Tuesday, July 30, 2013


Sophomore year of high school was easier than Freshman year.
My face was somewhat familiar to the kids in my classes... but still, the cliques were very strong.
I was still getting bullied and ostracized (like that really cool time when a group of upper classmen were having a donut party before school started, and a couple of them decided, Eh, what the hell? Let's just wipe our donut-glaze-covered hands on this timid Mexican girl's black windbreaker... while she's wearing it. That felt great. Standing there, having these guys wipe the glaze off their hands all over my ONLY jacket... and nobody doing a thing to stop them... you know, just laughing. That was very nice. That's sarcasm, by the way), but I was a little more open to talking in class-- people were finally responding to my shy smile.

I remember being a little excited about getting this "popular" girl to talk to me (Lina, her name was Lina...). She was part of this huge clique... clique which had many members in my advanced classes. Maybe once she ok's me, the rest of the group will be nice to me... It's a really big group... and they're so cool...
She was pretty, funny, and goofy... she did not care to act silly to get a laugh.
This popular girl had become friendly towards me after she noticed my high scores in chemistry. She'd ask me for answers, I'd give them to her-- it had been my way of life throughout ALL my school years, why change now?
I remember one day, before chemistry began, part of her group approached her in class to discuss some sort of after-school plans. I was unlucky enough to be giving her an answer when the horde approached. The popular girl turned around smiling, telling me she'd get right back to me... and that's where I made eye-contact with this huge girl. The girl stared directly into the eyes... disgusted... frown on her face.
MeanGirl: Why are you talking... ::looks me up and down once, slowly:: to her?

The popular girl said something I couldn't understand. I felt the color leaving my face... eyes beginning to burn.
MeanGirl: DON'T talk to her.
She was very authoritative... very intimidating.
MeanGirl pulled the popular girl out of the classroom, but not without first giving me one more dirty, extremely repulsed look.

I took my seat at the table in the far back... and did not look up the remainder of class.
The popular girl never again talked to me... she just found another girl to help her with answers.
I continued doing my chemistry work alone... of course... and NO ONE... no one, no one, NO ONE tried helping me or talking to me in that class again (no, I don't attribute this to the mean girl, but I'm sure if the popular girl would have continued to talk to me, that'd make ONE person who'd talk to me in chemistry. Whenever partners were required, I had to be GIVEN one... and that person would ALWAYS scoff and roll their eyes... I swear... "partnered" lab assignments gave me panic attacks. Often, the actual teacher had to be my partner-- she was a sweetheart, she pitied the hell out of me).

Fast-forward ten years when I notice this mean girl is somehow part of Darcy's group, after seeing her in a group photo.
It felt like a joke... a really mean one... like... getting sucker punched below the belt.

I kept this knowledge to myself, no one from the group knew of my history with this chick (except for ONE of the guys-- the manipulative one, of course, because that's how my life works out).
Last year, when I coincided with her at one of the group's parties, I was-- why lie-- scared of seeing her after so long. The dude who knew of my story promised all would go well.
She greeted me like anyone greets a stranger, and I felt relief.

I don't know if this is true for everyone, but from my experience, only ONE person who has been cruel to me in the past remembers me when they've seen me years later. 
Either these people committed their cruelty aloofly (some sort of demon possession)... or feel so embarrassed about hurting others so recklessly, that their mind has refused to remember any of it.
But me? I remember every single face, every single name, of those who have been especially cruel to me in the past.

I don't think this mean girl remembered me... but I certainly did.
I proceeded to do something stupid:
I trusted her... I trusted that sad encounter in high school was just... something in the past.
People can change, right? Maybe she was just having a very bad day and she was angry at the world when I was unfortunate enough to cross her sight.
I really, REALLY wanted to believe she wasn't mean-spirited. Why else would these guys hang out with her?

The next few times she was very normal and... indifferent to me, which is fine by me.
Then came a BBQ night a couple of weeks ago (the day I was used as bait) where she had me laughing for hours... and the unthinkable happened: she hugged me goodbye.
I told her, sincerely " Thank you for the laughs! You are hilarious!"

I thought we were finally good... and I felt good about it... because if she had no recollection of that mean blip in our past, I felt it was ok to let go. WHY remember something that hurt my soul so bad 12 years ago? The girl was obviously having a shitty day that day she practically murdered me with her eyes, and didn't consider the repercussions her cruel actions would elicit. I was fine forgiving and forgetting... because obviously she was a completely different person.

Then this weekend happened...

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

-1 +1

I've been dreading this post.
I don't even know how many breaks I've taken before typing anything.
I've been extremely sentimental, straight fragile, for the last week... knowing Tyson's anniversary was coming up
Yesterday, I kept replaying the events that had gone down exactly a year ago.
Monday morning, eating breakfast, walking outside... seeing his body under the fig tree... going to the gym and trying not to burst into tears at the gym...
And then today...the 23rd of July...
I've been crying on and off throughout the day. Sometimes just tears, other times some sobs get in there.

There's hardly a day I don't think of Tyson... I usually have to TRY not to think of him.
I miss that guy with every. single. fiber of my being.
Mi corazón. Mi amor. Mi vaquita. Mi corazoncito. Mi enano. Mi travieso. Mi feo. Mi bebe. Cabron. Babe. Love. My babykins. Honey bun. Asshole. Jerk. Jerkwad. Dumdum. Dummy. Silly. Little punk. Baby cow. Tontin. My love.
My best friend.
My baby.
My fucking love.
My heart.
My little guy.

I think of touching his face... caressing that giant head of his... holding his snout gently as he stared into my eyes... adoringly.
Yo tambíen te adoro, mi enanillo... más de lo que pense. How could you love me so much, babe?

I remember it was February, and I was running on my treadmill when my mom told me about the litter of puppies.
Running would be the best way I could clear my mind from the day's events at high school.
Sophomore year wasn't as difficult as Freshman year... I'd only think of suicide a few times a month... unlike Freshman year... were I'd pray to not wake up every single night.
I had three friends Sophomore year... three more than Freshman year... so that was ok.
But I was still getting bullied... it's the year they poured salsa on my head and in my eye... no one helping me to wipe it off... or even informing me I still had chunks of it in my hair.
I was still the target of ridicule and... mercilessly ostracized.
Though those three "friends" existed, they ditched school often... I had perfect attendance... so I'd still have many days where I'd sit alone in the hallways during lunch... counting the seconds until that bell rang for class to start.
I had zero reason to trust anyone. Zero desire to like anyone.

Then Tyson came into my life... and I finally had a reason to give a shit. Something depended on me... and in return, gave me its undivided attention, love... loyalty... admiration.
I had a little creature to come home to.
The thought of his cute vulnerability made me smile to myself throughout the school day.
It didn't matter who had taken a cheap-shot at me at school... who had shoved me... who had ignored me... I had Tyson... HE thought I was awesome. He loved me.
This tiny... loud... sarcastic little dude kept me looking forward to the next day.
This... animal... this creature that supposedly doesn't possess a soul saved my life... kept me alive-- not the fear of going to hell, not the fear of the heartbreak my parents would feel... but this dog... this silly dog kept me alive.

Seeing him under that tree that Monday a year ago... is indescribable. My homie, my love, my companion... my motor, my savior, my angel... my best friend... died alone... and left ME the job of... finding him.
The only creature who knew my deepest, darkest secrets and feelings... the only one who knew just how BADLY I had wanted to die on so many nights, whose warmth kept me from ending it all... beat me to death.... left me completely alone.

The creature responsible for anything positive that ever happened to me between the years of 2001-2012 is outside... buried as far away from my room as possible.
A year later, and I still feel as though I suffer from that phantom-limb syndrome... because Tyson wasn't my right hand... or left hand... he was my heart and my soul... my hopes and my dreams.
All buried outside.

I don't know if anyone will understand all of this... I don't CARE... it's just what I feel... and what is true. I don't care if they think I'm being dramatic with my unrelenting grief for A DOG... I don't care if they laugh at my tears, my deep heartbreak... after all, that's all I've ever been for some people-- some sort of entertainment... causing pleasure, enjoyment at the sight of my mortification and pain and humiliation. I don't fucking care. Laugh, judge, belittle to your fucking heart's content.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Tyson... the little guy who taught me to trust and enjoy the simple things in life... my loyal, fierce defender.
... and now I've carried on without him for exactly a year.

I miss you, my love. I still love you, bebe. I always will.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

In the darkness

Yesterday, there was this crazy flash flood/storm cell that ravaged the city.
It was cool to watch it approach from the East side... and watch it swallow up the casinos... and then eventually hit my house.
All was fine... up until the damn power went out.
Now, I'm used to the power being out for weeks at a time in Mexico (not sure if I've bitched about the summer where we had no electricity or water for two fucking weeks. TWO WEEKS! I wanted to die after the third day), and I've handled one and a half days of no electricity here, but it was never as hot as it was yesterday.
I was in the middle of fixing myself up to go out, when BAM! Bye, bye light!

Being in the dark makes me want to do two things: pray like an old lady, and draw.
I feel like it's colonial times and have nothing better to do while under candle light.
The praying thing happens if it's dark and stormy... I say this is due to the memories it elicits. My momma's mom was terrified of thunderstorms. One summer, we were stranded at the park, so we didn't return home until the rain was light enough for us to run home. By then, it was dark as fuck and the thunder had stopped. Grandma had been home alone, and since she was bedridden, she couldn't go anywhere.
When we entered the house, we noticed Grams was giving us the silent treatment. Mom finally got her to talk while D and I sat in the living room, and we heard the confession.
"It's because... I'm scared of thunder... and you left me here all alone."
Fuck. Mom cried when she exited the room and D and I felt like garbage.
My grandma never confessed to being scared of anything else (I mean, she even welcomed death... and that shit is something that I freak out about each time I feel like I'm about to pass out).
SO... when there's a thunderstorm out there, Grandma comes to mind and I think "Well... sure... I got some Hail Mary's and a couple of the Lord's Prayers in me to knock out. I guess."

As for drawing... I love it. Once I was over Dad trying to convert me to protestantism (we were having a good time sitting outside staring at the lightening... then he busts out with his usual shit that frustrates me. If you're going to refute Catholicism, please don't use arguments that will make me question you why you ONLY ruled out Catholicism's legitimacy and not just ALL religion in general... because I will... and you will proceed to accuse me of being a heathen.... which I am if we're going to be discussing logic. Now back the fuck off), I walked into the house and busted out the sketchpad.
THAT was the therapy I needed.
Don't get me wrong, I still feel like violently throwing up all over the place when I think of the lying, manipulative dumbass who infuriated me a while ago, but sketching is the drug that makes me forget everything.
Ah, such tried and true methods.

Busca problemas

Being in trouble is FUUUUUN!

Disclaimer: NO, it isn't!

Friday, July 19, 2013


It's during moments like these when I really miss my dog.
Would Tyson still be alive, I'm sure I'd be... better.
I'd spend my evenings outside, stroking the little guy while sipping on some tea... or water... and probably laughing at the silly things he'd do for me.
Tyson was good at noticing when I was in need of comfort... or a laugh... or just company.
That's what he'd be doing right now. My little dude.

He was just loyal... and never fucking judged.... and he loved me with all of his heart (AND he NEVER tried humping any body part of mine)... defended me from everything, even the little trivial shit like cockroaches that would get too close to my feet.
He'd sit on my feet, looking over at whatever it was I'd be looking at. I'd feel his warm little body inhaling then exhaling... I'd hear his little noises... see his ears perk at the slightest sound.
If I made the slightest little noise, he'd turn his head back to make eye-contact, and I swear his little eyebrows would furrow... as close as he'd ever get to saying "What's the matter? Please don't cry..."
I'm sure poor little Tyson thought the only thing I knew how to do WAS cry... and the only thing he knew how to do was comfort.
He never did break my heart... except that day I found him under the tree... that day he broke my heart in a way it had never before been broken.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Shanna 2013

And one last rant:

When you really give a shit about someone, you're happy with the simple fact that THEY'RE happy... regardless of whether you're included in there or not.
When you really give a fuck, you do your best to make THEM happy.

I gave a huge fuck about Darcy, I still do, and I always will.
I did, however, learn that HIS happiness does not include ME in the way I wish it did, that it NEVER did... and I ACCEPTED IT.
I will STILL always do everything in my power to help out the guy or anyone he cares about.
I will NEVER speak ill of him. I don't care WHAT happens.

YOU, however... YOU have taken this despicable, dishonest, disgusting, SELFISH, juvenile attitude of... somehow being WRONGED. Of having ZERO accountability (I can't believe I'm using this word, Kelley... Jesus, how time changes shit... I'm suddenly Shanna's angry boyfriend. hahaha). And THAT is what infuriates me.
If you really ever gave the slightest DAMN about me, you wouldn't have meddled and manipulated your way into my shit.
You made me think he didn't even consider me a FRIEND. HOW WAS THAT OK IN YOUR FUCKING STUPID HEAD?! That is FUCKED. UP. You made him look like a monster, and you made me feel like a complete and total ZERO... so that you'd appear to be the hero? How is that ok? How is that fucking justifiable? And you don't own it! That's what riles me up. "Perhaps it could have been interpreted like that." Bullshit! It WAS said with intent to harm and you're taking away ALL responsibility from having ever uttered such hurtful fucking BULLSHIT with your roundabout, idiotic answers.
You wouldn't have been so incredibly selfish and thought only about YOUR happiness.... YOUR comfort.

You manipulate everyone around you into thinking you're the most sincere person we've ever met. That poor, poor you always gets shafted.
You get what you deserve. You get what you've worked for, and in my case, it's perpetual resentment and distrust.
I can't even fathom EVER trying to manipulate Darcy... or wronging him in any way. Fucking ridiculous you claim to like me and blah blah blah, yet you said and did some fucking horrible things to me... and now clearly are making me out to look like a cold, monstrous, psychotic cunt. Whatever helps you live with yourself... as deluded as that world may be... but I do hope you remember it's a MADE UP, IMAGINARY WORLD.

Keep thinking you're sneaky, crafty, and witty.
You're a parrot: you regurgitate what OTHERS feed you... most often with a flaw in your diction, which gives you away as the phony you truly are.

I hope some day you learn not to hurt others for your personal gain.

I don't like you like that. I never did. I never will (ESPECIALLY NOT NOW). GET OVER IT. Grow a fucking pair of balls and act like a real goddamned friend. Own your fucking shit! Asshole.

Injurious delusion

"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter Kerr
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." - John Bright
"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others." - Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." - Paul Keating
"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?" - Mark Twain
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go."- Oscar Wilde

(and two insults that have nothing to do with my rage, but made me laugh out loud:
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill
"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second ....if there is one." - Winston Churchill, in response.)

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily." - Charles, Count Talleyrand
And that one, is that what I was SUPPOSED to do? You know, so I wouldn't be considered such a cunt? How DARE I stand there and act like "just a friend" when I have a vagina and everyone else has a dick. Clearly I was there to find some dick... because that's the only reason girls hang out with guys... not because they enjoy the conversation and shallow shit like that... we just wanna FUCK!

This issue has been giving me side-aches from containing my rage... my desire to just spew ALL of my hate and putting the TRUTH out there...
But fuck it. I'm done. Go ahead and continue LYING to everyone and interpreting shit like you always do: completely, utterly wrong, you fucking IMBECILE.
Keep acting like the motherfucking victim.
Hope you can live with yourself knowing what a motherfucking MANIPULATIVE piece of SHIT you truly are... you lying sack of shit.

Me: Hey, she likes you. You should give her a shot.
You: NOPE!
Me: Why? She's a good girl. She's smart, she's working really hard and succeeding at dropping weight, and she's learning about sports to have more stuff in common with you.

Yes... THAT was excusable for you in your fucking pea brain. "She likes Harry Potter" was a relevant reason to dismiss someone, yet here I tell you REPEATEDLY I don't like you, nor will I EVER, FROM THE GET-GO... and it makes me a hypocritical crazy bitch. I tell you I only like ONE person, and I don't pass around the circle of friends like some fucking joint from which everyone takes a toke... yet I'M the cunt. Right.

I end by quoting my best friend: When you objectify and act injurious toward someone, you become the most unattractive monster in the universe.

Oh, and before I forget, the reason I brought up my monetary situation last post was because of this: for ages, women were bought and sold like goddamn cattle... some STILL are treated this way. In my hometown, women HAD to get married in order to leave the town, come to the US, or to have a decent living. The only catch would be that often, they suffered the fate of a fucking servant. Machismo at it's fucking best.
My mother married my dad NOT loving him... because she gave up on all her hopes and aspirations... because her dad forced her to... because she was a woman.
Both she and my dad have told my sister and me that WE don't have to suffer the same fate, they worked so hard just so we wouldn't have to. Mom wants us to know what love feels like... not... getting with someone out of sheer convenience, and dad doesn't want us to suffer mistreatment from some douchebag who thinks he's above us for the simple fact that he has a dick.
Too many girls out there marry out of convenience... they want to be taken care of for the rest of their lives. When the need for that "convenience" is removed, they're free to look for LOVE... not "like" or "eh, I guess, whatever," "Eh, he's aight."
I am free to find a guy I genuinely feel for... regardless of how much or how little he makes. Money becomes a non-issue.
I did not mention this to "gloat." ANYONE who knows me knows I don't do this. PLEASE tell me of a time where I bragged about labels or brand names. Please. Show me ONE instance. (I WEAR RIPPED SHOES, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! WHAT THE FUCK?!)
I'm sorry I drive nice cars... but in case you haven't noticed, I damn near park a block away just so you won't see that shit... and I only "show it off" when others ASK to see it... it's not like I park in people's fucking driveways and honk as a way to announce my arrival.

SO FUCKED of you to judge me. Am I supposed to live in misery my whole life? What the fuck?

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Goldie locks

I have reached the point where I can no longer keep track of the number of times my writing has gotten me in trouble.
I've been placed on suicide watch, I've been told to have a psychiatric evaluation, I've released a couple of family secrets that led to moments of shunning... the list goes on.
I KNOW my writing gets me in trouble.
I KNOW my writing gets analyzed-- more often than not, it is done so INCORRECTLY... like most people's writing does.
As far as getting analyzed (criticized) by others goes, I'm usually fine with it... but I must say, I prefer it done in my presence... that way I can take the conversation as more of a constructive effort than a gossip session. I can also take people out of their mistake if they just so happen to read into my shit just... totally incorrectly.
Also, if you base your judgment of me SOLELY on what you read here, you're committing a terrible mistake. Often, what I write on here is what I write under great stress... or rage... or... any strong emotion which I bottle up and only release here.
And again... you can't fucking base your analysis on what you read... because often, you're a dumbshit who has shitty reading comprehension/analytical reading skills IN THE FIRST PLACE... and so, the writing devices I often employ will be lost upon you (oh yeah, many things of which I write are excerpts of a larger picture... of literary work... not... you know... for your goddamned WEAK analysis of me).

So, let me hit a topic which works me the fuck up, and seems to always be in the mouths of others... especially recently, because of these last two weeks of Darcy:
The romance department.
"Your standards are too high."

Why does it work me up? Because it's WRONG.

A.) Yes, Darcy is the dude of dudes. He is the guy that no guy has matched. He is smart, witty, funny, ridiculously handsome and all that shit that I like... that I like A LOT... like... the most I've liked in anyone. His existence makes me feel pretty things. And he accomplished this status without even trying, without even touching me, and hardly having ever crossed a couple of words with me. It's just shit he inspired without even trying... my brain chemistry went apeshit when I met him, and so... I love the guy. And I understand that this is not reciprocated AND I did not cry about it... just went on that Kanye-styled stream of consciousness from the other night. He will always be the guy my heart beats for. He's the dude who will never be with me. And I've come to terms with it. End of story.

B.) My so called "standards" are these:
2. Must make me laugh.
3. I MUST be physically attracted to him.
All three in one, no exceptions.

C.) My "standards" exist because of this:
1. I may downplay my intelligence... mainly by remaining quiet under most circumstances, but I am ONE MOTHERFUCKING BRIGHT COOKIE. However, I allow everyone else to do the talking, because I enjoy listening (as long as it's not incoherent RAMBLING)... I learn a lot from others, and I just fucking love learning. Somehow, this gets twisted into me not participating because I'm a dumbass.
Permit me to be a fucking snobby cunt right now: I am NOT dumb. I aced my way through the most elite classes offered by the schools I attended, and not ONCE was I in a remedial class, not even considering the fact that I started my education in Spanish-only classes.
I read WAY TOO FUCKING much and I did WAY TOO MUCH fucking math and science-- mostly against my very free-spirited, naturally bohemian will.
My AP, SAT, ACT, MCAT, AND GRE scores back me up on this. Just because I don't brag about it, does NOT mean I'm an idiot... I just don't like bragging... because this shit is personal to me... it's something I prefer to keep to myself.
So, I'm a smart girl... and I MUST have a smart dude. He doesn't have to be a genius, but his wit must be something I enjoy. How the fuck are we expected to communicate if he doesn't understand what the fuck I'm talking about? My mind must be stimulated first if anything is expected to happen.
Also, if you tell me you don't like math, you cease to exist to me.
2. I am a GOOD GIRL. I am loyal (I'm a virgin for crying out loud! What more proof do you need to convince you I am not easily swayed?). When I love, I am selfless-- I give my all. I am faithful. I dedicate my being to my love and making him the happiest human in the universe. I won't lie to you. I won't nag you. I don't look at any other guy but MY guy. I don't drink to excess (exceptions ARE made. I KNOW how to party, but only when I feel SAFE to make a fool of myself. Instances are RARE, but DO exist) or smoke or do drugs-- I've never done drugs, even if I was/am surrounded by them. I go to the gym and work on maintaining a healthy body-- my body is my temple... temple I give entirely to the one I love. I am a motherfucking GOOD GIRL.
3. I am rich (snobby enough for you?). I may dress like a beggar, but that's because I fucking like it. I don't need to find a dude to financially support me... I'm good. If I get a dude, it's purely because I LOVE him, not because I love or need his fucking money. That shit has been LONG taken care of.
4.. The physical thing... that is of the upmost importance to me. If your presence irks me, you're as good as invisible to me. As a person who was... as a person whose trust and love was betrayed-- in the most vile way-- at the age of seven, by one of the adults she most trusted in the universe, I HATE unapproved touching. If I DON'T like you near me, I FUCKING DON'T LIKE IT. To try to attempt to "convince" me otherwise will only inspire HATE from me... sometimes violence. You CAN'T and you WON'T "teach" me to "like" or "accept" your presence. If I like you, I like you, if I don't, then I don't. Some dudes I allow to grab my ass, others I don't even enjoy accidentally brushing my shoulder. I don't NEED to "accept" ANYONE.
I don't fear solitude... shit, I don't really fucking enjoy company. I find it unnecessary to constantly have some guy I don't give two shits about HOUNDING me for attention. I don't have the vocation of a maid... or a babysitter. I hardly care about taking care of myself... I don't care to add a second person I'm not in love with.

To say my "standards are too high" implies I'm either TOO LOW to ask for this or just undeserving. Am I really undeserving of this? HELL NO.

I have ZERO need for a guy in my life. It's not a pressing issue.
I was abused as a kid, therefore I have zero desire or TOLERANCE to put up with someone who does not make me FEEL.
To make me feel, you must be smart (truly possess intelligence, none of this mimicry of your smart friends. Eventually the truth comes out, and when it does, I WILL resent the fuck out of you), make me giggle, and I must feel absolutely captivated by you. That. Is. It.
Since someone HAS managed to captivate me, I know the possibility exists... so WHY THE FUCK AM I GOING TO SETTLE for someone who does not inspire the slightest bit of... similar chemical magic?
If I don't find it, I am FINE staying alone... because it only means I won't have to put up with some dumb motherfucker who irks me... demands I feed him and fuck him until I just commit suicide by jumping off some fucking cliff. Some fucking prick who feels entitled to my eternal gratitude for plucking me out of my solitude to cook and clean for him.
Awwwww, how fucking romantic! How fucking benevolent of you, sir, and how motherfucking inconsiderate and delusional of me!

To say I have too high a standard is FUCKED UP. And a lie.
I'm not asking for too much, I'm asking for what is fair.
I fucking DESERVE to have a guy I feel a magnetic attraction for. I've been a good girl, I am a great girl... and I've had some really fucking shitty stuff happen in my life... I should finally get to be with a guy I choose... IF such a man exists and wants to be with me. I should NOT ever again have to sit there and allow someone who WANTED me to TAKE ME against my will. NEVER. AGAIN. No MEANS NO.

"You'll learn to like it." "You'll learn to like me."

Uh, no, NO I won't. I don't HAVE to learn anything!

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Encender los días

Que seas muy feliz estés donde estés, cariño. 
No importa que ya no vuelvas jamas conmigo. 
Deseo, mi amor, que sepas también que te amo. 
Que no te olvide, que nunca podré, te extraño. 
Que seas muy feliz, que encuentres amor, mi vida.
Que nunca, mi amor, te digan adiós un día.

Que seas muy feliz, mientras que yo te sigo amando. 

"You had your chance Monday..." someone told me Wednesday.
Did I? Did I really?
No. I did not. Because I respect. Because I don't matter.

I was numb for the time Darcy was back in town... numb to crying.
I was happy to see him loosen up and show us the great girl he has found.
I was happy to see him happy... and I appreciate anyone who makes him happy.
My face once again hurt from smiling all day. I laughed a lot. I was a friend.

But that shock thing... when the numbness wears off... and I'm left to sort my feelings and thoughts... it's all bad news. I crumble.

Monday night, we stood outside for a bit, by the pool.
There was a slight breeze... very warm air occasionally blowing at our faces... my hair getting fucked up, since it does not just blow in the breeze all romantic like on normal girls, but instead flies erratically and unflatteringly.
Blues and whites... those are the colors that I noticed most. Blues and whites flooded my field of vision. Everything white... with the occasional blue square. White cushions... foamy jacuzzi bubbles... white tiles... dark blue, almost black skies... sky blue buildings... a chlorinated pool.
The giant white cushions.
There he was to my left... smiling... chatting about Chicago, of all things... smiling... bright, white teeth.
Calm, quiet admiration... like when staring at the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian-- so pretty and amazing. You can only imagine how fucking wonderful life would be if it belonged to you, but you're fine staring at it from behind the glass... you're fine walking away from it... because it will always be there if you ever want to admire it again... you just can't touch it, much less take it home with you.
A ti que con lo que te sobra me darías la luz para encender los días...
Your scraps give me enough light to ignite the days...

I was happy. I was calm. No heart palpitations... but knowing for certain that yeah... este corazón, it beats for you... I'm not this comfortable with anyone else. No bells or whistles or... crazy spinning room... just quiet recognition of my heart's situation.
It's yours... though you will never feel the same for me. I'm just a common person to you, but to me... there is no equivalent to you. And it's ok... it's ok... some feelings were just never meant to be reciprocated. Your girl... lucky, lovely girl.

Not all stories have happy endings.
Sometimes, the protagonist's love walks off into the sunset with his love... as the protagonist walks in the opposite direction, kicking rocks, resigned to the fact that she'll have to swallow her feelings... bottle them up and shove them into her darkest shelf.
But a smile will slowly creep across her face as she thinks of the happiness displayed by her love... happiness not provided by her as she had always hoped... but the happiness she had always hoped for him.

That silent understanding-- You don't belong to me. This whole time, I've only belonged to you, I still do, and I always will... but you never did belong to me... you never will...

Why'd you do that?

It took me a nice nap to recover from the hurt of my Saturday night.
I napped for four hours, woke up at 7 in the morning, and rolled out to church... where I served the purpose of a sad, lonely zombie for an hour.

I then sped home to catch the final games of the Confederation's Cup.
Soccer has always managed to get my mind off issues... especially when the sport's lovers in my life and I get to spend time chatting and analyzing the situations.
It's fantastic clarity... it helps ground me... and remember that I do matter in the lives of some people... that I AM part of circles.

By the time night rolled by, I was fine... fixing a nightclub outing for Darcy and Baby Bennet for Monday night.
I hardly ask for favors... because it makes me feel stupid... but since it was Twiggy, she was... almost eager to help me out.
When she saw I wasn't adding my name to the list, she was compelled to ask what the deal was (come on, it's Twiggy... she HAS to know everything).
I told her the deal, and asked her if she still thought it was a good idea to add my name.
Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
See, Boom! That's what I thought.
I know this girl often drives me bananas, and I talk shit about her and her wonky ways... but she HAS always had this weird admiration for me. She has NEVER talked ill about me (of my sister on the other hand, well... ha! We know about that shit)... so I do have love for her... and some trust.
So... she proceeded to help me out... more than I thought she would.
*Fiance* said to just go and say you're on HIS list... everything is taken care of. If you end up feeling up for joining them, you'll have no problem ;)

I relayed the message to Darcy, and when asked if I wasn't going to join them after all, I remembered Baby Bennet asking me to please join them at the club as I hastily said goodbye to her that horrible Saturday night.
I'm a girl of my word... and Baby Bennet is cool... and adding an extra girl to a party always helps.
So I agreed to go.

True to my soul, I hit the club looking like Elvira... prepared for... for... the worst.
Get them in, toast, jet.
I imagined the entire night to be awkward... but it was not. At least not for me.
At one point in the night, there was so much people traffic in the hallway, BB and I had to stop and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before following Darcy.
As I momentarily distracted myself with a glowstick, I was caught off-guard by the most violent push to my right shoulder... damn near giving me whiplash (it did give me a bruise).
I was so shocked to see a fucking idiot MAN i.e. security guard had manhandled me so viciously, I was silent... on the verge of tears, actually.
Does this motherfucker think I'm a transvestite? Some MAN to push me like that?! WHAT THE FUCK?!
And that's when I see Baby Bennet's little figure turn around and scream "HEY! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I had to think of how angry I was in order to keep from crying.
She's defending me... oh my....
I was so touched, I don't know how I didn't just lose my composure and start sobbing like a baby.

I stayed the remainder of time Darcy and Baby Bennet remained at the club... no more manhandling... just people watching and chatting.

As the elevator doors opened to their floor of the parking garage, I wished Baby Bennet a safe, and fun remainder of visit to the States.
She frowned a little, I hugged her, and waved goodbye as she stood outside the elevator... waving as the doors closed.

Girl, I got your back for life. Thank you.

Friday, July 5, 2013

Hyena bait

My friends... my close friends, all knew what was going down these last two weeks.
They never admitted it, but I'm sure they felt sorry for me (not the type of pity I hate, but that... head shake you make when a friend tells you of a terrible idea of theirs, but you just let them do it... because you know trying to convince them otherwise would be futile... so you just... shake your head. Oh... baby... bad idea... but... ok...), because I'm an idiot with poor luck.

I did not cry a single day in these two weeks. I think it was two weeks. I attribute this to that initial shock I have to traumatic events.

Wait... no... I did cry last week... when... I... was cornered at a pub by a moron who does not understand no means NO... a manipulative, lying idiot.

It was all too much.
I would look around and note no one would try and get this blubbering moron off me... and it would sometimes make me laugh out loud to see how BAD everyone was at noticing my discomfort... some of them even encouraging it. Then I grew upset thinking that maybe it was because no one CARED about my discomfort... and once that idea entered my mind, I spent the rest of the night trying my hardest not to cry.
You're alone. You're a stranger. All you have is this creep who is hounding you like a vulture does a dying animal... and all you want to do is kick and scream and disappear... as everyone around you has a good time, has a partner, is part of a group... group that occasionally turns around to watch you squirm... with zero intent to help you out.
I'm just a piece of meat for this hyena... that's all I've EVER been. I don't matter... I NEVER DID!

I ran to my car that night... I jogged through the casino, and once I entered the parking lot, I burst into a sprint. The tears flowed the moment I started the sprint... the sobbing didn't start until I entered the safety of my car.

Obviously this reaction stems from my childhood.
I grow agitated when someone pushes themselves on me... regardless of HOW MANY TIMES I've told them no... regardless of the DIFFERENT WAYS I've told them NO. Hmmm... I wonder why...
When I see people apathetic to my distress... well... that just... devastates me. Few things hurt more than this... very, very few things.
These are things that will always hurt me, for as long as I live... I know it.
The fact that this all happened in Darcy's presence... killed me.
Just another slap across the face from Life, trying it's damn hardest to cement the fact that I am, and have been, rather meaningless in his life.
Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less.

(Ohhhh shiiit! Look at me on my Kanye rant flow! I think I have juice for another story before I go to bed... perhaps two if I stay focused)

Baby Bennet

Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
The heart wants what the heart wants.

Emotional break down, or acceptance... or a combination?
I'm not trying to be a martyr, it's just the way I am-- I try to reason shit out and often, sympathize.
I'm not brown-nosing, I find no use in falsely flattering anyone. When I compliment, I mean it... wholeheartedly... there's no hidden intent behind it.
When I don't give a shit, I don't even bother. No, I won't just be quiet-- I often care when I'm quiet-- but I WILL pick up and leave... just so I don't have to deal.

This entry was bound to happen, I mean, I've known since December.
Darcy and his girl.
Darcy has a girl, and once again, it isn't me.
Raised your hand if you're surprised. Ha.

Trust me, I've cried this one out numerous times by now.
I could get into the cruel specifics behind the tears... but that just makes me angry now.
Just know that for the last six months, a particular asshole has been making me cry thanks to his insensitive, inconsiderate comments. Trying to make me "snap out of it" or whatever.

When I learned that Darcy would be returning home for a break, I was happy... then of course, that certain idiot very abruptly and crudely informed me Darcy would be returning with his girl... a wife, to be exact. Boy... did I cry!

My trip abroad helped clear my mind... for the most part, since there will always be something to remind me of Darcy... every day... but at least I was smiling and laughing and exploring.

And then I returned to face the harsh reality.
The two weeks leading to Darcy's return were spent crying. Every single day. Crying and dreading the moment I'd have to see... both of them. Crying and dreading and lamenting... and trying to carry on like a normal person.
Cry it all out now... so when you have to face them, you'll be normal... get it all out now.
This, of course, is something I could have completely avoided in the eyes of many people... it's not like I was being forced to see them. It was entirely my choice to be exposed to this truth... this fact.
But you see... he's my friend. We are friends. It's not his fault he can't like me in the sense I wish he did. And I hadn't seen him in a year. And he's my friend. I appreciate him.

And then I met her.
I had to laugh to myself... at the coincidences in life-- her name happens to be the same name as one of the Bennet sister's on Pride and Prejudice. Of course Life would work out this way. Silly Life.

Often I hear girls hate on their "rivals"-- it's one of the reasons I tend to avoid girls. The cattiness is despicable, but so fucking contagious. I'm not immune to cattiness, even if naturally I'm chill... and kind until the person provides me with a reason NOT to be.
I could easily have taken a hostile stance... sat there and hated on everything from her choice in clothing, hairstyle, lifestyle... what else do broads hate on each other on? The way we speak? The way we apply makeup? Oh yeah, the way we SMILE?
Or I could have completely ignored her... I don't know this bitch. I don't have to talk to her! I find MANY girls apply this trick to me.
OR I could have just gone psycho... just found any dumb excuse to start brawling... girls are known to do that too.
I could have also just sat there and busted out crying... very AnoMALIE-esque.

But NO. I'm AnoMALIE. I'm FRIENDLY. And I'm nice. And I'm kind. And I will do anything in my power to make others feel comfortable, especially friends. I will do everything in my power to make someone happy, ESPECIALLY a friend... because that's how I wish others would treat me.
The way I see things, in order for Darcy to like a girl enough to bring her around to meet his friends and family, she has to be dope. She has to be cool. She has to be worth it.
That's too long of a haul to bring a mean bitch.

And so... I embraced her like I would a long lost friend... not literally... I think I shook her hand, if I'm not mistaken... but I treated her like I treat... Darcy.
With all the pain in my heart--because it's so much easier to just hate someone without knowing them, especially a girl chosen over you-- I allowed myself to see the vault of chill vibes she was bringing... and it was worth it.
I'm sure this would have never happened with a Latina... because we can sense another woman interested in our dude from a mile away... like some fucking sharks sensing blood from an injured animal, we maul that bitch... homegirl would have ripped me to shreds.
But no, "BabyBennet" was far cooler than I could have imagined. She was funny, smart, humble, nice, and down to try anything. She was not needy... or snarky... or possessive... she was chill.
She gained my respect and friendship.

She's amazing. And you look happy. Good job. That makes me happy. Honestly.

Thursday, July 4, 2013



I live in constant fear of falling out of love with stuff.
I'm pretty sure it's why I'm so careful... downright reluctant to grow to love things.
When I visit places for the first time, and I love it, I'm hesitant to return, because the disenchantment sucks.

Bilbao was a strange place for me the first time around. People were so... cold, but somehow, I felt like I had known the place in a past life. I was comfortable. People didn't fuck with you, and they all were mindful of their own business.
Aside from the people, the actual place was beautiful.
I fell in love.

After five years of not seeing it, D and I were eager to return... that whole salmon-instinct we seem to possess. I no longer cared about my fear of the possibility of becoming disenchanted by the place... I just had to return.
We figured we only needed a day to see the place, especially since we only know two people out there.

Upon landing in Bilbao, our hearts were racing. As the taxi zipped through the green mountains, D and I would excitedly look over at each other and clap.
Everything was fantastic at first... as we strolled around Bilbao.
Our first location was the Guggenheim.
Nothing had changed... seriously. The place remained unchanged.
Hmmm... well... that's a little sad.
The day was gloomy... with random moments of clarity.
We made our way to the tiny suburbs, where D and her friends had lived, and that's where our hearts broke.
The sense of familiarity was gone. It was a hostile... foreign... cold place. This was no longer "ours." It was... a sad reminder of what USED to be... but will no longer return.
Five years ago, the place was surrounded by precious little babies/kids who behaved like mini adults... now, those babies were annoying, rude little kids and obnoxious teens.
Even the voice used to announce the metro stops had changed... a voice that was so comforting to listen to as it pronounced the bizarre towns:
Etxebarri, Erandio, Lutxana, Leioa, Sopelana, Deusto, Larrabasterra, Plentzia, Bidezabal, Algorta, Neguri, AREETA, Lamiako, Astrabudua, Moyua, Abando.
Now, even that was a stranger.

D: This place... is no longer how I remembered. It's just reminding me of BETTER days that will never return... I don't like it... I think... I think I'm going to cry... I need to go back to my room... let's get out of here.

It was a heartbreaking reality.
We walked a number of miles of the beach... looking out at the cold water... silently acknowledging we had never belonged to this place. It had all been a fairy tale... a dream from which we had been abruptly shaken awake.

We returned to our room at seven in the afternoon.
We quietly laid in our beds and fell asleep.