Tuesday, April 30, 2013

End of the showers to reveal some flowers

Fuckin' A... It's about to be May and I have no clue where April went.
I feel so fucking pressured because May is going to be the busiest month I've had all year... probably the busiest month of the year.
I have dress alterations to fuck with up until the day of the wedding (the 18th), a couple of graduation parties to attend (because I'm nice and each person who has invited me to their shindig made some appearance at any one of my parties... and they're being nice by spreading them for the 17th and 19th, so that's cool), then I head out to Berlin on the 22nd.
I'm sweating bullets about the Eurotrip because I sense I'm going to fuck it up somehow... which I already DID for the day I actually arrive. I get to fuck around that lovely city for a couple of hours ALONE due to my friend being unable to get out of class on time to pick me up when I land.
Do you know how many words I know in German? TWO... no, three... wait... "danke" is German, right? "Bitte" is please... "schwarz" is black (I know this one for the reason you're PROBABLY guessing right now)... I know "verboten" because of all the movies I've watched... "Nein" because of music (I guess here we can pretty much say "If it's in the lyrics for 'Du Hast' then I know it"). I confuse the word for "yes" with the Russian form... so I always say "da" like an imbecile. And as for phrases, I only know ONE (aside from "Juden verboten" but THAT should NEVER leave my fucking mouth in real life), and that's because I once used it in a short story and I asked Kelley to pronounce it for me (I STILL can't say it properly). The phrase is the ever so useless: Ich liebe dich (unless for some freak reason I bump into Michael Ballack. And even then, it'll be useless because he SPEAKS ENGLISH).

SO! Good times ahead... right?
Paris is happening as well... for a few (probably HELL OF miserable) days... then it's Spain, Spain, Spain.
I know how to communicate in those countries... thought the most communicating I want to do in LAME ASS France is flipping my middle finger in the fucking air.

Anyway... Hey, Hey, MAY!
For the love of God, BE GENTLE.
April, you were amazing, regardless of how fucking emo I proved to be. You treated me sorta right... better than any other month so far, that's for sure. See you next year, sweetpea.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Back at it

Whenever I get in a writing groove, where I try to ignore the bullshit going on around me and just stay writing somewhat meaningful shit, it's always ruined by some fuckhead.
I can't ignore current events for too long, because they start to accumulate until I have to bitch about them on here... it spills over and intoxicates my fucking inspired writing (I know, I know, Easy there, Hemingway).
Dumb, cunt mothers abandoning their toddlers, cousins being hostile, weddings I must back out of and the ensuing awkwardness... travel plans... all of that builds in the back of my mind and make writing anything of "substance" impossible.
I want to sit here and rip to shreds the dumb whore I once suspected of WANTING to desert her tiny family.... and finally DID...
I want to complain about the idiot cousin I so much more idiotically DEFENDED in public, garnering me more "enemies" and ultimately making me look like a fool... and how she's now doing even MORE stupid fucking shit
I want to bitch about the wedding I had to back out of today... and how much of a douchey dickhead it made me feel like...
I want to get intolerably annoying about travel plans to international trip number two of the year... how exhausted and guilty I feel after dedicating an entire day to booking flights and hotels... how scared I feel about somehow managing to fuck it all up.

... Above all, I want to apologize for my mopey behavior...
I'm an idiot, and I should not have subjected anyone to that shit.

I really doubt I'll learn to be a better human... I'm a totally inconsiderate, self-centered asshole.

Sunday, April 28, 2013


His goal in life was to be an echo
Riding alone, town after town, toll after toll 
A fixed bayonet through the great southwest to forget her

She appears in his dreams
But in his car and in his arms
A dream can mean anything
A cheap sunset on a television set can upset her
But he never could

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around and then back down
Like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
No one could hear him
Or anything

So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird
Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

A hummingbird
A hummingbird

This trip I saw numerous hummingbirds... hummingbirds of all sizes.
Each time I'd catch myself staring at these delicate creatures, this Wilco song would play in the back of my mind.
Remember to remember me, standing still in your past, floating fast like a hummingbird.
I quickly turned into that weird girl who'd get teary-eyed at the sight of hummingbirds. My tiny companions stopped pointing the birds out to me, that's how sad things would get.
His goal in life was to be an echo-- the type of sound that floats around and then back down, like a feather.
Walking into the grocery store, walking out of a park... there they'd be-- pretty birds with quick-flapping wings, creating the illusion of floating in thin air. Float, float, float, completely unafraid of the humans walking near them.

The song may be about in the point of view of a man... but I've never felt more identified.
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way would never let her... die alone.

Saturday, April 27, 2013


Exactly a week ago, I was out in the wilderness, encountering my first group of white-face capuchin monkeys, toucans, and howler monkeys.
Before our excursion into the jungle, we decided to grab some lunch. It was here where the bright colors of a very large bird beak caught my attention. I walked away from my table and towards the edge of the cliff (the "restaurant" was on a hill, overlooking our cabins down below, and beyond that, it was pure jungle) to get a better view.
There he was, on a branch of the nearest tree-- a toucan.
Everyone from my table walked over to get a better view. After the novelty wore off, everyone but me walked back to the table to wait on our food.
The toucan began to... caw? Is that what they do? I'd say "sing" but it was rough sounding.
After about two minutes of cawing, a rustle in some trees to the left of the toucan caught my attention-- a second toucan.
Mr. Toucan continued cawing... singing... workin' it, so to speak.
Toucan number two just sat there, unimpressed, indifferent.
Two minutes later, Ms. Toucan flew away.
Poor, foolish, lovelorn Mr. Toucan cawed... and cawed... with no call being returned. He sat there, in that tree... alone... unaffected, not giving a fuck about all the witnesses of his rejection... silence.

I was making my way to take a seat to finish my chicken fingers and beer (I may have been deep in the Costa Rican jungle, but that doesn't mean I'd be doing something like eating some fucking exotic shit), when in the distance, I heard a familiar sound-- a caw, similar to Mr. Toucan's. Mr. Toucan cawed again, and faintly, deeper in the forest and away from sight, another toucan mimicked him.
See! She DID care, homie!
The back and forth continued for a few more minutes, and suddenly, some rustling in the tree where Mr. Toucan had been singing-- he was gone, as was his calling.

Friday, April 26, 2013


I have a joke with one of my friends, where we say we're engaged. We continuously refer to this supposed engagement all over the place.

By now, after so many years of dealing with Facebook and the drama it causes, I should have known some sort of bullshit was going to happen in regards to this banter with my faux-fiancé.

The day we arrived in Costa Rica, it took all of half an hour for others to start digging into my relationship status. THIRTY-FUCKING-MINUTES.
We were whisked into my friend's mother's home upon arrival from the airport, and quickly ushered into the dining room.
I was digging into my arroz con pollo, when the first jab at my status was thrown my way.
ManOfTheHouse: Decided to leave the boyfriend at home?
Me: Nah. No boyfriend to worry about.
ManOfTheHouse: Oh, so you're here to find yourself a Tico boyfriend, I see.
Me: Nah. I just really like it here.
ManOfTheHouse: Because your "rib" is calling you here. You'll find him in due time.
Me: ... nah.

My "rib." Get the fuck out of here.
I lost my appetite and went to play some soccer with my little ones.

The following day, my friends took me to a huge, private hospital. Francisco, the man of the group, is friends with the administrator of the cardiology department, and told us the dude was eager to meet Mom and me if we were cool with it (the man owns an island off the coast, this was flattering as fuck. Of course we agreed!).
Fran: Good place to find a Tico boyfriend ::wink::
Me: ... I dropped out of medical school because I hate doctors... (but I DID have interest in cardiology... goddamn it)

For the following two hours spent at the hospital, each young dude we bumped into would elicit some sort of wink or eyebrow raise from Francisco towards me. I'd just crack a side-smile and shake my head.
... there were about seven cute guys. Whatever. I'm a girl, ok? I have eyes and have a vast appreciation of the male form. Shit.

Friday we had a school function to attend for the littlest of my buddies, so we headed over in the early afternoon.
As we waited in line to enter the school, we started talking about the next couple of days, which we were going to spend camping in the jungle and shit of that nature. Mom and I were thanking them for the time they were taking out of their schedule to spend it with us and show us around.
Francisco: It's the least we could do. All we ask is that we get invited to AnoMALIE's wedding.
Me: No need for that, just come as soon as you can, because if you wait until my wedding, you'll never get to see the States.
Francisco: You're really NOT getting married?
Me: NO! Never!
Francisco: Doesn't that upset your boyfriend? Or are you guys just planning to elope? If you elope, just let us know at least a month in advance so we can make it to that.
Me: Nah, no eloping. No marriage. No boyfriend. I'm staying single forever. So no weddings or any of that.

The rest of the week, even while we were out checking out mangroves and geeking out over toucans and white-faced capuchin monkeys and hermit crabs and fucking boas, references to my "fiancé" were made. It took me ALL WEEK to try to convince them I truly was not engaged, had no intention to marry ANYONE, and that I was fine alone-- I am fine living vicariously through others (I'll just watch YOU fuck up not only your life, but also the lives of others. I'll chill here and occasionally cry myself to sleep when feeling extra lonely... then proceed to continue with my worry-free life).
Did I succeed in convincing them?
My second-to-last day in Costa Rica, we went to the ritziest mall in San Jose and window-shopped, for the most part (we wound up buying about 200 dollars-worth of coffee. That shit is MAAAAAAAAGIC, I tell ya!). We walked past a wedding dress store.
Francisco: Look! That dress is perfect for AnoMALIE' wedding with *DudeFriendIJokeWith*

Mom stares at me. My little homies stare at me and giggle with their mom.

Me: Nah. Nope. No wedding. With anyone. Ever. No dresses. Not gonna happen.

I tried to be happy during this trip... and I was... at times I was pretty fucking euphoric (those goddamned adorable, intelligent capuchin monkeys... and the lovelorn toucans, made me feel like I was going to burst out of my skin... as did all the fucking rice I ate out there, but that's another story), but there was this wild, lingering sense of sadness. It would be... somewhat unbearable sometimes.
It's one thing to hate on myself for being so alone and unable to attract dudes (that I like, to be fucking clear here), but another to feel the pity and judgement from others because of my single status. They feel SO SORRY, and SO COMPELLED to hook me up-- with ANYONE-- as if that's the sole purpose of living. Live to be in a relationship? To have a companion? To fuck? WHY? Why is it so unacceptable to be alone? Is it unthinkable that some folk out there enjoy solitude?
Yeah, it makes me sad if I think about NEVER finding someone I click with... to go on all these adventures without my "rib"... that perhaps my lobster has been captured and digested a LONGASS time ago... but I resigned myself to this life.
I've said it before: I'm alone. I'm solitray. I always have been. I can't MISS something I've NEVER had... no use in YEARNING for it.
My creative writing teacher always said the point in life was to find something to keep us occupied while the hearse gets here... and that's what I do. I stay occupied by drawing, and writing, and reading, and coloring, and throwing rocks, and climbing shit, and lifting shit, and seeing shit... asking questions, answering questions, laughing, crying... all that shit. Nowhere in there am I making out with boys, groping or getting groped, fucking, and MUCH LESS raising babies. You see that as weird? Well, I see your low-tolerance of chilies as weird, but you don't see me rubbing a fucking habanero all over your face.
Live and let live.
Is it sad that I CAN'T and probably WON'T find love? Yeah, I guess, since the majority of the world seems to do a decent job at it... and it is kinda sad to read about all those people who die all alone and shit... but I stay busy and play around with my surroundings, waiting for that hearse to pick me up.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

To the sky

There's a moment from this trip which has been replaying in my mind since the moment it went down.
I have to write it down in hopes of finally being able to rest.

Tuesday was my last full day in Costa Rica. After a number of days going on extensive road trips throughout the country, we decided to keep it relatively calm and only visit a nearby volcano (a little over an hour drive) and then end the day at home, in a huge family dinner.
The day was running smoothly, and my mood was chipper, I actually wasn't too devastated by the thought of leaving Costa Rica and returning to my desert prison. It's aight. There's resignation there.
Anyway, after the dinner, the little girl of the gang lured me outside, to a tiny park shared by her grandmother's house and four other homes.
I was fighting an aggressive food coma by helping my kid swing, when I was startled by an energetic "Hola!"
I looked around and saw no one-- until a couple of shaggy, baby pigtails bounced to my left.
"Hola!" I heard once more.
It was a cute, tiny little girl... so little, I was surprised she could even walk, much less talk.
Her eyes were small, dark, and round... but they had this friendly sparkle-- those little eyes had a smile, if that makes sense.
She had dimples, and her skin was very fair.
My kid did not acknowledge the friendly little girl, but I couldn't help but smile when I looked at her pretty little eyes and innocent smile.
"Hola!" I said while waving, and tilting my head towards her.
The friendly little girl proceeded to struggle with the other swing in the set, and I felt compelled to help her out.
"Quieres que te ayude?" I asked-- Want me to help you?
"SI! Y dame fuerte, muyyyy fuerte!" she said. Yes! And push me hard, super hard!
My kid was glaring at the cute little girl, I'd say she was even trying to make her jealous by showing her SHE could swing very hard on her own.
"But what if you fall?" I asked.
"No, no me caigo! Dame fuerte, muy fuerte! Hasta que llegue al cielo!"
No, I won't fall! Swing me hard, real hard! Until I reach the sky!
I remembered being her age, and swinging with similar intentions, so I smiled... then she finished her sentence:
"Para que pueda estar con mi Papa Antonio!"
So I can be with my Dad Antonio.

It's one thing to read this sort of story, or hear it from someone else's mouth... or even watch it in a movie or television show... but... I can't describe the heartbreak I felt HEARING it from the mouth of this... tiny, adorable, kind, friendly creature. This baby girl I had initially failed to notice was not wearing any shoes.
Guys, she was so upbeat and... lively... so... it was strange. Such a happy kid with such a heartbreaking hope.
Her last statement made me swallow hard as I felt tears building in my eyes and my bottom lip begin to quiver.
"Oh..." was all I could manage to say without the fear of sobbing out loud.

Before any more time passed to give me room to begin crying like my typical, idiot, overly-sentimental self, the little girl's grandmother walked towards the swing set.
"So you managed to get someone to swing you, you little bandit?" asked the lady.
"Grandma! She's going to swing me up to the sky! Up with Papa Antonio!" said the little girl.
The lady walked closer to me.
"But Papa Antonio is in heaven. You're too young to have any business in heaven, Seidy," said the lady.
"What?! You're telling me YOU don't want to be reunited with Wilson in heaven?!" said Seidy, the little girl.

The entire time, I was swinging Seidy, looking at the old lady, and then looking at the ground.
"Papa Antonio was her dad-- my son. He committed suicide two years ago... but how do you tell that to a child, you know? And Wilson was my husband, he died last year."
By now I was trying my hardest not to sniffle. "Oh" was the only syllable I could blurt out without fear of crying like a ninny.

Swing me to the sky...
The innocence of childhood is just... wow.

Monday, April 15, 2013

fuck jitters

Evidently bad shit likes to happen prior to me going on a trip.
... the fuck?

Not to make light of today's tragedy (I did spend a vast majority of the day getting quite upset/angry about it), I'm opting to just change the subject.

I'm nervous and sick.
It's not cool. I had to sit down for an hour because I swore I was going to puke all over the place if I stood any longer.

My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon... from here to LA to Miami to San Juan.
I shouldn't be irritated or nervous, but I fucking am. I feel so ridiculously sick.
I feel like shit.
I'm angry with myself... is that normal?
I think I need to have a girl moment, cry out loud... then just get the fuck over it.
I... I'm... I don't know what to say.
I'm HELLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAA self-loathing right now like you have no idea.

(I finished editing the story last night. I shouldn't even consider it editing, since I fucking quit a fourth of the way in. By the end, my mind had been thoroughly raped... this might be another reason I'm hating myself right now. I need to cry and scream. Bye)

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Editing who

So, I'm still on this fucking story, right?
(I can't say that without holding an imaginary gun to my temple)
I'm not hating. I'm just really concerned about losing my own voice and picking up some of the egregious errors my friend is into... because I do that... with everything.
Back in high school, I'd be kicking ass in calculus, acing shit left and right, thinking "This is some easy fucking shit... wow," then my friend who wasn't getting it at all (poor girl, Kelley and I would always mention to each other what a sweet girl she was, but to please KEEP HER FROM TALKING TO US ABOUT CALCULUS!) would ask me questions... explain to me why SHE wasn't getting it... and in my attempt to comprehend her, I'd doubt myself and GAIN her confusion, then I'd fuck my grade by getting some C's, and my final grade would always fucking drop to a B... all because I was a fucking imbecile who would DISCUSS calculus with my confused friend-- she'd get a B because she'd be the C-student who'd speak to her A-friends. Kelley stayed an A because she's a genius... and not as easily corrupted as I (she DID deal with my dumbass all through college. Ask her about Mam Phys or BioChemII... I managed to suck her into my world of "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" I almost managed the same result with Molecular Biology, but she stayed sane for that. Contrastingly enough, we were the ass-kicking duo for Organic Chemistry... only crying on extremely rare occasions-- ask us about KBr pellets... motherfucking PIECES OF SHIT!). If I wouldn't be so anti-social, I'd probably get sucked into a fucking cult... that's how corruptible my innocent, idiotic brain can be.

ANYWAY! I'm reading this story while listening to music so I can stay a little aloof to the style.
I can totally hear my friend's voice in the story, and I AM feeling for her... I'm feeling a little sad.
I'm pretty sure all writers add personal experiences to their stories-- I sure as fuck do.
With this friend, I'm reading and I know SHE'S the protagonist... the person she wishes she would have been.

In real life, she's married to a somewhat violent cop... a guy who's probably 5'6", while she stands at 5'10". He's bald... with two kids from a prior marriage. He's round... husky, if you will tolerate the term... reminds me of a bulldog, to be quite frank.
I do wonder what exactly drew her to him... and my best guess is his character... that super strong behavior... tough-dude behavior. That HAS to be it.
The dudes in her story (oh my god, you mean to tell me the plot is a girl who likes two dudes? Wow. Haven't heard that one before) are ALL "around six foot two inches tall." One has magnetic blue eyes, the other... I forgot what adjective she used to describe the green... might have been "electric." One is a shaggy blonde, the other a dude with a black, buzz-cut fade. Whaaat? Yeah, I'm shocked as well.
Both are muscular, but EFFORTLESSLY muscular... as in "Oh, I'm buff? Totally didn't notice. Must be my genetics or some shit. I eat like a horse and do yard work. That's it. I'd call it Paleo if I cared to read health magazines, which I don't, 'cause I live in the country and I only care about farming... and getting dirty in rugged vehicles!"
SO! I'm reading this story and I feel heartbreak for HER, my friend, not the protagonist.
This is her fantasy world (I reach the "romance" portions... where the dude is fantasizing about "covering her lips with mine." I just grumble... like... come on, dude! COME ON! WHO talks like that? A prepubescent, sexually confused young man? Grumble), where these hot dudes are madly in love with this strong-willed, wild, smart young woman (who just so happens to fall into a HUGE inheritance... surprised again? Yeah, me too! ::sarcasm::) with witty comebacks (the "wit" is similar to the wit I had as a fourth grader... I wish I were kidding... ohhhhhhh, I'm making myself sad and disappointed in what a hating-ass bitch I'm being... but I'm frustrated!).
I'm reading and thinking "THIS COULD HAVE BEEN YOU! IN REAL LIFE! WHY DID YOU SETTLE?!" Because in real life, this friend of mine WAS stunning... tall with a bangin' body... and she was adventurous, and sporty, and liked cars, she KNEW cars... she was a badass... and then, suddenly, she just... gave up, as a teen... and married this divorced guy... and fell into the housewife routine. WHY?

So I'm reading this story, and all I find myself wondering is WHY SHE gave up her potential... and why she didn't just make a story about THAT.
WHY did you settle for the guy with kids and gave up on you carefree spirit? WHY? You once called me, ready and willing to abandon this family, but only if I helped you... I told you to give me a couple of weeks to think about it, then suddenly I didn't hear back from you... WHAT HAPPENED? Write about THAT. THAT is more interesting than this Twilight rehash. Come on now, Holmes!

Ah... ok, enough of a break. I have to finish editing.
(Pulls trigger)

Saturday, April 13, 2013


"Everyone we meet is a mirror of something we don't see within ourselves."

Ain't that the motherfucking truth.

I made the mistake of telling a friend I'd help her edit her story. Her novel.
Two pages in, I realized why I hardly agree to do this: I hate it.
I hate editing, that is. I don't even enjoy editing my own shit, much less someone else's.
The grammatical errors are eating away at me, and I can't help but roll my eyes with a lot of the story line.
This is the same story in which I made a mini appearance... which, surprise! I had to be edited out of because the fucking character was so banal to the plot.
I had high hopes for this second edit... but... sweet baby Jesus... I'm on page 80 of 450 and I have taken five tea breaks (the fact that I'm staying caffeine free until May 19th is really fucking me up).
It's not that it's boring... it's just... predictable... but I definitely see others enjoying it, particularly high schoolers... regular, non-honors students. There's no double entendre, no symbolism, no... it's very... cut and dry. It's not patronizing. It's not condescending. It's... there. And the sense of pace is slowwwwwww... then fast... then super fast. Erratic, but not artistic erratic.

Back in my creative writing days, I enjoyed reading certain people's stuff... like Kelley and Darcy's stuff... but other classmates made me want to slam my bedroom door against my forehead.
I love this friend of mine, so I'm plowing through this... a little disappointed, since I thought she'd be better, considering she reads much more than I do... but I guess the whole quality versus quantity is evident in this case (she uh... loved the 50 Shades of BULLSHIT series as well as the Twilight garbage... so... I pretty much asked for this... I SHOULD have expected this prose. God, I hate myself for being so harsh and cunt-tastic).
Another thing is that she tries to get a little vulgar, but stops herself short right before it gets believable (yeah, there's a "believable" level of vulgarity. If my character is going to go around saying "shit" and "asshole" all over my story, why the fuck am I gonna have him say "dang" as opposed to "damn!" or "heck" as opposed to "hell"? I'm going to have that motherfucker saying "shit," "fuck," "bitch," "cunt," "dick," "balls," "pussy," and all other sorts of vulgarities dudes say when having a night out with the homies. Understandable? Let's be consistent here, for fuck's sake)... which is beginning to drive me bananas. If you're gunning for potty-mouthed dude, homie, go all out. When guys trash-talk, BOY do they trash-talk. I trash-talk... and I'm a girl... I TRY to filter stuff... sometimes. Guys? They tend to have a thinner filter... if any.
SO. Yeah.

And the last issue is that I feel my OWN voice going to shit the deeper I get into this story. I feel it unraveling all the shit I've learned over the years. You know when you're out, and somehow wind up chatting with the meathead of the group, and you feel your IQ draining from your brain as if someone just poked holes in your garden hose of intelligence? You start fearing that pretty soon you'll enter a catatonic, perhaps comatose state if you sit any longer next to that black-hole of intelligence... you'll start slipping off your chair... grunting monosyllabic words... drooling all over yourself... fall limp on the floor, no longer capable of recalling the intrinsic need to BREATHE.
Not pretty.

May God have mercy on my poor, failing brain.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Call it a problem

The last week or so has been somewhat rough for me.
Typical shit, ya know... crying, arguing, realizing a lot of people only view you as a money sign, realizing others have been lying to you for god knows how long... shit like that.
I've also had to deal with the "stress" of finalizing plans for the May trip. Somewhat of a headache, since I tend to suffer a panic attack each time I think of that piece of shit country of France... fucking stupid asshole France.
THEN there's my body. No one really tells you all the fucking bullshit your body will pull on you when you're "transforming."
There are good days... days when you'll look in the mirror and see some coolass muscle in places you never thought possible (at least on your own body). I geeked out the moment I saw the top two squares of my abs showing when I flexed, I practically passed out when I noted my obliques were coming in (that is some serious awesome shit), and I also have a thing for my pelvic bones-- never thought there'd come a day when I'd be able to see those.
Then there are bad days. Bad days suck dick. My bad days generally consist of noticing my jeans are tightening in the thighs/ass... or I'll feel like my skin is getting "pulled" in random areas. The pulling sensation freaks me out. It's not much different from the feeling you get when stretch-marks are coming in... except stretch-marks are itchy as fuck. This is what upsets me... because the thought of NEW stretch-marks makes me want to jump off a bridge. I have ENOUGH fucking stretch-marks, which I've finally learned to somewhat embrace-- SOMEWHAT.
Recently, my thighs and ass have been a problem-- they have been getting big, where it fucking worries me. Is it NORMAL for your ass to just start blowing up as if getting inflated by some air pump? My pants hug the fucking hell out of my bottom... and it's not like I can "suck it in," it's my fuckin' ass-- it's BAM! Right there!
I'd say my tits could be a "problem" as well, but what girl complains about her tits getting big? So yeah, I sense this has something to do with my girly hormones... that stupid, unstable cocktail of danger.

I told my sister of this problem the other day.
D: And it's just your ass and thighs getting big?
Me: Dude, my tits are also spilling out of the top of my bras.
D: Is your gut getting big?
Me: No. That's the annoying part. My pants fit fine in the waist, but I'm scared of sitting down because I feel my pants will rip at the thighs or ass.
D: Is your ass just fat, or firm?
Me: It's rock hard, dude!
D: Bigger tits and a bigger, tighter ass... I wouldn't call that a problem, idiot.

I didn't listen to her... because I'm a hypochondriacal idiot... and I chose to believe my body was just winding up to explode back to its gibongous stage of the mid '00's.
Then today I decide to get into my tightest fitting gym pants.
My ass IS bigger than it used to be (I'll be the first to admit my ass is small and stupid. I'm not delusional when it comes to my ass. It might have been big when I was a seven year old, but I totally grew into it during adolescence), but my hammies are magic, and my tummy is flatter than ever.
My body was just doing that lame thing it likes to do when readjusting sizes.

I swear, guys, you can physically feel when your body is tightening up. You FEEL it randomly... and it makes you think you're cramping... or suffering from a hernia... or blowing up like a pufferfish. It's like getting smacked by a giant rubberband. You have no idea WHERE the readjusting will take place (spot training is BULLLLLLLSHIIIIIIT!), but after two or three weeks, you'll catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and think "Well, fuck me! That *body part* looks badass! Where the fuck did that come from?!"
Don't know if people who have been thin their entire lives experience this, but as someone who spent decades as a human pomegranate, I'm telling you it happens... at least to me it does. It sucks balls for two weeks when you feel like a silverback gorilla, but then through some fucking miracle, you see the progress for which you've been working so motherfucking hard.

I still think I'll spend the next few weeks in spandex though... 

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Tomar Vuelo

Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me!
Well, more like a gypsy's life.

I wanted to be quiet about this... but I feel I might explode if I don't share it somewhere...
I'm ging to Costa Rica in exactly a week...
Then I return the following week, hit the gym as hard as fucking possible, accompanied by the strictest protein/veggies diet until the wedding on the 18th of May, then go to a couple of graduation parties on the 19th... and then I fly out to Berlin on the 22nd.
My sister is accompanying on this Eurotrip part deux. She's meeting me up in Berlin a couple of days after I arrive, then we head out to Paris, for a DECENT Paris visit... where we're going to speak as much fucking French as possible... and NOT stay in the motherfucking HOOD.
Then we're ending our trip in Barcelona... Madrid might get squeezed in if we feel it's absolutely imperative.
Then I return in June.
Then I head out to Mexico at the ends of July. I'm hanging out with my brotherovski in Juarez for a few days, then I go to Hometown for that damned wedding... I might head out to Cancun from there, then fly back home... because that roadtrip from Homrtown to Vegas makes me sweat... just the fucking thought of it makes me want to barf.

So... my itinerary is getting CRAZY... and I fucking love it.
I just have to keep my lips sealed.
... but the blog doesn't count, since no one goes off and talks about it on social media (I love y'all for that).

This is how I keep my mind busy. This is how I keep from crying.
I'm happy.

Monday, April 8, 2013


Astrology claims Aries are assholes... pushy, self-centered assholes.

He had these dark, sarcastic, witty comments. Instead of repelling me... they'd crack me up. They drew me closer to him.
Not gonna lie, I was intimidated by him. I often felt like a complete fucking idiot next to him... and I was scared he'd judge me as another dumbshit girl with nothing but vapid shit to say, so I'd be a total mute.
He and his friends would joke about what a misogynist he was... and instead of me speaking up and protesting, I'd just giggle.
I didn't think he was an asshole, I just thought he had a slightly rough exterior. I thought he was detached.

Then I started noticing the little things.
I noticed when he'd speak to me whenever we'd bump into each other, his eyes would light up and his smile would be... really adorable.
I now know he did this because of the recognition. He didn't hate me, so he wouldn't roll his eyes or try to avoid me... he was just being a NICE GUY-- a nice dude greeting a nice girl.
He was just being nice, but this made me fall hard, and irreversibly for him.
Over the years, he just continued to do little things... which showed me he actually had a heart, a quite solid one... and it did nothing to end my crush on him.
I mistakenly thought it was serendipity, but it was really just coincidence.

Then came the horrible day of the rejection letters.
I always talk about this, but it seriously marked a change in my life-- this rejection from every single school.
I was devastated. I was tired. I had been sobbing so hard, my cries could be heard throughout the house. I was a mess, a wreck... I was destroyed.
In the midst of my crying, and sobbing, and confusion... all went silent. Everything stopped... even my heart beat at a slower pace.
Wait.. did he... this says... he just...
Darcy tried... he expressed... he felt bad for me. He randomly spoke up and tried consoling me... just fucking randomly, hours after reading the most difficult news in my life.
The world seriously went silent for me. I sat in awe of what had just happened.

Of course I went back to sobbing violently, but for about five minutes, I sat in complete silence, thinking
Well, FUCK! He... he has a heart. 

Darcy doesn't like me. He never has.
Well, let me clarify, he doesn't like me like that.
He has always been a friend... a good person to me... I'm the one who misinterpreted everything. I'm the one who allowed her imagination to run wild. I created "possibilities" out of random acts of kindness... something I criticize and hate when others do that with me. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he just gave me a metaphorical pat in the head.
Oh, you silly, sad girl.
He taught me a hard lesson in compassion. An "Asshole" Aries gave a "Peaceful" Pisces a lesson in kindness.

Darcy, a self-centered asshole? Nah. Not at all.
He may have been born on a day like today and therefore be considered an Aries... he may appear to be egotistical, conceited, intimidating, distant, cold, or caustic, but he's really sweet, caring, kind, accepting, concerned... all of those pretty, warm adjectives. Much more so than I am.
Not only is he wildly intelligent AND bewitchingly handsome... but he's a good guy... a great guy.

I'm lucky to have met him, so I can at least know such humans do exist... even if there's no chance for me to ever get him, as miserable as the realization might make me sometimes.
I hope he finds someone who inspires as much awe in him, as he inspires in me... a guy of that caliber certainly deserves it.

Sunday, April 7, 2013


Alrighty. I have time to upload photos and crack the fuck up.
I am, however, going to refrain from posting as many as I had originally thought... because they are SO FUCKING bad.
Here we go.

Let's take it back to good ol' '05. The summer of '05. The summer where there was a wedding on my dad's side of the family, and everyone was part of the bridal party, everyone but me. I wasn't asked because I'd kill the vibe, because I "wasn't pretty enough. Only hot girls allowed as bridesmaids."
Everyone was told I had turned down the offer to be in it because I'm so shy and whatnot... though the GROOM personally told me that about "only hot girls allowed in my wedding." Instead of objecting and telling everyone the true story, I stuck to only telling my mom and sister. To this day, my dad and my brother both think I'm a crazy, antisocial idiot.
Anyway, the photos:
That right there is the family-- my siblings and my cousins. The circle.
The look they're tossing me breaks my heart, still... actually, the entire photo does... even the angle, and especially the distance at which I took it.
Me? Ostracized? Says who?
It was impossible not to feel like the biggest fucking loser on the face o the universe this day.

Now, was my cousin (the groom) correct in leaving me out of the party? Well... as embarrassing as this may be, I'll let you be the judge. This is what I looked like that summer:
I'm the orange wastebasket in the middle.
I was going to say "dumbass" but it looks like my brother has reserved that noun.
My stomach hurts looking at this. I feel... as though I'm... I don't know what to say. It's hard to look at this for more than a second. It hurts. It breaks my heart.
To tell you the truth, I don't know how they managed to convince me to get in the photo.
By the way, that kid in the suit is my rockstar godson... this was around the time they'd call him derogatory terms due to his lanky figure...
My, how the world turns.
I don't even want to talk about this.
I'm just going to take a seat over here and cry for a couple of minutes...
This was also the summer after meeting Darcy. This was the summer following my two semesters of creative writing.
So... seeing the '05 photos was this horrifying moment where the lightbulb went off. That... eureka moment. The epiphany.
There is NO WAY in fucking hell he could have ever liked me. No way. In fucking. Hell.
Jesus. I feel so embarrassed to think... like... dude... I was a fucking truck. He was this super slender guy-- some might venture to call LANKY, but I avoid it, especially after Godson showed me how hurtful that adjective can be-- and I was this fucking truck totally after his bones. Sweet baby jesus... the embarrassment nearly makes me vomit.
He never LIKED me... NOT like THAT. I just... fixated and felt this absolutely one-sided attraction to the guy.
He didn't see you like an attractive girl... he saw you like A FRIEND, you fucking moron. He probably pitied your fat ass, you deluded dumbshit!
I can't fucking complain about this enough... it's horrible. I'm remarkably irritated with myself... for being such a stubborn, blind, annoying idiot.
Poor guy. Poor, poor Darcy.
I do find solace in knowing I never spilled my fucking idiotic heart out to the guy... poor guy... just imagine the awkwardness if I HAD... no manches.
And STILL, he was so incredibly cool to me... it's shit like that which makes me fiercely loyal to someone. Knowing someone who could have totally kicked my fat ass to the curb-- like my good ol' family-- instead put up with my obnoxious fawning (though, can it be considered that if my admiration was sincere?) and was kind to me... it melts me... and makes it a breeze for me to have their back for as long as they want me around.
So, as far as Darcy goes-- dude can totally forget I exist... he can avoid me like the plague, but for as long as I'll have use of memory, I'll have nothing but nice things to say about him... and gratitude towards him. I like him as a person even more now... is that weird?

This doesn't just pertain to Darcy, but like I said before, I mean it for all my friends I acquired through those rough years... Darcy just gets a special mention because I had/have this massive, eternal little flame in my heart for him, and instead of him being a cunt to me (like I have been on numerous occasions with guys who have, for some psychotic reason, owned up to crushing on me), he just lets me be. That's a good dude-- take it from me, a girl who has been humiliated every turn she takes.

The subject of Darcy probably hijacked the post because tomorrow marks another anniversary of him being placed on this planet.
I'm tired, I'm fighting a cold, and I'm embarrassed... it wasn't too difficult for the subject of Darcy to pop into my head and all over my blog.

... my god... how I must have pestered him. EMBARRASSING.
Excuse me, now, I have to crawl into bed and try to burn these images out of my mind as I drift to la-la land.
Does this entry make sense? No idea... my guess is NO.


Considering it's tax season, I've been busy scanning receipts for both my parents and my brother.
This scanning of documents requires I use the old desktop I have completely abandoned in my recently-converted-homegym. It just so happens to be that this computer contains all of my short stories, as well as my first digital photos ever taken.

It is EMBARRASSING SHIT to go through those nuggets of teenage-early 20's stupidity.
Well... it's not so stupid, just embarrassing to see the photos I'd take (selfies, let's be clear here) as a teen. The short stories aren't stupid (for the most part) or embarrassing... they're just... the feelings that resurface after reading the short stories are somewhat difficult to deal with. The fact that I was sitting in the same chair and in the same position as I would be whenever I'd be on-line back in the day (I enjoyed home internet for the first time at 15) made the uneasy feelings amplify.

I don't know what to discuss-- the photos or the stories.
I feel like sharing a little bit of both, but as previously stated, they sort of embarrass me.
... Then again, I did learn a lot from sorting through these memories.

1. I have a ridiculously distorted self-image.
2. I really DO overuse the term "got."
3. I'm naive as FUCK.
4. I'm super uncool.
5. Fantasy world? Fantasy-fucking-universe... border-lining lunacy.

I'm also now much more disenchanted about life... that's pretty depressing.

I think I'll start with the photos, but later today, since it's already two in the morning and I have to be out and about in five hours. I also have to take the photos from the desktop and add them here.
They're MORTIFYING, but for the sake of shits and giggles, I'll post them.

P.S. I can safely say that anyone who stuck around after meeting me anytime between 2000 and 2011 is my fucking hero and I can't help but feel an infinite amount of gratitude... what huge hearts they have, certainly much larger than my bitchass (I always wonder if I'd be friends with someone like me, and after seeing and reading all this shit, the answer is one HUGE HELLfuckingNO).

Friday, April 5, 2013

Coffee withdrawals

This month marks my one year of coffee addiction.
I was never a coffee drinker, not even though my AP high school years, or even my college years.
I joke that I could have been mormon.

However, after going to Costa Rica last year, I got in the habit of drinking black coffee twice a day.
This last month, in preparation for May's wedding, I've staved off the coffee. I do my best to keep my grill clean, but coffee stains, regardless of how intense I may floss or rinse, are impossible to avoid.
SO, in hopes of getting my grill as white as possible, I've called it quits on caffeine until the fucking lame spotlight is off me.

This has turned out incredibly difficult... this exclusion of coffee.
I'm more restless than ever. I go to bed after three in the morning... then I wake up tired as hell.
I spend the time at the gym yawning like a bored feline.
I'm fuckin' dyin'!
Speaking of which, I even have withdrawals, where I swear I'm suffering a heartattack. Random bouts of tachycardia surprise me throughout the day. I have to giggle to myself as I think weird shit while encountering the palpitations.
Shit would fucking suck if I passed out right now... driving 80 MPH on the highway... that would be one fiery fucking mess...

I swear, if I'm going through all this motherfucking trouble to look half-decent for this retardedass wedding... and I get stuck with the fucking CREEP of the groomsmen (as is fucking CUSTOMARY, since I'm good ol' sweet idiotic AnoMALIE... who doesn't say shit and just sits there and smiles while her partner is running around, making a fucking scene)... I'm going to pick up my shit and walk out. Plain and simple.

The back of my mind is telling me this is certainly going to happen... because AnoMALIE + weirdos go hand in hand like... Spring and flowers.
I'm going to bet I get a weirdo... or a divorcé.... ohhhh! My money's on the divorcé who will spend the rest of the night swearing up and down that I want his fucking dick.
Great. I just jinxed myself. I feel dirty already.
Good shit.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

You're not my dad

As is usual, I intended to update sooner. I keep going back and forth.
My laptop has also been on the fritz after downloading a file from a friend that I can swear slowed my shit down. But whatever.

My brain has been a jumbled mess these last few weeks.
There has been some crazy shit going on in the household, primarily, my dad's bizarre behavior.
My frustration and confusion finally boiled over yesterday, when I confronted him in his room, and started to cry.

My dad had been super quiet since his return from Cuba. Super shady.
Things exploded a few days ago when he accused my mother and me of being "satanists" because we're Catholic.
I don't know... it's like... I was scared... I didn't know what was wrong and especially didn't know how to FIX it. It has been the most terrified I've ever been.
My whole life I've dealt with Mom and Dad fighting over religion... but never ever had Dad dared to offend us in that fashion... it was terrifying. TERRIFYING. If you're willing to call your own blood a "satanist"... what's the next step? Abandoning us? Trying to perform some sort of... exorcism? Had my dad finally jumped off the deep end? WHAT THE FUCK did they do to him in Cuba? WHAT THE FUCK?!

I also bumped into some alarming e-mails by accident. Since I do all of my dad's permit work (considering he works with diesel and has the gas station... and a couple of concrete companies, and now the houses my folks own, I have to keep up to date with all sort of permits, since it's basically internet shit and my parents are pretty much living in a Stone Age mentality), I have to check out his e-mail to see the replies I get from the different state departments. This time, I was keeping up with a Hazmat permit, which requires about three different replies, so I decided to check his e-mail.
I saw e-mails from ONE lady... with the subject line being... well, shady... so I couldn't help myself and I read them.
Since the e-mails originate from Cuba, she can send them, but Dad can't reply.... and... well... I felt like a mule kicked me when I read her overly-friendly e-mails.
I didn't tell my mom, I just kept it to myself.

Finally, yesterday, when I tried convincing him to come to the living room to skype with our Costa Rica friends and he turned me down, I couldn't help myself and I finally broke down.
And he finally spoke up.

After nearly four hours of listening to him talk, I made progress. He couldn't talk to Mom about it, since Mom is stubborn and won't listen to religious talk which she finds offensive to the Catholic church. I, on the other hand, have learned to be extremely tolerant of ANYONE'S views on religion (positive and negative), whether they clash with mine or not. I'll listen. I don't have to agree, but I definitely try to understand.
So... I made sure to make Dad feel-- to KNOW-- his opinions, feelings, and thoughts are important--VALID-- to me, regardless of how much I may disagree with them.

And I think we're good. I think he released whatever was weighing him down.

Heavy shit, guys.