Thursday, September 26, 2013

Poorly, but...

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

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

Aaaaaand how has your day been?

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Hot Sauce

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

Monday, September 23, 2013

Crocs are ugly.

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

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

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


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


Saturday, September 21, 2013

Destiny? HAHAHA!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Worse than shit

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

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

I can't write right now.

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

Tuesday, September 17, 2013


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, September 16, 2013

Write. Don't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Nobody No***

I'm back... and sick as hell.
Yesterday enraged me so bad, I pretty much fell apart.
I have a case of nausea... no idea where it came from, either. Fucking shit has me all messed up since last night.
I also have a completely numb right leg, and feeling is just now returning to my right arm (my pinkie and ring finger on that hand are still completely numb).
My left tonsil has gone to shit, too.

Anyway, onward with the post... see if I can crank out something semi-coherent. (I have to take breaks every five minutes because I feel sick as shit after staring at the screen any time longer than that)

This trip was just what I needed.
I was alone... the right type of alone. I was given the perfect amount of space, and was excited to my appropriate level (not so high that the drop down was demoralizing, but not so low that it could be considered mediocre). I had my own room... but was free to join the party at any time I wished. The couples never pressured me to join their outings, and they never nagged to join me anywhere. I'd join excursions that piqued my interest, but I was also free to take off and walk along the beach with no company.
Best of all, I had zero connection to the outside world. I stayed off the internet with the exception of two hours-- the first one being... whatever day I last updated... and that only happened because I had to connect with my godson via FB messenger, and then towards the end, when I checked in for my return flight.
The internet really fucks me up... it forces me to be social, and that never ends well. I prefer to live in my own world, where I don't know what's going on and others don't know what is going on with me. I love being... lost. It's just me and my thoughts, zero interaction from others or influence from their ideas. I can be me. Everything that comes out of me is authentically me.
I'm not saying I dislike my friends, or that all the ideas they influence me on are bad (no! Many of them are awesome or so perfectly critical, I build upon them and become a better person), I just... I'm built to require absolute solitude for a while... to recharge. I bet I was some sort of hermit monk in a past life or some shit... because that NEED of mine I can't really explain. I just NEED to be completely closed off. And it's not like I meditate... I've tried that shit and I have zero patience for it-- I find it either too ridiculous to not bust out laughing, or I just get so irritated, I find myself frustrated and breaking shit within minutes.
I just sit there and take in my surroundings... I observe nature, people... everything... and this fills me. Something I've personally witnessed others having difficulty with--being alone and enjoying their alone time without fidgeting with their phone or trying to make small-talk with strangers-- fills me.
I sit quietly... I cry quietly... I smile to myself-- no one catching a glimpse of the smile or the frowns.
It's my paradise. When my physical surroundings match the state of my heart... it's when I'm at peace.
You are alone, AnoMALIE... you are literally alone... don't you feel good? Absolutely. It's the closest I'll ever get to being invisible... I've always wanted to be invisible, a total ghost.
Nothing feels worse than being alone in a crowded room. Nothing.
It's you I see, but you don't see me. It's you I hear, so loud and so clear. And you know how much I need you, but you never even see me, do you?

This life consumes me... social interaction drains me. Of course, I do love interacting with my friends and meeting new people... but the energy it takes from me, the toll it takes on me is still present. When my social interactions happen to be negative, well, that energy is drained out rapidly.
These last few months killed me. I was seriously running on empty. Quite honestly, I have no clue where I mustered the courage to step outside of my house by the end of August.
I never got into specifics, and I'm afraid I no longer will beyond this: I had not been so disrespected or betrayed like I was these last few months in a very, very long time. What beat me so badly was that I was completely blindsided by it all. I had no time to prep for the bullet. I hadn't been that destroyed in ages.
Then the awful news on the first day of this month sealed it for me. Seeing someone I've ever considered a friend suffer-- regardless of how badly they've hurt me-- is something I do not enjoy. I buckled down and... tried to console any way I could. And yes, even consoling takes away from me... it takes A LOT from me. Consoling the one person who trampled me the most this past year was something I never would have imagined I'd be willing to do. I don't drink-- I drank. I don't dance-- I danced. I don't sing-- I sang. Anything, if it meant getting a smile out of him during one of the most horrible moments of his life. Of course I would do it again... even if it means I'd once again wake up the next day feeling completely... done. Because when I tell you I have your back, I mean it.

I needed to retreat. I needed to disappear. I needed to seriously be a nobody-- it's the only way I know how to stop the free-fall into the abyss I'm always hurled into.

Back in grade school, we were made to play this game, where we had to come up with a descriptor that began with the first letter of our first name. I remember when my turn was up, this asshole kid in class screamed "Nobody No***!" and my classmates laughed.
"Nobody No***"... indeed.
My week of invisibility made that nickname tolerable... downright enjoyable.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013


Short on time. 
Been in southern Mexico for a bit and some amazing fucking shit has happened.
Met a "cousin" who is an established political author (super famous pseudonym in MX. For security reasons. He is BAD.FUCKING.ASS)/photographer/radio host. Spent a few days chatting... Like in some fucking movie... Fuckin Frida or some shit... discussing so many fucking topics. My mind is blown.
Point is: I'm now getting my Mexican papers in order to officially be Mexican... So I can get the hook up... and attend writing workshops with some Mexican literary badasses.

I swear, it's all so waaaaack... And I'm sober and everything... This is just how I talk when excited.
Sucky part does exist: I have to move to this part of Mexico (Tabasco, to be precise)... And I fucking HATE this climate.

I'm still mulling all of this over... But guys, I think... I'm gonna be a legit Mexican... Jesus Christ.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Tough Lessons

The night my best friend's mom passed away, I spent it crying my eyes out, uncontrollably, and for no known reason. I couldn't explain it, but I cried so very hard... on the floor, to the point of convulsing until I passed out, literally.
The next day was when Kelley told me her mom had passed away.

This morning,  I woke up suffering from nausea... inexplicably.
As I was preparing my breakfast, I twice had to fight off vomiting.
Me: Hmmm... I'm nauseous... something's not right... something's going on...
Mom: Don't say that.
Me: I don't know... this is weird... I never feel nauseous... something's going on... something bad is going on... I just don't know with whom...
Mom: Shut up and sit down.

It makes me feel crazy, because this shit is ridiculous... it's preposterous... but I swear, my mother's side of the family has this weird sixth sense (it would be cool if it'd be a little less uncomfortable to deal with). Mom knows this all too well, because she spent many years of her life praying for this ability of hers to go away. Same goes for my mother's middle sister.

A few hours ago, I found out... umm... I feel bad calling him "Manipulative" right now but, I guess, I mean right now it's the only thing I've called him, so that's how he's known here. Anyway, I found out his sister passed away after battling cancer for a while.
I met her the same day I met this guy, let's call him Sport for now, because anything else is fucked up at this moment. She had me cracking up. I saw her a few other times as well, and found her to be incredibly sweet, and hilarious.
I don't say all this nice stuff now only because she's gone, because I'm one of those people who HATE it when others go that route-- turning the deceased into immediate saints-- but she was legitimately, sincerely, a great person.
The news broke my heart... for everyone.

Lesson learned from being a petty, resentment-harboring cunt: DON'T BE. Life's too short for that shit. Cut it out.

What I have to learn is how to let shit go. No one wins when I hold on to anger or with my refusal to... let bygones be bygones. No one wins with my goddamned self-righteousness and shit.
I say it all the time: no one knows what I'VE been through...
But I horribly fail at considering what OTHERS have been through... or ARE going through.

I'm so, so very sad... and sorry.