Really Matter

I know MANY are irritated by my timidity, but no one is more frustrated by it than me.

I make a goddamn honest effort to not clam up... I even do that stupid thing where I spend hours just pumping myself up to NOT be quiet and shy. I try and think of things that encourage me to be chirpy and nice and talkative... But it doesn't work. It doesn't work for anything more than half an hour.

Yesterday was a very bad day.

Neither D nor JC thought I'd reach the level I did.

It was a combination of sadness, anger, and above all FRUSTRATION... which led me to wilt from 4:30 in the afternoon and on.

D and JC thought I'd be able to laugh it off, because they thought I was being dramatic... but after an hour, they were concerned, doing everything in hopes of getting a smile out of me.

Then they were quiet. Frowning, they left me alone in the kitchen, where I was finally able to cry out my frustration.

When shit goes down, I swear it's like I'm having an out of body experience. My head keeps screaming "TALK, YOU IDIOT! RIGHT NOW! RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOW!" But my body shuts down-- my lips seal, and I walk away.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!!" I can hear my mind scream next. "DON'T YOU WALK AWAY! You go back in there and do what you came here to do!"

But I just keep walking.

Whether it's ordering gelato, or asking for directions, I panic... and I quit.

This is all so very exhausting for me. It saddens me like few other things can... Because I know what I NEED to do, but somehow I allow my intimidation to get the best of me, and I lose.

Yesyerday, I was SET to go out and chill with Darcy, regardless whether JC and/or D would accompany me.

First JC bailed, and I was fine-- I know my way around the city, I have a map, and he needed to finish up a very important assignment. 

D was on board because she didn't want to be alone for so long... But I could tell she was very reluctant about it.

"Tell me again why I need to care about going here?" she asked as we made our way to the train station.

"Because I care..." was all I could say, feeling my throat closing up... knowing this was not going to end well.

We made line to purchase tickets, and as I touched the screen, D took over and started inputing the information.

Right before I inserted the money, she flipped out.

"WAIT! We're paying HOW MUCH?! No. I'm sorry, we're NOT GOING. I'm a broke ass. I don't have that kind of money. I don't know him. No. And I'm not going to let YOU spend this amount of money for a guy, either. No. It's stupid. I'm sorry."

I looked at her, completely confused by her display of bewilderment. I felt my throat closing up, and couldn't control the tears from escaping my right eye (that eye is such a weak piece of shit. Always loses it first and kills it for me).

But... It's only an hour away... Plans are ready... We just need to hop on a train and it... WE'RE ONLY AN HOUR AWAY!

Instead of making a further scene, I proceeded to quietly follow my sister out of the station, only murmuring "Well.. Yeah... If you didn't plan for this expense... I wouldn't want you to spend your hardearned money on something you'll be upset about doing..."

As the day continued into the night, my nonchalant façade only further broke down. By 9PM I was on the wood floor, curled up into a ball, trying to sleep as a means to keep from crying. The stiff floor welcomed, since the disconfort kept my mind off how frustrated I was with myself... All I could really think of was how to position myself to keep from physically hurting too much.

... anything to keep from thinking about how badly I was hurting on the inside.

Why do I fear conflict so much? Why do I just lay down and allow others to trample all over me just to keep the peace... To be the only one who will be left angry and upset?

JC tried "fixing" things by adding his two cents.

"If he really gave a shit, he would have made it up here. I don't know him, yet I ALMOST made the trip down there. If you mattered, that's what would have happened. I'm just telling the truth. Don't fool yourself, AnoMALIE... Now change out of those pajamas and let's go out and drink!"

I stayed in my pajamas, curled up in my bed, and proceeded to cry until I passed out for the night.

That wall... That wall will always be there.

NO. I'm sorry, we're NOT GOING!

Guessss who found herself crying in a bathroom today... !

Yup!

And at a train station.

And on a sidewalk as I waited to cross the street.

And in my kitchen-- Where all the nosy/pervy neighbors got to watch me sob away at the window... Snot adorning my mug all romantic 'n shit (sarcasm-- everyone knows I cry ugly).

I don't know why things in this universe conspire so hard to keep my from being happy... But... It's pretty fucking good at it. It's a pro, I dare say.

I'm trying as best I can to make myself laugh, but this pain in my chest makes me cry... bitterly.

Some things... Some feelings, were just never meant for me, regardless of how hard I may try to change it.

Travel time blues

Saturday night, one of my quiet "stalkers" gave himself away.

I've known the guy for over ten years, but if you rewind ten years, you'll find a chubby, shy, nerdy AnoMALIE (now you'll just find a shy nerd with a distorted self-image). He was quick to dismiss me as interesting because I wasn't a thin, "popular" girl.

He's cool with my sister, and Saturday night I learned the same goes for my brother.
I found him cute as a 17 year old, but never said anything because I knew I wasn't what he liked... so I would quietly sit away from the action and watched him play around with the pretty girls.
I'm not going to lie and say I didn't spend those afternoons wishing I could be one of those girls-- ditzy and idiotic as fuck, but so very petite and pretty... and popular.

Saturday night, as I was walking out of the ballroom to go with other members of the bridal party for some drinks (how's that for romantic? I'm a classy broad), I bumped into this dude. To my surprise, he smiled at me, and proceeded to speak to me.
Luis: Hey, AnoMALIE! You're here!
Me:... Wait... you know my name?!
Luis: Of course! You're D's sister. I saw your brother outside and asked about you. He said 'She's been living in Chicago for the last year, of course she's not here.' And I was like 'No, dumbass! I'm talking about AnoMALIE.' And now I see you weren't around because you were PART of the wedding.
Me: Ha. That's funny.
Luis: How've you been?
Me: I'm ok, I guess.
Luis: No, but FOR REAL... how are you? You doing better? You're ok?

There was this sincere sound of concern in his question... it unsettled me... but I smiled and began walking away, acting as if I was in a hurry.
Me: Oh, yeah, totally. Thanks.

I only complain on Twitter, and we have far too many friends in common.
Not to toot my own horn, but sometimes I say funny shit on Twitter, and get retweeted by some of our mutual friends... it's kind of how I see what he's up to as well.
Recently, my Tweets have been on the... maybe sort of suicidal side. Most of my guy followers have brought up my depressive tweets to my attention, quite concerned, actually... but I'm a stubborn girl... a stubborn, always very sad girl...
I don't know very many people out there who are in continuous suicide-watch... with a growing suicide-watch guard. I should probably be... grateful to have so many caring human beings in my life today, but it doesn't make the sadness go away... and I find the desire remains, regardless of how fantastic my day might have been...
The day can turn to shit in a matter of three seconds... the wonderful weekend can be decimated in the amount of seconds it takes to say "wife" (so one second?).

I'm not currently suicidal, by any fucking means, but I am sad... so very sad... with this heaviness in my chest from holding back my frustrated screams, my stifled tears.
This trip was supposed to be amazing, fun, hilarious, entertaining, smooth.
Instead, I enter it with the cavity in my chest raw--wide open... devoid of my heart.

I saw my heart get violently teared out of my chest by a fucking moron, thrown in the air, and smashed by a bat with all this idiot's might...
... and I'm now watching it shrink out of my sight over the hills, closer to the sun-- watching that dot disappear a little more with each passing second.

Emotional Injuries

There are ways to say things...
There are ways to say things, especially in public.

I'm a sarcastic person, and I joke around... but I never say things with malicious intent.
The only time I'm intentionally malicious is when dealing with someone who has hurt ME first.

Apologies are not needed. Apologies do not work.
You've revealed what really resides in your heart, and that's all I really need to know.

You're cruel.
You're selfish.
You're... you're... someone I don't care to associate with.

If you think that with your cruelty you'll manage to change my mind... to win me over... or god knows what else runs through that skull of yours, you are terribly, WILDLY mistaken.
I don't work like that, I never have.

A random stranger once told me that there was nothing uglier on a girl than a foul mouth.

Well, there is nothing uglier in a human than emotionally harming someone, intentionally.

Is my concealer running?

If tonight is at all indicative of what's to come later today... then at this wedding, good ol' drunk AnoMALIE is going to be yapping incessantly about a single, very particular subject.

Hooray.

But I'll try and be fun. Have fun? Whatever. You get it.

1997

I may not be the one getting married, but I am nervous AS FUCK.

I claim to be calm, but the fucking stress-induced chin acne begs to differ.
I have spent this week reminiscing about my teenage year with this cousin-- the soon-to-be-bride.
We had some good times... and some pretty awkward times. Today, we don't really talk. She TRIES, but... it's kinda hard to connect with her, because while I do love her, she's... kinda vapid.
I always had difficulty communicating with her... she isn't at all fluent in Spanish, it's incredibly choppy. Each time I see her communicating with her family in Spanish, I sit in complete astonishment over their ability to decipher this homegirl's speech-- you must have some sort of sixth sense to know what's going on.
Sadly, her English isn't easy to understand either. She doesn't seem to be too fond of... big words.
It was simple to communicate and have fun as teens, because all we cared about was how cute some dude might have been... or how good the soap opera was going.
But as I entered my late teens, it just... it was too much hassle.
So... I pretty much sit there and smile at her. I let her do all the talking, which is fine by me. I'm fine just remembering our fun times... how they made me FEEL.
How does remembering my times with this cousin/friend make me FEEL? Warm. Sunny. Happy.
It was weird, but yesterday morning, as I chilled on my bed waiting for the sleep to leave my body so I could finally get up and on with my day, I looked up at the ceiling and realized I was smiling to myself (no, I don't have mirrors on my ceiling).
Hmm... that's weird... I have this... the color on my ceiling reminds me a lot of how... I feel. It's orange... tan-ish... sunlight... it's warm. I feel... a familiar, pleasant, comforting sensation in my... heart... how weird. I hadn't felt that in a while... it's like... I'm... 12 again. Hi, happiness. Hi.

Remembering the summer of 1997 has probably been the best thing I could have done. It was... it was such a great time. My mom's parents were still alive... they were still very much alert... I had hopes and dreams... and this time, realizing I had hopes and dreams didn't make me depressed.
I'd spend my days playing with the kittens and dogs in the backyard... I'd ride horses... the sun would shine so gorgeously as we went on our camping trips... I looked forward to watching the soap operas and daydream that somehow I'd get to enjoy something similar to it (the positive parts of it, that is).
I'd go out with the girls and enjoy ice cream in the afternoons... we'd walk on the railroad tracks and chat about cute boys.
The possibilities were endless. The world was my fucking oyster. No one had died. Nothing had died.
It just felt so good.

And so... while I'm stressed and nervous about this wedding-- I'm preeeeeeeetty sure I'm going to look like fucking shit, I always do-- I'm finally feeling happy. I feel like I'm being ME. I hadn't been myself in a VERY FUCKING LONG TIME.

It feels good.
I think the gloom has cleared... for now... I wish for good.

Averting Disaster

I spent Mother's Day weekend diffusing a bomb.

Mexican Mother's Day was Friday, and that day went rather smoothly.
Then yesterday happened.

First off, my day went to shit since the dress alterations went to round two, and took much longer than expected. I cannot complain of this, however, since I was only charged 15 bucks for the fixing of the garbage I was originally handed.
(I did cry a little in my tailor's bathroom... since I went in there about ten times to try on the dress each time he altered it. Thanks to this blog, I've come to realize I do a lot of crying in bathrooms... that should be my fucking M.O.)
In hopes of forgetting the frustrating business that is dress alterations, we decided to go visit my mother's sister.
This was the bomb.
Her eldest son and she were arguing... fiercely-- tears and snot all over the place.
It was the most awkward entrance I've ever made.
Rather than sit in the kitchen and witness any more barbaric, irrational behavior (I can hardly stand my own, much less other people's), I walked outside and played with the poor dog who was equally confused as I.
I allowed Mom to stay inside and add her voice to the chaotic scene.

After perhaps half an hour, the son left, and we remained with my aunt.
This was where the diffusing began.
While things appeared to have calmed, my aunt remained... irrational. She had made her son believe she was cool, but in reality, she was planning to remain... harboring resentment.

I worked my empathy magic... and left feeling rather proud of myself, thinking I had solved a very uncomfortable problem.

Then today happens.
Auntie wouldn't answer her phone or texts.
Mom and I had two options: remain equally petty, or talk some fucking sense into her.
And so, after some gentle, silly coaxing, she came around.

This is how Mother's Day 2013 was NOT ruined.
Yup.

Not alone.

This is what's it's all about.
This right here I identify with one-hundred percent.
She's my kindred spirit.
I could not have explained it better myself.
The post made me smile at parts, cry at others... and feel as though someone was reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart the entire time.

Yeah.

Soy buena onda, lo juro!

"There comes a time when you have to ask yourself, what kind of person are you."
I'm a fucking asshole.

Well... I'm truly a nice person.
I behave like a nice person.
It's really just on here where I let the criticism, rage, racism... the ugly come out. But it's good... because it's the fucking release (after "editing" my friend's book, each time I write or say "release," I shudder. I read that fucking word so frequently... it was what all the sexual encounters ended in... "his release" "she released." Get the fuck out of here... get the fuck out of here. Say "orgasm" once in a fucking while... "Release"... the fuck outta here. I'm the 28 year old virgin here... the fuck are YOU doing refusing to use more graphic language? YOU'RE married!) I need.
It's better I rant here than in person. In person I'll just bite my tongue and walk away.
Plus, I have awesome friends who proceed to talk me out of my many idiotic perceptions/ideologies... will correct me, so technically, this just makes me a better person.

So heyyyy! I'm really truly polite... I'm sweet and nice... but I do need my personal space to go all fucking crazy once in a while. Sorry I subject you poor folks to this side of me... but I'm glad you sort of keep it a secret (as much as you can... because of course I go off and pull a fucking Kanye once in a while), and above all: DON'T JUDGE.

No soy mala, lo juro!

Second Chance

Again, I meant to post yesterday, but I was one of the unfortunate souls affected by the huge internet outage.

Right before the internet went down, perhaps ten minutes, I had just finished booking my Paris stay.

To say I was riding an incredible high would be an understatement.

I. Am. Stoked.

My take-home message from my first and only Paris visit: FUCK. PARIS.

But seriously, FUCK staying anywhere outside of the city... FUCK IT. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK IT!

Maybe they're nice to other nationalities, but with my experience, the French really fucking hate Americans...

The older I get, and the more I travel, the more my thoughts sort of align with this... 

I'm a self-loathing American, apparently.

Well, no... not really... though when asked, I first identify as a Mexican.

But yeah, in my travels, I've learned American tourists really piss me off... they're perhaps the most aloof folks of the bunch. Most of the outrageously ignorant shit I've heard anyone say in a foreign country HAS been an American. So... uh... thanks to my passport, I'm lumped in the group (shit, not gonna act like I'm not guilty of saying outrageous shit. I'm a total idiot who has mastered the art of shoving her foot in her mouth).

Anyway, back to Paris, everyone I've spoken to who has visited that shithole has had nothing but rave reviews.

"THEY'RE SO NICE THERE! They actually fight one another to see who gets to help a lost tourist!"

Right. Yeah. Cool. Not in my case. They would have shoved me onto the train tracks had I been thinner. They were rude assholes who didn't give two fucks about three lost, scared girls. FUCK those pricks.

"Well, everyone in the heart of Paris is sweet."

Is that so? Ok, then... I'll give it ONE MORE try. I will splurge... and YOU, fucking Paris, SHOW ME A GOOD TIME... you son of a bitch.

So yeah... I booked a sweet location... and I'm ready for this trip to Europe.

I'm stoked, regardless of how grumpy the mention of that one country might make me.

I'm sweet, so I'm giving them a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance.

Used Condom

It is astonishing how fast this year is speeding by.
I'm fuckin' dying.
Not literally... at least not to my knowledge.

The wedding used to feel like it was decades away... and now I have less than two weeks to get my shit together.
Today was the day I decided to take my dress for alterations.

This fucking dress PISSES ME OFF.
I don't understand the fucking purpose of getting your measurements taken, to ultimately be told "Yeah, so according to OUR chart, your bust is a size 13--if we made it-- your waist is a 10, and your hips are a size 15, if we made it. So... you might want to think about your largest part... so... it's either a size 14 or 16 dress you're going to have to order."
A size 14 or 16... when my waist is a 10. I dropped 200 bucks at a bridal shop to buy a PRE-MADE dress... that did not fit my upper body... not only was it baggy, but it was too short on my TORSO. MY TORSO! I'm 5'9"... how the fuck is that a freak size? AND ON A SIZE 14! What kind of fucking standard do they follow for a size 14? An obese midget? WHAT THE FUCK?!
AND THEN they charge 200 more fucking dollar for alterations... TWO-HUNDRED-FUCKING-DOLLARS.
Yeah, like I don't have anything better to do with four hundred dollars, so I'll just burn them on a fucking IDIOTICALLY SHAPED DRESS.
Why not just charge the four hundred dollars upfront and MAKE THE DRESS ACCORDING TO MY MEASUREMENTS?! Accommodate my freakishly long torso, big tits, and HIPpopotamus lower-half in one fucking shot.
Don't give me a fucking dress that will lead me to uncontrollable tears the moment I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and notice I resemble a dick covered in a fucking used condom. FUCK!

SO ANYWAY... I go ahead and put on the dress, proceed to scratch the fuck out of it as I mistreat it while looking in the mirror... and of course I cry. I'm offended by what I see AND I'm frustrated, AND it makes me feel like the ugliest piece of shit walking this planet.
You're a FREAK! YOU'RE ABNORMAL. THIS is why guys don't like you... you don't fit into the NORMAL shit... you will ALWAYS be a fucking heifer, dumbass.
I HATE dresses to begin with, but when the dress makes me feel like a fucking freak of nature, it makes me miserable. It makes me feel like such an abnormal... ugly... stupid excuse for a girl.
Why can't I be normal and fit in a pre-made dress?
I don't feel so out of the norm... and my ass is actually SMALLER than the average Latina's... yet here I am... still having to buy a BAG for a "dress."

So yeah, I've basically been crying all goddamned day because girls here are expected to be noodles with stupidly narrow hips... and because evidently I can never ever be considered fucking NORMAL.

FUUUUUCK, I HATE WEDDINGS!

They'll Cheat You

Tit update: So much better. I'm pretty sure I smashed it with the barbell while bench pressing Wednesday afternoon... which makes a lot of sense because I'm such a fucking clumsy idiot. I've opted for leaving the body part alone and completely ignoring it... if I don't think about it, it's not there, right?

Anyway! I've been on an orchestra kick since returning from Costa Rica.
close to the end of my stay, the littlest of my friends pulled me aside to whisper in my ear.
Vale: Can you do me a BIG favor?
Me: Sure, what's that?
Vale: Can you play the violin for me? Even just a little?
Me: But I didn't bring it...
Vale: We can ask my grandpa for his... just so you can play a little... just a little... please? For me.

BabyGirl is learning to play the piano, and so one day, I sat next to her and played the few basic songs I know on the piano (you know, the ones that only require the use of one hand. I never took lessons, everything was by ear and stuff I did whenever I'd be alone in the music room, bored out of my mind). We began talking about the musical instruments we know how to play.

BabyGirl asked me while shoving her fingers in her mouth, which is what she does when she's TOTALLY shy about something.
I couldn't say no.
Me: Well... let's see if I remember anything...

Muscle memory is CRAZY. I was able to bust out a few CHRISTMAS songs... which cracked me up. There was also the obvious Vivaldi... everyone knows his jams.
I tried remembering the Disney songs I know (Little Mermaid and Lion King stuff... those movies are the shit). It made my little buddies smile and applaud. It was a little embarrassing, but very pleasant to make them happy.

Orchestra...
One of my first loves that taught me one of my first tough lessons about life: you get fucked... you get cheated.
We're told if we work hard enough, and put our heart into something, we'll be rewarded.
Lie.
I was naturally gifted... and I busted my fucking ass practicing every single day in that tiny house of mine... in the ghetto. No one else in my house knowing a thing about music.
I played my fucking heart out, and STOMPED my competition-- my friend who COULD afford years of private violin tutoring. I fucking DESTROYED her by playing flawlessly, in front of ALL our classmates. And they STILL gave her the top spot, as disgusted and outraged as it made the rest of the class... as heartbroken and embarrassed as it made me.
That was the first time I felt that kick in the gut-- the sting of getting cheated because someone else was more privileged.
"It's because... I KNOW she'll have it down by the time the concert rolls around... she has a private tutor," my instructor tried justifying, as I fought back tears.
And... I won't... because I'm... poor and can't afford a tutor? I just PROVED I can bust my ass and SHINE on MY OWN.

I got the acknowledgement from my classmates of being the best... but it didn't matter... SHE still got top spot, and played all the solos... SHE got to sit in that chair. To the audience, SHE was PRESENTED as the best.

What's the point of being "better" when it will never get recognized by the majority-- when you'll just be lost in the crowd?

She really was the best... but you know... First Chair had that expensive tutor... 

Tits suck

Tit pains ain't no joke, guys.
I've been a total wimp about this uncomfortable pain on one of my boobs... and it has pretty much ruined ALL Friday for me.
I really can't think of anything else, really.

Fuck, man. 

98 and now

I learned something today:
The moment someone screams out my name, I STILL duck like a terrified puppy the moment they see the shadow of a rolled-up newspaper.
And my heart still flutters.

I was running errands, and in hopes of saving time, I stayed in my car and decided to wait for Mom as she handled business at work.
The childhood "love of my life" was working tonight, and each time we coincide, it turns into hours of awkward exchanges where I pretty much stand there and pray for a sinkhole to swallow me up whole.
I was in no mood to converse with him tonight, so I sat in my car and played a couple of games on my phone.
Half an hour into my chill time, I was hell of into my game when I heard a man SCREAM out my name.
I flinched... then I felt my heart race. I looked up, and saw him walking over to my window, with a huge smile on his face.
Him: Oh... I thought your window was down.
I opened my car door and reach out to his stretched hand.
Me: Oh, it's ok! Don't worry about it! It's always nice to see you.
He looked so happy to see me... so very happy... like when we were kids... like the summer of '98... that wonderful summer...
We proceeded to small-talk... looking all goofy and smiling the entire time.

My heart fluttered for a few seconds, then sadness took over.

As a thirteen year old, did I ever in my wildest dreams think it was all going to work out this way? He was 18, on his way to college, and was the richest boy in town. I was 13, in middle school, flat-chested, about to enter puberty... living in a one-bedroom home... living amongst cockroaches...
Now he's married... balding... living in a foreign country illegally... working for my parents. I'm still single, out of college but rejected from grad school... depressed, often times on suicide-watch... alone...

At 13, I often thought of what life would be like if we'd get married once I'd finish high school. I swore we'd be happy... I swore it'd be my mission, to keep him happy. He made ME happy... he made my heart flutter, he made me swoon...

Then I grew up... and realized everything was bullshit. Everything is so fragile... and everything I ever dreamed was stupid.
That door will always be there. That glass window will always divide. We'll just smile and wave excitedly at each other... slight timidity visible. Regret on his face, quiet resignation to solitude in mine.

... the way he screamed my name.. no guy has ever sounded so happy to see me.