family of destructive, murderous beasts) in the last couple of weeks... wreaking havoc all over the south.

I do not know what this is all about, it's just really, VERY amusing (how the universe works out for me, not the death and destruction my poor people are currently enduring-- that's very fucking tragic).

WHY don't you talk, AnoMALIE? We'd really like to know more about you.
No. NO. Leave me alone. I'm quiet for a reason, Holmes. Come on, I'm 28, I should be well-trained in this fucking department.
My goodness.
ZIP the lip, girl!

Of course, I'm taking this in good stride (or at least, to the best of my abilities... by unexpectedly turning into a wino)... because who want to live in Mexico? In the humid, rainy parts full of idiot tourists who don't shut the fuck up... ?

Just a TAD BIT bummed over thinking that perhaps I'd finally found my destiny... but like I said, that was quickly smothered with a taunting finger. Tsk-tsk... how could you be so silly, AGAIN, dumbass? "Destiny"... JOKE!

I'm only destined to be a quiet, angsty, abrasive recluse. I'm cool with that.
Se cuerda, pendeja!

Worse than shit

Hearing the most unexpected people talk some unbelievably horrible shit about a loved one sucks.
I'm too hurt and upset to get angry.
I've been crying for the last few hours or so...

Some people are so fucking repulsive...
And I can't believe I'm crying...
This fucking trip to Mexico messed me up...

I can't write right now.

This is why I fucking avoid people... they fucking suck.

No-just-Me

I first met the ocean in 2005.
I had seen it from a distance a few times prior to '05 (as in: from inside my car as we drove past it on the highway), but never walked along a beach until that summer.
My cousin, who is also my godson's mom, took my sister and me to Mazatlan.
First thing that occurred when I walked down to the beach with my godson and his brother? A fish flopped onto the sand and wobbled wildly... completely grossing me out. My godson's 11-year old brother grabbed the fish by the tail and flung it back into the ocean.
After removing the thought of that crazy fish from my mind, I proceeded to dip my toe into the water and said "Hello, Ocean, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm *AnoMALIE*"

I'm a Pisces... according to astrology, I'm supposed to like the ocean. I do like the sight of it and all that shit... but to say I constantly yearn to go to a beach would be pretty farfetched.
Typically, all I really do when I visit a beach is walk up and down the shoreline (making sure the water always touches my feet... unless there are jellyfish present. Fuck those motherfuckers), sit at a comfortable spot on the sand, and listen to the sound of the waves. I am not a fan of swimming in the ocean.
But... there is always one thing I have done when I visit a beach, every single time: I doodle on the sand.
Besides my own name, I have always doodled a single other name/initial. Same person.
I feel dumb as fuck admitting all this... but hey, it's a little secret of mine... a weird little ritual... an embarrassing, pathetic (of me) little ritual.
The only time I've been caught doing this was that first time I went to Cancun, the debacle with Mario... the time he caught me writing the initial in the sand in the middle of a giant heart. "Hey! My name doesn't start with a J!" he said. "I'm in love with Joe Jonas, didn't you know?" I responded.

Even his fucking name is pretty. My brain even considers the string of letters that identify this dude... it even finds that aesthetically pleasing, and melodic in sound.

Year after year, visit after visit, I find an opportunity to jot his name in the sand, and sit back to watch the ocean wash it away. I watch the waves erase the letters, leaving no trace of it ever existing... the ocean helping me keep my corny, lame, grade-school crush-behavior a secret.
Last year in April, on my first Costa Rica visit, I got remarkably, embarrassingly silly and wrote some very corny shit in the sand... hearts everywhere and all that shit. I got a little brazen that time. I even took a photo of it... to admire it at my leisure... like a dumbass fangirl.
This year, on my last visit to a beach prior to this Mexico trip, I jotted down a phrase: Goodbye, *Darcy*
I wrote it many, many times... and sat there, each time, watching every last trace of the phrase disappear, then starting the process all over again. I did it until I could finally watch the letters fade away without shedding a single tear.

On this recent trip to the beach I only wrote once... and it was this single word:

I'm here... on this continent. I'm on the land where my entire family was born and raised for centuries. I'm here, on this land that taught me to love nature, to enjoy solitude, to laugh, to be playful, to listen to the subtleties in... everything, to love music, to be kind, to help others, to find solace. I'm on the land that has always had a firm grasp on my heart and soul. I'm bound to this land, I'm part of this land... this mysterious, warm, wild, abused, marginalized land... this third-world.
And you're way past those waves... so, so much further away. In a land of so much advancement... a cold, rainy, but very civilized first-world... a historical, awe-inspiring land. Way past those waves-- unaware, unaffected by what happens here.
I was a fool for believing I could ever possibly, in the words of my favorite Disney movie and character, "be part of your world."
I've waited so long. I've hoped for so long. I've dreamed for too long.

It's just me. It always has been just me. It always will be just me.

Accepting the truth of a situation.
Just another girl... nothing more, nothing less.

I sat on the sand and watched as the waves made my name fade away, fade away, fade away.

Write. Don't stop.

My dad's "cousin" was awesome.
Dad has always brought the dude up in conversation, since he remembers the guy quite fondly.
They met when Dad first moved over here, at 16 or so. Dad moved in with the only relative living in Vegas, his aunt. The guy, Daniel, was his aunt's husband's nephew.
Dad was apparently the introvert, who would not speak a word.
Dad's uncle told his nephew to spark a conversation with Dad, but Daniel complained "I talk to him! He just never answers back!"
And so, a friendship sparked from there.

Daniel is a total artist... what we've all grown to think of as an "artist"... just like they're depicted on film.
Daniel is a patient, quiet guy. His voice is... gentle... like a narrator in Mexican films... it's a soothing sound. He takes time to explain concepts and ideas... he doesn't force others to talk.
He sets this air of... comfort... ease... calm.

We spent out three days and two nights in a huge group. He's married to a total extrovert-- a woman who is clearly dominant, but not in a condescending way, but a firm... guiding way.
They don't force conversation... they just talk and laugh until finally, the people present feel comfortable enough to add to the conversation.
We'd all sit at the bars, restaurant tables, pool side, our kitchen, the bedroom, together. Laughing. Lounging. Sharing. And always with a cup of coffee in hand, or a glass of wine (I don't particularly enjoy wine, but I drank a total of two bottles on my own in those two days-- it took me half a day to get comfortable with the company).
It was SO strange... and comfortable. I can't stress it enough-- "comfortable."

He told stories of the oddities he used to do, like plan his vacations to coincide with rock concerts in LA so he could attend.
He talked about his years writing political pieces... and being advised by certain government officials to adopt a pseudonym in order to avoid any danger.
He talked about his years of study with numerous outstanding Mexican authors and poets... their chill time.
He talked about his "lowly" new job he adores-- photography.

Daniel: Jesse, why didn't you ever tell me you had an artist in your family? She writes. She paints. She draws. She plays an instrument. She's quiet and shy. She's... undoubtedly an artist.
Dad: Because I didn't know!
Me: Because you never asked.
Daniel: So, why did you go down the science route, if you don't mind me asking?
Me: Because... despite teachers telling my parents I was naturally gifted at anything art related, they told me it was a hobby. Since I had an ease for learning science and math, and I saw the difficulty so many of my classmates had with those subjects, I decided to take advantage of that "ability" instead...

The reason we even got into the subject of my writing, is because they were trying to hook me up with a job with one of their best friends, a French marine biologist currently studying... god, I think it's some whale, I didn't pay attention. The more they talked about hooking me up, already planning my relocation to the Mayan Riviera, the more I felt like passing out-- from the distress.
Daniel: Oh! He has been looking for assistants for so long. He's been having real difficulties finding anyone qualified for the positions. He'll be ecstatic to learn I just found one right now. He'll move you out here in a heartbeat.
SCIENCE?! NO NO NO. OH MY GOD. FUCK! This all sounds so wonderful and cool... but... I don't love it... and I'm going to be such a dick to turn it down... fuck fuck fuck... I'm about to get sucked back into science... fuck fuck FUCK! How do I say no?!
Just as everyone started getting excited FOR me, while I started feeling more panicked and suffocated, I had to speak up.
Me: That's SO cool... but... what I really love is writing... I... don't think I would be able to... you know... put my heart into anything else...

I could feel my eyes watering... and my body getting shaky. I fucking hate speaking up.
Then there was a shift in the feel of the room-- the mood. It was like I dropped the biggest revelation on... everyone.
Here I thought you were just a weirdo... but you're really just... an artist! OH MY GOD, AnoMALIE, I finally get you!
That was what I saw in my dad's eyes and my aunt and uncle's eyes.
And I guess it was a big secret to reveal... as much as I love to write, it's something I keep hidden from nearly everyone. I don't want anyone to know that shit about me... it makes me feel stupid... vulnerable and stupid.
I know I often over-share on here, it HAS gotten me in trouble numerous times, but in real life, I'm really very reserved and quiet. I hardly share facts about me-- I just sit there and patiently listen to others speak.

Dad: Oh wow, baby. Oh wow. I have a writer in my family... a poet!
Me: No. A writer. I write stories. I only write. I can't do poetry for shit.

And so there I sat, getting interrogated, from what I liked to write (short stories), about what I liked to write (mostly dark comedy), and when I learned I liked to write (umm... since second grade, when I was first forced to keep a journal).

Then we got into what it was like to be an "artist." How one feels our "work" is part of us, therefore, we have difficulty putting a price on things... usually resulting in us GIVING away our work... because it's so personal to us.
Daniel's Wife: Hence why artists are often destitute and living in poverty. They have great talent, but they don't know HOW to sell it. It's why I sell all of Daniel's stuff. He does the work, and he passes the clients to me. I look at the work, and put a price on it... never telling Daniel how much the piece sold for, because he always feels bad... like I overpriced his work, but I KNOW it was the correct price because I'm an art dealer. I know what his work is worth on the market.

It was like they all lived in my fucking head and read my mind.
I've never sold my work... well, with the exception of two photographs, but even then, I didn't put the price on them... I was shocked they sold at all.
The paintings I've given others have all been gifts... I would never put a price on them... precisely because they're so personal to me... they're a secretive, sensitive part of me I don't want to put a price on.
My stories? I write them up, edit, then never look at them again... I feel stupid re-reading any of my stories. That vulnerable shit I talked about earlier.

So, anyway, my days were spent talking about all this... my secret life of an "artist" came out (ta-da! AnoMALIE's big ol' secret: I'm not gay, I'm a lowly bummy "artist"), and I was given mad support... from everybody (this is where I was given all the information on the programs in Mexico and the fucking awesome opportunities Daniel has for me because writing is his forte. I just have to get my Mexican citizenship in order... and move out there... which... is cool... but... still makes me... hesitate).

Dad: I just want you to be happy, Mija. I'll pay any price for that. I'll take care of anything and everything.

I fucking cried with joy... like a total pussy.

And the phrase that was mentioned most?
"Don't. Stop. Writing."