Saturday, March 30, 2013

AnoMALIE who?

These last few days have been hectic. I think my schedule's finally going back to normal after tonight.

Funeral's are always interesting.
A gathering of Hometown people... who spend hours morbidly watching every last detail... critique everything from the lighting, to the casket, to the amount of crying being done.
It's frustrating.
Guys and girls gossip at the same level... although guys also spend this time trying to hook up. Of course.

This time, I definitely wasn't accosted. There was an awkward encounter in the parking lot as I made my way into the funeral home, and that one "AWWWWKWAAAARD!" guy from my cousin's wedding bumped into each other. Had it been up to me, I would have walked away without acknowledging him, but since Mom was with me, she pretty much stopped fuckin' traffic to greet the bitch.
But that's enough of that fuck.
For the most part, I was extremely sad at the funeral. Granted, that's how you're expected to feel... but I felt sad to a different level.
I was sad about my uncle, and seeing my loved ones all bummed out-- obviously-- but I grew increasingly sad as I paid closer attention to my surroundings. I felt SO. ALONE.
Life is so different without my siblings.
Who cares about friends and social lives... I'm talking my identity as a person... who am I without my siblings? Am I worth a damn?
Apparently, to the people here, not at all. I'm a ghost.
This position I always suspected, since I always knew people admired my brother for being so smart and out-going, and admired my sister for being so pretty. I've always been the "Oh yeah, the other one!" Now, without my siblings around, people are becoming blatantly obvious about their concept of me: none.

I sat with Mom and Mooney's family, and watched as my paternal-side cousins treated me like a stranger. They had their clique of girls, and there I sat, alone (Mom eventually moved me to the edge of the bench so she could chit-chat with her homies. I sat there staring off into space, occasionally dealing with a lady who'd accidentally sit on my lap-- seriously, smack-dab in the middle of my lap).

I immediately thought of JC, telling me I should never feel sad about this sort of deal... because it only has as much power as I wish to give it, in terms of hurting my feelings. I only allow them to exclude me. If I really wanted, I could enter the circle at any time.
I guess I could... but as a girl who grew up an observer of human behavior... I find it very difficult to force myself into anything. I just back up and... make the observation: Welp, as suspected, my dad's nieces don't give a fuck about me unless they need to kick someone's ass or they need a baby-sitter. Duly noted.

Not gonna lie, I felt the urge to cry when I saw the cousins went to check out Downtown as a group... and didn't even bother to TEXT me.
I don't care if friends do this, I expect it. It's NORMAL.
But family? When doing a FAMILY outing? It hurt.

Good thing it's over and I no longer have to subject myself to further torture.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Don't promise

I've always been fearful of catching someone being unfaithful to their spouse.
It has ALWAYS been a fear of mine. I understand that love wanes and all that shit, but once you've been with someone for over two decades... what the fuck possesses you to go "look" elsewhere? You're old now... and this spouse has seen you through thick and thin. He/she was there when you did that very fucking stupid thing with your money... when you did that very fucking stupid thing with your friends... when your family started dying off... when new members started sprouting all over the place... etc.
And above all, you PROMISED you'd make it work. You PROMISED fidelity.
If you didn't want to be faithful, then why the fuck get married? Just live together, where the expectation to stay forever isn't there... where people know that any day, you might not be there, but instead seeking fortune elsewhere.

I feel sick.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Why I should never answer the phone

I'm making my max effort at being pleasant and forgiving.
I'm trying so very hard to NOT talk shit and just get over the drama.
The trashtalking homegirls have really gotten under my skin, but a few weeks ago, I decided to clean the slate. I made the resolution to let it go.
This past weekend, with the death of my uncle, I've spent time with my dad's side of the family... the ladies who are selling those magical pills I was accused of using. After seeing them, I finally understood why so many people have made the assumption that I did the same thing as these ladies.
This has only facilitated my resolution of forgiving and moving the fuck on.

Today, I was quick to answer my phone after seeing it was an unknown number. I thought it was someone asking for a reference, so I didn't think twice about answering.
"Hello! This is *trashtalkingchick*!"
Yeah... it was THE girl. The girl I was getting ready to throw down with this May.
Fuck.... FUCK! What the... fuck!
Me: Hey! How are you?!
And we talked.
She was inviting me to the bachelorette party... since she was put in charge. Of course.
Afterward, she asked me for Mooney's number, which I refused to give out, since I personally loathe people giving away my number so free. I told her I'd let Mooney know, since I see her regularly.
She then grumbled "And Lau... if YOU want to."
If I want to? THE FUCK? She's YOUR cousin... you have her number... call HER. Grow up. Shit... you have a mouth-- a BIG one... use it.
I just giggled and agreed.

She stayed on the line, not wanting to hang up. She asked me how I was doing THREE times. She then asked me if I had any questions. Then she said it was good to hear I was good.
I was just standing completely frozen in my hallway, quietly wondering what her problem was.
I tried ending the conversation twice, but she didn't want to kill it.

I don't feel she wanted to fight or argue... but the opposite. I think she wanted to clear the air, which honestly, she doesn't need to... I probably do, if anything. I should probably just let her know that I heard some of the claims she was making, which admittedly might have become distorted as they made their way down the grapevine, so I hold no grudge. I WAS angry, very angry, but I let it go. And that I apologize for purposely making her feel bad... because I know I DID actively seek to piss her off and offend her.
But I didn't say anything. I just answered her questions as nicely, as friendly as possible, and promised to forward her message.

HOWEVER this truce, this desire to be civil, is being threatened, since Lau isn't as forgiving. She HATES this girl.
I love Lau, she's my homie... but I can't join her in this hatred... this unforgiving hate. She might be able to handle it, but not I. Hate really is toxic to me... and it makes me a horrible person, and it... it overpowers me. MY "horrible person" is a truly HORRIBLE person... I have too many places to draw from, and I'm sure few people know that-- because apparently I've done a great job at making my life seem like an enchanted fairytale. When I set my mind to verbally/physically hurt someone, I don't just hurt, I obliterate. Once I turn this version on, it becomes nearly impossible to turn it off until I dismantle my target.
Some folk think it's amusing, but the entire time, my fucking soul is hurting... because I don't WANT to be terrible, I just AM.
I don't like that version of AnoMALIE. At all. It embarrasses me. It drains me.
I don't know if everyone has this problem, but due to this, I always try to mediate.
My mediating doesn't always work... often I just gain two enemies with a mutual hatred of ME.

In this instance, I'm trying not to partake in the trashtalking... but I also don't want Lau to feel like an outcast. I just want her to move on... to forget about everything... or just be apathetic to this cousin of hers.
We'll never again be a group of happy friends, but we can all at least be civil to one another.

I hate this. 

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Any Good?

My Monday in the bay was dedicated to JC.
We had all day to kill since Pacemaker and Mario would be working until 4-6PM, and I'd be flying out at 9PM.
JC borrowed his grandmother's car and drove me out to San Jose. The plan was to take me to a technology-based museum.
I was excited... since he loves technology and teaching idiots like myself, and I love museums and know jack shit about technology but love learning.
The museum turned out to be a children's museum. He apologized profusely for "not doing homework" on the museum before bringing me out there, but I didn't care. I paid 20 bucks for our tickets, while the previous day I had spent 30 on my ticket to the Academy of Sciences in SF PLUS another 15 for parking (fucking outrageous). 20 bucks for both of us to play with tech shit alongside elementary schoolers was nothing (like the validated parking. Shit was free. Come on now. It was perfect).
After the fooling around in the museum... I should probably rephrase that: after interacting with all of the displays at the museum like some ten year olds, we left and JC began driving me to a mystery location.
JC: You just tell me what my phone's GPS tells you. Here, keep busy.
We stopped in front of a high school.
Me: ... O... K?
JC: Come on! Move!
Me: ... Um... where?
JC: Look to your right.
Me: (Looking to my right)... a cemetery?
I couldn't make out what the park was, I just saw green grass... until I approached the front gate.

Me: Holy shit! No way! You brought me to a rose garden?! That's fucking AWESOME!
JC: First... I take you to a museum... that turns out to be a CHILDREN'S museum... and now I bring you to an award-winning rose garden... that has no roses. I'm sorry.

To be fair, there were about... six roses total in the entire park, so... there WERE roses... it... wasn't so bad.
They had a huge fountain in the middle of the garden, the place was empty... and I just had to use my imagination to think of how wonderful that garden must look when in full bloom. It wasn't bad at all. I had to laugh out loud.
Me: Don't worry about it, dude! You have to get used to this type of luck when dealing with me. I appreciate it all, regardless. Let's read the names on these badboys as we take a little stroll.

And that we did. We had the giant garden to ourselves (well, there was ONE homeless dude sleeping on ONE of the benches, but other than him... and a gardener, we were alone) and we chatted about Mexico and Germany... but mostly Mexico.

JC: I'm hungry. You hungry?
Me: If you want to get a bite to eat, let's do that.
JC: Are YOU hungry? Do YOU want a bite to eat?
Me: Sure, dude, whatever.
JC: What do you want? What CAN you eat?
Me: Anything. Just don't take me to a burger joint. I can't eat bread, and it tempts me.

So where does he take me? The mall. What do we eat? Cajun food from the food court.

JC: I'm sorry... today has been a mess. I took you to a kid's museum, a rose-less rose garden, and now a mall food court. I brought you here because I wanted to give you options. What better place to find options than the mall food court?
Me: You are correct. Don't worry about it. I have chicken, and I have broccoli. I'm complete.

We awkwardly took a seat in the middle of the food court, and we finally began discussing MY life.
I told him why I ate the way I did now-- cutting weight-- and how that all came to be-- I wanted to die.
I told him about the rejection letters, and the deep depression it threw me into.

JC: Do you think they were any good?
Something in my soul snapped. I felt it... like the crack of a whip.
I quickly looked up from my tray of Bourbon chicken and into his eyes. I could feel the tears building as I told him about the schools and the rejection letters, and I was sure those tears would roll down my cheek once I moved my eyes to look at him, but I didn't care.
You doubt me?
"... what?" I asked, barely audible.
You... doubt me. You think I'm dumb... you think I'm dumb.

I'm sure my face was a wreck, because JC spoke up immediately.
"I mean... what you gave the schools, the writing samples, were they good? I'm trying to figure out why they'd reject you. Are you sure your stories were good? Did anyone else read them? What do they think of them?"
I was silent. I didn't know what to say. It was a mix of shock, confusion, doubt, sadness, anger, indignation, and embarrassment.
"I... I... well... I had plenty of people read my stories..." I said.
"Did they like them? What was their opinion?" JC asked.
"They were... they were my professor's favorite stories. He encouraged me to send them in..." I said.
"Hmm. That's weird," he said.
I'm sure I looked like I was about to stick my head in one of the restaurant's ovens, because JC stopped pushing the matter.
"Don't worry... I've helped people with lives that were much more fucked up than yours," he said.

How quickly people forget.
I wrote his college entry essays. My writing helped get him accepted to all the schools he applied to as an undergrad.
I was also hurt by his reaction because... it only indicated he's another one on the list who thinks I'm an idiot-- thinks I'm quiet because I'm too stupid to speak... not because I'm actually painfully shy and would rather be left alone than forced into an argument. I'm quiet because I don't think my opinion matters, and I prefer listening to other's viewpoints. I'm not really stupid... I just... I just don't bother to stir any pots.
My close friends all know this, my close friends understand this.
JC used to know me better than I knew myself... and now he was doubting me. Now he was... he wasn't consoling me... he was judging me... poorly.
A robot sketched this at that cool museum.
Oh, the many things one can gather from such a simple image.
The clear image of our once solid friendship... is now really just a sketch, where I'm quickly getting weathered away.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Excuse the drunk

Nearly a week back and I have yet to update properly.

In my defense, all those updates from the 15th up until the latest one, on the 18th, were me drunk/buzzed or just really bored as I waited for Pacemaker to wake up from her slumber.

I was going bananas because homegirl would sleep until the middle of the fucking day... and I'd sit in her room completely frustrated, looking out the window to see the fucking beautiful sunny morning fade away.
I took a book with me, thinking I'd make use of it at the airport, but that shit actually kept me form jumping out Pacemaker's balcony ("Pamela." I knew the premise, since Mooney has an inside joke pertaining to it, but nothing more. I was captivated by the damn thing... and each time I'd crack it open, I'd stay up until 5-6 in the morning reading it. I finally finished it last night, and was SO fucking angry. SO angry. Seriously... straight bullshit ending... I thought the damn girl was going to grow a goddamn backbone by the end of it. Bitch spent all 516 pages "trembling" and "weeping" and wanting nothing more than to please her master. CLEARLY a fucking man wrote this shit. ROAR! I did enjoy the epistolary style, however... since obviously I do that shit). Once reading proved to be insufficient to control my frustration, I'd just hit the ground and do pushups, or sit ups, or planks... anything to keep from throwing my book (or luggage or phone or purse or shoes etc etc) at Pacemaker in hopes of startling her awake.
She did indulge me Saturday afternoon by taking me hiking. Sadly, I had to go at her pace... and it looked like when a tiny lady tries controlling a hyper guard dog during a morning jog, and the dog spots another animal. I was all over the place... bouncing, running, coming back to her, asking her questions she'd be too tired to answer without violently sucking air. I had to finally give up and practically crawl at her pace (of course I became frustrated by the stroll and began doing high-knees--pretty much skipping as high as I could-- as she walked in her slow manner).
See that bench there? Saved Pacemaker's life... and quite possibly her sanity
At one point, we found a bench she needed to take a break on... and I proceeded to run hill-sprints as she caught her breath. I have some meanass ADD sometimes.

Anyway... I drank a lot. A LOT. The only day I was sober was Monday, and even then, I was somewhat sleep deprived from the reading and crying and thinking... that come Monday night, I was pretty much talking nonsense.

I would have also written sooner, however, a series of unfortunate events has fucked with my brain.
Dad came back from Cuba on Sunday... umm, his uncle passed away Thursday afternoon... I've been at the beck and call of the family, especially if it involves the airport-- I'm on that duty.
And lastly, today is Vicente Fernandez's farewell concert here. I was originally stoked, because I managed to snag a pair of tickets... but due to this loss in the family, I had to sell my tickets.
It has me more upset than I thought it would.

So... too much going on. Too much.

Monday, March 18, 2013


I made the conscious decision to get hammered this afternoon.
There's a feeling of loss, of estrangement, of goodbye... there's an unspoken sadness in the air.
There were many moment of complete silence today.
I cried on two separate occasions as I made an escape to the bathroom to release the tears.
At five in the afternoon, I threw caution to the wind and drank 3/4 of a sangria pitcher-- on an empty stomach.

I was dazed and confused... and momentarily happy... careless... I giggled. But the feeling was once again fleeting. I sobered up in two hours.

The sadness returned. The silence returned.
Everything is so pretty, but I have never felt so detached and... sad... in my travels.
It's the elephant in the room: AnoMALIE is no longer AnoMALIE... She's broken.

Sunday, March 17, 2013


... I just want to scream.
But that wouldn't help-- I'd be screaming at a wall

Don't go girl

Tonight I had three boys at a party tell me they loved me.
Three different boys were paying attention to my every want and need... Were at my beck and call... Were like little playful kittens, trying to flirt their way onto my lap...

One I've like for a few years... and tonight he was right there, at my lap. He pounced on me in the parking lot as I made my way to the party. He was attentive the entire night.
All I had to do was reach out to him... He was laying on his back, head looking for my lap as we both sat on the bed, just us two in the bedroom of the hotel party.
I just had to assure him I was fine with his touch...
But instead I thought of... That guy who doesn't give a fuck about me. That guy no one can match.

Two other boys lay in waiting. Whenever this crush of mine would leave the room, one or the other would make his way next to me. Neither as aggressive as my mini crush, but just as attentive.
When I announced I was leaving, they asked me to stay a little longer.
"But I LOVE YOU! Don't go, girl in the black sparkly TOMS!"
"I love you more, girl in black!"

And all I could think was how I wish HE'd say something remotely similar to what these boys were screaming.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Something's Different

It's a conflicting feelings.
What was once familiar is now so foreign.

I was ecstatic to return to the Bay yesterday. I was energized, bouncing in my seat, and stoked to be seeing JC after 3 years. THREE years.

From SFO, we headed directly to Berkeley . I was enjoying every hill, every flower, every damn tree we'd pass. I was even loving the bridges.
Once we parked on the street JC lived in, I started to feel sad... with some excitement. The most paradoxical thing I've experienced so far. How can someone feel sad and excited at the same time? Leave it to me to feel that shit.
Anyway, I did that thing where I focused on remembering every little thing around me... to enjoy the moment, because I knew I'd be returning to this memory in the future, that this would become one of my valued memories.

As we sat outside, waiting for JC to meet us outside of his shared apartment with Em (his girlfriend), I was hoping ever so badly JC would be the same JC as always-- the hyper, silly, kind JC.

He was so pale... So incredibly pale. And our hug was awkward. I... didn't feel joy, if that makes any sense. Often, when I hug people, I feel as if my heart's going to beat out of my chest... or I feel the blood rushing to my face... I feel like I want to hold tight and never let go.
Not this time.
I was hugging... an inanimate object. I hug my pillow tighter than I hugged JC. I feel more emotion when hugging a pillow.
I think about it now and I want to cry.
Was it JC who was lacking emotion? Was it ME? Was it... both?
We small-talked... and we all know how I feel about smalltalk.

JC took us to some burrito place on campus so he and Pacemaker could have breakfast as we waited on Em and their friend John.
I could see it in JC's eyes that he was happy to see me... Like when you look at your sibling who lives abroad... Or your nice aunt... Or like-a-sibling-close-cousin-- that calm gratitude and happiness you feel.
And I was quiet and sad.
Here's my friend who knew me like the palm of his hand for so many years, living this extraordinary life in a country that captured his heart, and there I was... a sad dreamer girl who often contemplates what life would be like without her.

After perhaps half an hour, Em and John showed up.
I hate John.
He's so disconnected and shallow... and boring. He's very good looking... but who gives a shit when I have more fun petting donkeys at farms (not a euphemism. I really did pet a couple of pregnant midget donkeys yesterday) than I do trying to converse with this cute guy? I first met John back in 2010, when JC visited me with his friends and I went to bed frightened this guy would try to murder us all in our sleep. He was a prick then. I tried being nice to him, but he's one of those humans who can't register sarcasm... and shit never ends well when I meet those people. He was also, as previously stated, a shallow guy. He quickly dismissed me as undesirable because I was too fat for a girl, and would roll his eyes each time I talked and acted as if I were made of nitric acid or other corrosive material (though I wish I WERE, I am not. I was just fat and he didn't want me falling in love with him... you know, 'cause he's so good-looking and all).
Yesterday, guess who was all over whom.
Yeah. Not me.
That resentment issue of mine popped out and I didn't even direct a word towards him (don't get me wrong, I also didn't make shit awkward, I just minded my own business and when he'd be talking about whatever fucking boring topic of his choosing, I'd just walk away to snap photos... or shoveled vegetables in my mouth... or sipped my wine... or petted and baby-talked pregnant midget donkeys).
Whenever I'd talk, he would always try and add his two cents, to which my response would be along the lines of "Oh yeah?"
Whenever he'd walk too close to me, I'd be childish and do something stupid, like skip away or come to a complete stop Whenever he'd stand next to me, I'd walk away acting as if it were imperative I stretch my hamstrings at that precise moment.
I'm resentful. Whatever. Moving on.

So, after gathering at the burrito place,we took off to Sonoma and enjoyed our bacchus... Well... some more than others. I'm not a big wino, yet always ended up being the person who was served WAY too fucking much... So I was hammered after three glasses (we drank about 8). This also explains my fascination with the midget donkeys-- one of the vineyards we visited had a couple out back, and me being the animal-lover I am, couldn't resist and I wound up out there caressing/babying the little cuties while the rest of the party went out and did grown up shit like talk about different oaks and shit like that.

In an attempt to sober up, we headed into the town and grabbed some food.
While we scattered to hit up our favorite food groups (some went for cheese, others fudge, others beef, I had nothing), JC and I had a moment where he grabbed me by my shoulders and softly shook me.
"Something's different. You're different. You're more quiet than usual. You're different. Snap out of it!"
It's when I remembered-- I haven't spoken to him since the whole rejection letters of 2011 really fucked me up. Unlike previous years, he wasn't around to counsel me on 2011, to hear me out, and the space between us only grew exponentially worse.
Of course I'm different... the times he saw me I still had dreams and believed my hopeful nature would lead me places. He hasn't experienced the broken AnoMALIE. The dead AnoMALIE.

It was also weird for me to stand there and note how all of our lives have changed since February of 2010.
It was numbing to see how my two buddies, my little brothers, were now grown men with serious girlfriends and futures... yet I was still standing there clueless and alone, like always... just another girl, lost... slipped through the cracks.

I'm different. Yes. Yes I am.

Friday, March 15, 2013

1 of 13.

I've had some crazy eventful shit occur in the last couple of days... most of which were NOT good... I even had two mini meltdowns.
I did that same thing where I wrote numerous updates, but failed to actually publish... because they were SO angry.

But I'm much better now.
I think it's the built-up angst because 1. My father has yet to fucking communicate with ANYONE. It's STILL upsetting to think about it. I feel dizzy and the urge to vomit when I think of his wellbeing. Then I get angry... because this nonsense is SO irresponsible.
and 2. My Dad's last remaining uncle is on his last leg of life. He's... pretty much just waiting to die. He's in a coma, with kidney failure and I think his lungs collapsed... and he's swollen. It's bad. And sad. And where's my dad? In Cuba, presumably.

I've also had to deal with some ugly words thrown my way... but all I have to do to get over it all is punch and kick for a couple of hours... then all is well with the world once again.

It also helps that in a few hours I head out on my first trip of the year (FINALLY!), my long overdue return to the bay area.
I'm so excited, my heart flutters when I close my eyes and imagine the flower blossoms... and the grass... and the ocean... and my bay area friends.

OH! I hope it all works out for the best.

I hope I don't cry.
I hope everyone stays alive while I'm away...

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Burnt corners

I'll attack the topics running rampant in my head like I attack steaks: from the crispy burnt corners first up until I reach the bloody center.

Burnt corner: Babies. (The way this could be misinterpreted... my god...)

Friday I attended my cousin/childhood bestie's baby shower.
This sucked balls because:
1. It was a Friday afternoon.
We're all a bunch of Catholic Mexicans... so meat is off limits on Fridays.
What kind of fucking party can a bunch of Mexicans have WITHOUT beef (see what I did there?)?
A fucking lame one, that's the type.
2. I went ALONE.
Mom was supposed to join me, but bailed last SECOND. As far as family parties loaded with screaming children go, Mom joins me because she's my wingman... woman? She's the one who finds us a seat and starts the conversations. What the fuck do I care about talking to old ladies? If I could have shit my way, without getting weird stares, I'd be running around in the backyard like the annoying, loud kids. I DON'T care to talk about the future, or my relationship status, or my LACK of desire to procreate. I don't give a shit about marriage, or babies, or... novelas... I mean... I pretty much sit there and smile whenever they say anything in my direction... I'll nod when I think it's directed at me.
So, Mom covers me here, and does all the talking FOR me. Take her away from the equation and you might as well put a bullet through my head.
3. The family members involved in this babyshower are the family members who resent the fucking shit out of us.
Add to that, the fact that the cunt who was my (very physically/verbally abusive) babysitter was also there. I hadn't seen her in YEARS... and she was the first person I saw the moment I kicked the door open (since I went alone, I had to carry the gift by myself. I purchased the fucking high chair, thinking I'd have Mom to help me bring it to the party. I was lucky in the sense that the door was cracked open, so I pushed it... with my foot.. a little hard so I could shove my ass in there before the door closed on me. I'm a resourceful young lady, after all... somewhat barbaric, but always resourceful). She looked surprised (not before looking like her typical mean, psychopathic bitch self), I felt the room go up forty degrees and I suddenly couldn't focus on a damn thing in the room. It's crazy how stress and anxiety fucks with the brain. This girl still turns me dysfunctional and stupid the moment I see her... I'm surprised I didn't piss my pants like some terrified chihuahua. I hate her, and I definitely could beat her to a bloody pulp NOW, but the anxiety induced from the memories still suffocates me and renders me useless. Weird, crazy shit.

SO! All of these factors came together and freaked me out.
I greeted my cousin/childhood bestie, chatted about how stupid it was to throw a party on a Friday afternoon during Lent season... and how awkward it was for me... and she basically excused me to jet out of the party and on with my life.

My other brush with a baby this weekend was yesterday.
I don't really baby sit this kid, per se... but I do hang out with him for about three hours on Saturdays and sometimes Monday/Tuesday.
He's my cousin's baby... and so, each time I visit my aunt, the baby's there.
This cousin-- while I do love him dearly since we grew up together and shared some really good times, as well as VERY FUCKING BAD times-- is BAD news. He has terrible habits... and he's very violent. As a kid, he was a total terror.
The moment I found out he was going to be a dad, I knew the baby would have the odds completely against him.
The baby's two years old, and in these two years, I've seen him evolve (DEvolve?) into... a bad kid. It's upsetting and heartbreaking and slightly enraging.
He's a sweetheart, I promise... but he has an evil streak... and that shit is SCARY.
Each time I hang out with the kid, I try very hard to instill good in him. I teach him to be kind, and polite... and play nice. It's why I willfully spend three hours of my weekend with him.
Yesterday, when I noticed he was terrorizing my aunt, being a brat and crying each time she'd refuse to follow his instructions (he doesn't talk, so he just screams and kicks and slaps you into submission), I decided to take him from her hair for a bit. I took him outside and thought I'd be able to wear him out, so he'd just knock out once I brought him back inside.
Everything was going well at first. I was playing tag with him, running sprints around chairs, juking like a football player, running basketball drills... playing soccer... he even had me shooting free-throws for about ten minutes (he'd shove the ball in my hand and demonstrate, viciously, WHAT I should be doing. The kid is a fucking tyrant).
I was getting tired from all my assholery (seriously, do normal girls play like that with two year olds? I wasn't being tender at all... I was just being hyper-- a total meathead)... and was taking longer to complete the tasks.
I was performing my goaltending duties, retuning a ball the baby had kicked, so my back was turned to him. I heard him charging at me, but I thought he was just trying to beat me to the ball. I was bent over, reaching for the ball, when suddenly, the freakin' kid slaps the hell out of my ass... and I mean... like... in a pervy fashion... hand ALL UP in my... yeah.
I immediately stood up and held onto my ass, looking at him ready to scold him.
He had the creepiest, meanest smirk on his face.
It freaked me out.
I have no idea how a "normal" person would have reacted to this... maybe gently grabbed his hand and explained why that was something one does not do.
But not me.
"Who taught you that?!" I screamed. "No. NO! I'm not playing anymore!"
I stomped into the house AND HE LAUGHED... CACKLED!

I'm not quite sure who the baby is here...

Monday, March 11, 2013

Fuck 3/11

Again, it's one of those things where so much has gone on... my brain shuts down and I can't find the focus to write anything out.
I have a couple of posts backlogged... one in particular was pretty much ready to go, but after re-reading it, I opted against posting... mainly because it was so anti-girl and it happened to be for March 8th, International Women's Day or whatever. It would have been way too inappropriate, even for me.
I also have stories regarding the parties I went to that night, on the 8th. I went to THREE parties.... after a long day at the gym... OF COURSE I have stories about Friday.
And it's not just Friday... the entire weekend was eventful... I don't know where to start... my brain is overly stimulated.
I'm also pretty antsy because my dad was supposed to return from Cuba last night and we have yet to hear from him... AT ALL.
It's pretty fucking frustrating.

Gimme a few more days. March 11th hasn't been too kind to me for the last five years.
Excuse me.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

I was nine.

"I never... I never fully believed my dad was dead. I thought I was normal, like all the other girls in town-- I thought my dad was one of the numerous dads living in the US. That's what I told myself. I thought I just wouldn't see him because he could never make enough money to visit us, unlike all the other dads who would drop by once or twice a year to see their family.
"I remember when Mom finally purchased our house... and I stood in the empty living room. I walked to every corner and did the same thing-- I thought 'If only my dad could be here. Dad... please... come back. Right now. And see all this. See how pretty OUR house is. See how happy we are. Please show up, Dad.' Then, I remember closing my eyes, and seeing him... I saw him SO vividly, in this pale-blue shirt... his wavy hair parted on the side. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. We just looked at each other... then he cracked a smile.
"Mom walked in and called my name. 'Gloria, what are you doing? Are you... ok?' she asked. 'I saw him. I saw my dad. He was wearing a pale-blue shirt, and his hair was curly, parted to the side,' I told her. 'Did he say anything?' Mom asked. 'He's dead. I always felt he was dead... but when he smiled... I knew he was dead. My dad's dead, Mom,' I said. Mom hugged me, 'You're right, honey. I'm sorry.'
I stopped being a kid that day. I grew up. I was nine."

I've never been a fan of Gloria... that woman is one of the biggest offenders when it comes to giving me backhanded compliments... she's the ruling champion.
Tonight, she shared this story with my mom, aunt, and me.

This is why it's so impossible for me to hate people.
That story crushed my heart... and it wasn't the only story of the night to do so.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Teddy Osita

Guess what this girl is doing right now...

I'm sleeping in my momma's bed, right next to the little lady.
She's such a little chicken, she always makes me do this when Dad leaves... not that I can complain... well, kinda, sometimes... when she smothers me-- yes, I'm smothered by a woman who stands no taller than 5'3" on a good day.
It's an activity I've always done, and when we go to Mexico, I always sleep next to my mother.
I guess that's something I can do without much problem since I've slept next to someone since I was about three, and D came into my life. I've learned to squeeze anywhere in order to get some shuteye-- I can sleep standing up.
I definitely don't need to feel someone with me in order to sleep peacefully, but it seems the people in my life DO. I oblige... since I'm into comforting others.
D and I still share a bed when we travel anywhere... We ended up sharing her bed when I visited her in Chicago. Before leaving the house, D still had moments where she'd walk into my room at night and ask if she could sleep in my bed (of course I'd let her... after making fun of her for a couple of minutes).

I'm my family's living, breathing teddy bear. This empty shell of a human manages to comfort her loved ones with just her presence.
... maybe it's because they think I'll be the first one taken out in case something bad goes down? They'll have a chance to run once they hear me getting killed...

... Eh, whatevs. I'd probably be cool with that anyway. 

Monday, March 4, 2013

Spice looter

I promise I'm super calm and peaceful, despite the previous post and how agitated I might seem.
Yeah, I was slightly upset, but that's only because it's difficult not to get worked up when explaining the situation.

I swear I'm not letting this little bit of drama dampen my spirits.
I AM slightly disappointed in myself for even focusing in the slightest on the negatives, like who didn't wish me a happy birthday... considering the people who did made me smile like never before. For one, JC went back to singing to me, and  I know I bitched about that shit last year. And two, for the first time in years, Darcy wished me a happy birthday, and I know I've bitched about that each year he has ignored my day. You'd think I'd willingly give my left ovary for a birthday wish from the dude (while I wouldn't mutilate myself for his attention, I still do that thing where I get lightheaded when he pays me any mind-- like some hyper pitbull. I did that thing where I forget to breathe because I'm so... happily amused). But it's not a disappointment that hinders my peaceful prancing around the city.

I'm also a little... worried. Dad left for Cuba this evening, and I can't help but be a little concerned for his wellbeing. Luckily, me fears were eased (slightly) after being told he'll be back on US soil on Sunday.
I'm even invited to join them on their next Cuba trip (by "their" I mean Dad's church group. They annoy me so badly... but when they're in my face, I'm so charmed by them... it makes me uncomfortable). I politely turned them down, but I welcomed any cacao they wish to send my way upon their return. Any fucking spices, actually, give me any Caribbean spices and I will be a happy camper.
It's the looting Spaniard in me that wants that shit.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Not today, bitch!

So... I heard Justin Bieber had a shitty birthday...

Me? It was wonderful.
This entire weekend was strangely amazing... I even won a raffle today (I only purchased one ticket). Do you know how many times I've "won" a raffle in my life? ZERO... well, one starting today.

There were only two snags:
1. I rolled my ankle Friday afternoon while doing some jumping jacks. I was riding such a high from the amazing day I was having, I didn't feel the pain. The pain didn't intensify until Saturday afternoon, when I did my usual morning jog accompanied by some HIIT. I then woke up this morning with the stiffest freakin' left ankle imaginable. I've spent the rest of the day trying to rest the damn foot.

2. Drama with my goddaughter. It's stupid. It was the ONLY negative blip the entire weekend. She tried being a little shithead, by not wishing me a happy birthday (though she "liked" a post I was tagged in... but what the fuck does that mean? NOTHING. She also had lunch with my sister... and my sister mentioned it was my birthday... so....), I reacted, and things got awkward.

I KNOW I say I don't give a shit about people wishing me a happy birthday... but I guess it's more of a case-by-case basis:
*I will slit my wrists the birthday my mom or sister forget.
*My brother I'm more lax on, because he is busy as all fucking hell... and he really isn't very observant... so, I don't get upset when it's 9PM the night of my birthday and I haven't heard from Mr. Rafa.
*My dad? HA! I'm SHOCKED when he REMEMBERS. I sort of panic, actually. This year he was consistent in wishing me a happy birthday the day AFTER (mind you, I had a frozen custard date with both my parents at work, immediately after leaving the gym. Dad was clueless, enjoying the banana split I bought him, as expected. I happily savored my blueberry frozen custard cone as I smiled at Daddy with my "You're a silly man... you adorable caveman" expression plastered across my face).

Aside from that, I usually base other's wishes on the way THEY treat birthdays. If they're chill and not very festive, I'm the same way. If they make fucking noise about their birthday for MONTHS in advance, I figure "Hey, maybe that fucking day is very fucking important to him/her."
My goddaughter? Fucking kid harps about her fucking birthday almost every day of the year... seriously. And when people forget? She flips, of course. So... I proceed to assume that acknowledging people's birthday is of upmost importance to her-- if she doesn't wish you a happy birthday, it's her biggest way of flipping you the bird.

She's spoiled, was born with a silver spoon, and everyone caters to her fucking "needs."
I don't.
I set her ass straight when she's being petulant, disrespectful, arrogant, self-centered, inconsiderate, and all those negative "attributes" spoiled kids tend to have. I'll be blunt and immediately let her know when she needs to start acting right.
She does not like this... and I had been doing this quite mercilessly these last few weeks... because she has been a total weasel.
Her typical, high-schooler response was to ignore me.

On my birthday, she was active on FB all day, as well as IG and Twitter... MULTIPLE times tweeting a couple of minutes after I had.
This. Pissed. Me. Off. (I'm human! This shit got under my skin after a few hours)
It was the ONLY thing to piss me off. It was that goddamn pebble in my shoe all weekend.
So I gave my sister a job: Next time you see Goddaughter, please do me the favor of letting her know she's dead to me. You will make my life if you put it like that-- "dead to me."
Want to act like I'm invisible? Dude! Well, no problem there! I'm HELL OF invisible! I mastered that shit in KINDERGARTEN. I can disappear form your radar for life, if that's what you'd like. Problem is, the person who makes ME invisible, I register as "dead" in my head, so I'm not tempted to talk to them or contact them in any way. So, please think this one through, badass.

This afternoon D sends me a text telling me she told the goddaughter, word for word, what I said, and that "she almost cried."
Good. Maybe that'll knock some fucking sense into her head and teach her she can't be such a cunt to people.
About an hour later I get a text from Goddaughter:
Notice how grammar is on point? That's thanks to me.
You're welcome, America.
... yo, someone needs to tell this kid how invisibility works...

Can anyone else pick up on the ridiculous sense of entitlement this girl has? The audacity? It also seems like she does this a lot-- apologize.
Can't take the heat? Get the fuck out the kitchen.
Can't own up to your behavior when called out? Then don't play fucking little games, bro... especially with someone who has been handling it for over two decades.
You have to learn actions have consequences... and some people out there will have no problem rubbing your nose in your shit.

I DID have an incredible weekend. My birthday was beautifully pleasant. I laughed, I smiled, I danced, I ran, I got injured, I played with numerous animals, I WON A RAFFLE, I ate delicious food, I hugged people, I kissed people, I drove fast, I listened to loud music, I skyped people... dude! I fucking SMILED! I even booked a flight to the bay for St. Patrick's Day weekend. I was on cloud nine. Shit, JC even reverted to his old ways and woke me up with a phone call where he sang "Happy Birthday" to me. It was like old times...
Some day I'll make things PERFECT.
This year, the goal came very freakishly close.