People are fucking retarded part 57649274

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
People are fucking inconsiderate RETARDS! I don't even want to use that word... it's an insult for those poor souls with Down Syndrome... to be compared to "normal" humans who CHOOSE to have complete disregard for their peers. I haven't met a single person with Down Syndrome who was an asshole... "regular" people on the other hand...

Anyway,
Not only was I hit by a shopping cart as I picked up some hairspray at Walmart today (Check it: I was STANDING, reaching for the bottle of hairspray, I was nearly ON the fucking display, TOTALLY as out of the way as I'm humanly-fucking-possible, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart moving towards me. I think nothing of it, because it was going slow... and I'M NOT INVISIBLE, the idiot driving the cart HAD TO SEE ME-- I THOUGHT. But no, instead, I feel the cart dig into me, my pelvic area... slowly... and pressure beings to be applied... like what you'd do when you feel your cart being obstructed by... fuck, I don't know... a pillow? "Maybe if I push hard enough it'll magically disappear!" What the fuck do I know, I've never been fucking retarded enough NOT to look at what's obstructing my cart's MOVEMENT. ANYWAY, I look at the DUMB MOTHERFUCKING CUNT driving the cart [GUESS her what she was... just GUESS! Stereotypes exist FOR A MOTHERFUCKING REASON! Can't even drive a motherfucking SHOPPING CART!], I just STARE at her face, not saying a word... wondering WHEN THE FUCK she'll finally look up and see what she's HITTING. Finally, the bitch looks up. I make eye-contact. I give her my best "Why, hello, there, IMBECILE!" look. And she apologizes "Oh my God! I'm sorry!" I don't say a word. I just look at her cart, that is STILL ON MY PELVIS, then at her fucking STUPID face, I look at her cart again, then at her STUPID FACE. I raise my eyebrow, not saying a word, holding my fucking bottle of hairspray, and just STARE. I. Want. To. Make. Her. Feel. RETARDED. Think about what exactly she did... YOU HIT A PERSON WITH YOUR CART AND CONTINUED GOING WITHOUT LOOKING AT WHAT YOU WERE DOING... IN THE HAIRSPRAY AISLE OF WALMART, not your fucking house, where you expect NO ONE TO BE THERE. I stare. I don't budge. I just stare. And follow her with my eyes until she gets out of the aisle. You have NO IDEA how hard it was for me NOT to grab her fucking stupid cart and flip it over on her fucking stupid feet. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDIOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!) but also a FUCKING CUNT finally drove me to lose my shit in kickboxing and FINALLY physically injure the fucking shit out of someone at the gym-- MY PLACE OF REFUGE!

Horrible fucking day.
Fuck you, January 31st. Fuck you.

AnoMALIE-unfriendly Pastime

I told one of my aunts about the current predicament I'm in... the issue with that shit-talking idiot chick. She, like pretty much everyone I've spoken to, suggested I ignore the bitch.
Me: Yeah, but when I think of her fucking stupid, stuttering fucking oaf face... I get SO FUCKING ANGRY!
Aunt: Oh, you know what's great at clearing your mind? KNITTING! It is SO relaxing.

This woman tried teaching me how to knit back when I was EIGHT... eight fucking years old.
That shit held my attention for perhaps... two weeks. I wound up giving all of my needles and yarn to my aunt, once I decided knitting was NOT my thing.

Fast-forward a little under 20 years and you have me finding a knitted scarf, 2/3 of the way complete.
I felt bad throwing it away, since the quality was pretty great... and I thought of the poor soul who killed her time knitting that shit. Plus, the yarn was soft... I wasn't about to toss that.
I told my aunt about the scarf, and promised her I'd give it to her so she could finish it, since I knew it was one of her favorite pastimes.
That was about two years ago.
FInally, this weekend I finally decided to bring the yarn and needles with me to give them to her as we did our usual gathering.
But this time, she didn't care for knitting... especially after hearing me rant.
She informed me I was going to finish the scarf.
After what seemed like an eternity of angrily staring at my aunt's hands, I sort of got the hang of it:

Jesus...

I didn't say I did it SUCCESSFULLY.
I'm sure you can tell where my incompetent ass started to massacre this poor work of art.
I'm also sure you can tell how I progressively become calmer. I start off all erratic... and end up tight and somewhat even.

I'm definitely not built for knitting.
Not sure if I should be excited or sad about this.
First, I can't have cats because it turns out I'm allergic... now this, where I discover I can't knit for fucking shit.
My plans for being a stereotypical catlady have gone to fucking hell.

Mis caritas

THOROUGHLY convinced I was put on this Earth to show people what naturally awkward posing is all about:

Am I happy to be there? That's none of your fucking business!
JK!
I was sick... and I think my good ol' buddy G could sense it.
Homie was onto me and my virulence...

95% of the time, I seriously look like this each time I make eye-contact with ANYONE.

I love these kids... though I'm sure my face says otherwise.
I can put money on my exact thought being "Ufff... not sure about that..."

Ahhh, good times.
I'm never going to grow up.

Dulzura

No,
porque tus errores me tienen cansado; 
porque en nuestras vidas ya todo ha pasado; 
porque no me has dado un poquito de ti. 
(No, 
Because your mistakes have worn me out;
Because everything in our lives has passed on by;
Because you haven't given me a single bit of you)
No, 
porque con tus besos no encuentro dulzura; 
porque tus reproches me dan amargura; 
porque no vivimos lo mismo de ayer.
(No,
Because I don't find any sweetness in your kisses;
because your reproaches only give me bitterness;
Because we don't live the same stuff of yesterday)
No, 
porque ya no extraño como antes tu ausencia; 
porque ya disfruto aún sin tu presencia; 
ya no queda esencia del amor de ayer. 
(No,
Because, unlike before, I no longer miss your absence,
Because now I enjoy thing even without your presence,
There is no longer an essence of yesterday's love)
No, 
aunque me juraras que mucho has cambiado; 
para mi lo nuestro ya está terminado; 
no me pidas nunca que vuelva jamás.
(No,
Even if you swore to me that you've changed a lot,
For me, our "thing" is over,
Don't ever ask me to ever return.)
No, 
porque ya no extraño como antes tu ausencia; 
porque ya disfruto aún sin tu presencia; 
ya no queda esencia del amor de ayer.
(No,

Because, unlike before, I no longer miss your absence,

Because now I enjoy thing even without your presence,

There is no longer an essence of yesterday's love)

No, 
aunque me juraras que mucho has cambiado; 
para mi lo nuestro ya está terminado; 
no me pidas nunca que vuelva...
que vuelva jamás.
(No,

Even if you swore to me that you've changed a lot,

For me, our "thing" is over,

Don't ever ask me to return...

to EVER return)

Just does not feel the same in English. But never mind that shit, I fucking LOVE how Alejandro stresses the word "ayer," aka "yesterday." Chills, baby, CHILLS!

I'm hitting the Spanish songs hella hard.
English classics are capable of reaching me, but... often times it's hit-or-miss with them.
Spanish lyrics just know how to deliver the KO punch.

Agustin Lara, Jose Alfredo Jimenez, even Juan Gabriel are a few example of composers who had/have extraordinary talent as far as eloquently expressing themselves is concerned.
Then you find people like Alejandro Fernandez, Vicente Fernandez, Michael Bublé, and even Andrea Bocelli covering the songs... and Jesus, is that some powerful stuff.

And just... spoken Spanish words versus English words. Spanish fluidity versus English flow.
Like:
Dejame vs. Let Me/allow me (the convenience of a single word, guys... it's not so... jolty)
Despojar vs. Despoil/strip (well that's just ugly. Spanish makes it sound so fucking sexy. "Dejame despojarte de todo lo demas..." vs "Let me despoil/strip you of everything..." Yeah, no bro, get away from me, creep!)
Estío/verano vs. Summer ("Summer" sounds so fucking pedestrian compared to "estío"... I mean, just SAY the two fucking words. Come on now. Whisper those words into someone's ear and get back to me on which one sends shivers down that person's spine. You're welcome)
Ausencia vs. Absence (One more syllable in Spanish... but it comes back to the sounds coming out of your trap. I choose Spanish)
Jamás vs. Never (Same case)
Adios amor vs. Goodbye, my love (fuck, enough syllables there, English? Bitch is around the fucking bend after the first two)
Desprecio vs. Contempt (as far as lyrics go, "desprecio" works a lot better, trust me on this)
Dulzura vs. Sweetness (sayyyyy it!)
Parranda vs. Night of harcore partying and drinking (where's the fucking English equivalent? Exactly.)

Now excuse me, I have more songs about drunk pigeons and magical aloe vera to listen to.

Princesa

Can't. Stop. Crying.

This right here, is my anthem. It completes me.

Get me off this thing!

So, I've been freakishly aggressive this past week.
The week has been extraordinarily shitty. I've argued and fought and... I've done all sorts of mean shit.
As shitty as my reactions have been, they're actually me trying to tone it down.
I have that caged-lion feel right now-- pacing back and forth, licking my fangs, and having stare-downs with strangers.
Bitch, if I wanted to fuck you up, I would... now get out of my fucking face.

I've been listening to chill music (I made the mistake of listening to club-ish music and that shit only aggravated my aggression. I had to do a circuit of jump-squats to get the angry energy out of my system) and painting to try and calm down... or at least forget about how pissed I am... and it works, for a while.
Then I get on the internet...

At least I've gotten three paintings out of this bullshit.
Next thing you know, I'll have a fucking art gallery in my room.
(You'd think the paintings I've done would convey anger, but I find them to be quite the contrary. They're pretty mellow... fluid... flow-y... not very colorful, just calm, soothing colors. My brain's a fucking trip) 

Invierno

Yo he visto en invierno volar avecillas, pidiéndole al cielo un rayo de luz. 
 La he visto más tarde cantar de alegría, cuando en el estío el sol alumbró. 

Terrible martirio es amar con locura sin estar convencido si me amas o no. 
He soñado mil veces que tu alma y la mía han ido formando un nido de amor. 
Yo he visto en tus ojos, querido amor mío, reflejarse un cariño que en mi alma nació. 
Pero duerme tranquila-- como duerme un niño que nunca en su pecho dolores sintió. 

Yo he visto a mi madre, a mi madre querida, llorar mi desgracia cual nadie lloró; 
Y un día, llorando me dijo, "Hijo mío, tan solo en la madre no es falso el amor."

I've seen that song with two different titles, I, however, only love one rendition of it: Invierno, sung by Alejandro Fernandez.
It is simple... but so full of truth and beauty.
And again, Spanish >>>>> English.

Music. Music helps so much.
Almost enough.

Living Room Concerto

Let's act like I posted this on the 22nd, like it says I did.

Today I almost dropped the bomb on Facebook... but instead of pressing "post," I copied and pasted the text into a safer place, my other journal.
I told myself that if I felt the same rage after three hours of not looking at the computer, then I'd go ahead and post it on a more public forum.

I proceeded to work out, listen to music, and paint.
I didn't pull out my phone, and my computer was busy playing music for me, so I pretty much disconnected from the world.
It felt great.
And my rage subsided.

I swear I was going to suffer a heart-attack at noon... that burning sensation in my chest and esophagus... and then an all-consuming desire to pound my fists against a certain person's fat fucking head.
By three in the afternoon, I was chirpy and dancing around the house.

While I've been busy being an angry, frustrated chick, Mom has been a depressed little lady.
The 20th of this month would have been grandma's 93rd birthday, so Mom spent the entire weekend crying and thinking about her Mom.
I did what I hadn't done in ages: I was a clown.

I'm not too fanatical about physical comedy... I'm a little uptight for it... however, my mother loves it.
As a kid, I was a huge clown. I know I've mentioned how I loved performing impersonations, but aside from that, I would be a playful girl and act a fool in order to make sad people smile.
The older I became, the less inclined I was to resort to physical comedy... I think it's something that comes with depression-- it becomes difficult to be playful, so you just exercise your wit.

Anyway, seeing how Momma had been crying... even sobbing a few times, I knew it was times for drastic measures. I don't like having a sad Mommy... especially when I know her stance on crying ("WHY ARE YOU CRYING?! It's for pussies! IS IT SOLVING ANYTHING?! NO! NOW PULL THOSE FUCKING PANTS UP!")... so I was her jester.
I busted out my laptop and started playing some VERY OLD-SCHOOL Mexican Banda songs.
Julio Preciado jams, to be exact.
This man is... was, very big. His voice proves it.
I pulled up this big man's repertoire, pressed play, and began singing and dancing to his music, right in the middle of my living room.
In a matter of thirty seconds, my mom went from sobbing to giggling to joining me.
We turned the clowning around into a competition-- Who is the most dramatic songstress?
My mother won... with her compelling rendition of a classic, where she shook so hard it looked like she was going to spontaneously combust.
I was done after that shit... laughing so hard I was crying.

I like making people smile... I simply adore making them laugh.
Laughter is the best gift anyone can give me. And that's the cold hard truth.

Of Girls and Beasts

For the last few days, I've tried SO VERY HARD to stay mum.
I've bitten my tongue... and taken deep breaths... trying my best to ignore.

There's this fucking broad that is trying to get under my skin, and shit, why lie? She has fucking succeeded.
I'm often seconds from getting into my car, driving to her house, dragging her out into the middle of the street by her hair, and proceeding to elbow the fucking shit out of her SURGICALLY (POORLY) ENHANCED FACE.
I've almost called her out, by full name, on my FB...
but I'm a pressure cooker.

I've decided I'm going to let this simmer.
I like my beef so soft, it falls apart at the bone.
Come May, I'm tearing this bitch up! We're going to be bridemaids in the same wedding... and shit is going to get real... SO REAL on that fucking plastic heifer.
I'm building my appetite for now, and sharpening my teeth... as furious as her accusations make me... and how fucking obnoxious she's being right now... I'll hold off. I'll be the quiet, patient girl I've always been.
I know better... I build my case against whatever fucking brute continuously throws pebbles down my throat... and when the time's right, I let him or her have what he/she has worked SO FUCKING DILIGENTLY at acquiring: my motherfucking wrath.
Go ahead, think you've gotten away with shit, you fucking weasel... you're just making it easier for me to lose all fucking pity and mercy I'd have on you when the time comes to unmask you in front of the fucking society you think you're so superior to... I will feel no remorse about the ridicule and shame I'm about to bring your way. HAVE FUN!

I'll never understand why people constantly pick on a quiet, passive peer... the one who can CLEARLY kick your fucking ass, but opts to mind his or her own business.
Just because they allow you to throw your occasional stick or stone, you suddenly overestimate your abilities, and eventually push the monster to finally pound the living shit out of you.
WHY are people so goddamn stubborn and push limits like that? Why do they WANT to see quiet, peaceful people at their worst? What twisted logic is that?
My god.

Yeah, no, you're dead

Ok, I think I recovered.

Last night was painful. I very mistakenly believed I was fine to go out, considering I had spent the majority of the week in bed rest, drinking plenty of fluids and eating nothing but chicken.
I came home last night and my body was like "Whoa, bitch! Hold up! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck did you think you were doing? Fuck you! Here, have a little bit of THIS!" and I woke up with an even runnier nose than the previous night, a phlegmy cough, and a serious case of violent, phlegmy sneezing. Sexy, I know.

I'm pretty pissed about this, since last night I was like... I was... hmm... what was I?
We were a total of four girls... and seven guys.
The entire time, my head was in the clouds, in a bad way. I was high as fuck... from medication and just the flu itself.
I resist medication for as long as humanly possible... so my sensitivity is pretty fucking ridiculous. The moment I feel acetaminophen or... or anything, really, I feel that shit. Often times, I go down like a motherfucking rhino getting shot by a tranquilizer dart... other times I just get loopy and distracted. Yesterday, I went loopy.

I was trying to be considerate to the kids, I definitely didn't want to get them sick, so I took a seat at the corner of their hotel room, and politely, quietly listened to their hilarious conversations.
Mario's girl was fucking great. I finally had time to hang out with her and crack jokes, and as suspected, we mesh like a couple of long-lost twins.
The other two girls I noticed were obviously all about ONE boy, let's call him G.
I've known G for about five years now, however, I had't seen him in three years, so... he didn't recognize me initially. HOWEVER, once he realized I was that chubby chick he last saw in '10, he was all smiles and talkative... you know, like when you RECOGNIZE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE after years of not speaking.
IMMEDIATELY I caught the frost from the two girl. I died to them the moment I made G giggle with a crack at the expense of his soccer team.
I further fucked up my case with these chicks when I noted how they were holding a pow wow on the bed on the complete opposite side of the room, as ALL the dudes crowded around me to talk about video games.
I had the full attention of every guy in the room... motherfucking EERIEST THING I've ever experienced.
For the most part, I'd be conflicted over which dude's face to look at as the conversation was flowing... it felt like Story Time in kindergarten, where I was the teacher and all the fucking kids were simultaneously, eagerly asking questions... except for those three scary little fuckers in the back of class, scheming amongst themselves and occasionally having one take a second to look you directly in the eyes.
When I'd make eye contact with one of the girls, I'd smile my best "I come in peace!" smile. Yeah, no, I was definitely dead to them.

So, here I had the boys thinking I was cool and funny, the girls (except for good ol' Heather) thinking I was a fucking slutty cunt, all piled on top of me being high on medication and influenza, unable to prove I was a nice girl... because I could hardly handle keeping my eyes open, much less act like a normal person.
Lovely Friday night, if you ask me. It's no wonder I came home at 5 in the morning.
That's sarcasm, by the way.

Girls are never going to accept me as one of their own. Damn it.

9 22 1 27

Just spent eight hours of my life hanging out with NINE 22-year-olds (Mario's a year older) who complained about how they couldn't down shots like they did "Freshman Year."

WHY the fuck do I do this?
I'm definitely old.
But the good type of old.

Excuse me... I have to go shower-off the smell of misery and failure... that shit was all over the poker tables tonight
... You don't honestly believe I spent ALL of those eight hours in the sole company of those kids, right? They just wanted to play beer pong... I wanted to dominate drunk men into losing their money to me. Duh.

I'll have a couple of lovely stories for later today. When I'm rested... but probably coughing uncontrollably.

Problems with not being antisocial

I wish I knew who got me sick... so I could kick his or her fucking ass.

This is the worst week this fucking flu could have hit, since starting Friday, MGH-- who I will now refer to in his real name: Mario-- is coming to town with his buddies.
Mario called me Monday afternoon to inform me we HAD to hang out, and I very excitedly agreed.

Looks like my idiot ass now has to stay home in hopes of not spreading this shit.
I'm not even hitting the gym... which upsets the hell out of me... but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I fucking hate people.

MAN DOWN!

FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKK!
It got me! I'm hit!

Goddamn motherfucking flu!
FUCK!

I've spent the day growing progressively worse.
At one point, I swore I was showing early symptoms of a heart-attack.

I'm so pissed.

I'd punch shit... but I'm also hella tired.

Goodnight. 

Orphan.

Today was my Pop's 59th birthday.
Me, being the fantastic, sensible daughter I am, bought him a birthday cake... an ice-cream cake... in this freezing weather. Because I can. Because he loves it.

I tried my hardest to make him smile. I tried to make today all about him.
But he was still sad. He still cried.

I feel horrible. He breaks my heart.
He misses my sister SO BAD. To top it off, he had an argument with her.
"She's mad at me. She didn't respond to my text message."
He was so excited when he was going to blow out his candles, he made me take photos of him with his phone.
He then asked me to show him how to text the photos to my sister.
He sent the photos to both my siblings, and only my brother responded.
My daddy went to bed sad.

What did my dad say to upset D? The truth.
D, after wishing Pops a happy birthday, proceeded to complain about her car.
Dad told her "Baby, the new ones (Jetta's) are so pretty, want a new one? They're cheap."
She responded "If only it were that simple, but I don't have the money to buy one."
Dad: If you were here, and not over there, like some orphan, things would be different. I can buy a new one each month. You don't think I could give you ONE?

D cried. And stopped responding.
She complained to me.
D: Way to stay humble, Dad.
Me: It's his way of telling you that he can have whatever he wants, but he'll never be happy because you're not home. He's not trying to brag.

I don't know what is up with my sister, but all day she has been a bitch.
Me, being the concerned older sister I've always been, checked her.
She did not like this.
I don't care. When I see her acting up, I feel it is MY JOB to check her... to straighten her out.
Very early in her life, I caught her tendency to be cruel... to be one of those vain, obnoxious, insensitive girls who bully others. She would rely on her looks, her ability to easily gain the favor of others due to her physical appeal, and she would go on power trips... like some fucking princess.
As upset as it makes me to slap sense into her, to embarrass her by making her realize what an annoying, mean bitch she's being, I HAVE to do it.

Now that she lives so far away, I have to check her quite publicly, on social networks.
She is getting much more unruly... and so self-centered... egotistical. It is really fucking frustrating me. I just want to hop on a plane headed to Chicago, and shake her.

Watching my dad frown on his birthday... to cry... it hurt me. It made me sad... then mad.
This man works so fucking hard... made his dreams come true: he EARNED all the money we could possibly ever need, so we would never know what it was like to struggle to make ends meet... and my sister CHOSE to leave comfort... for what?
We all know why she left... and THAT is what hurts Daddy.

He has all the money he could ever need... but he doesn't have his little Princess. His babygirl waved a huge middle finger in his face, and spit on his lifetime of effort.

My daddy breaks my heart.

Ragarde

I'm once again at a loss for words. I don't know where to begin or how to begin.
Shit's just weird.
Weird shit happens.
I try and ignore things... ignore the sequence of events... blame it all on coincidence... but it's just fucking impossible not to trip when things get too fucking weird.

I've been busy this weekend doing some hardcore third-world shit.
I've been hooked on cocoa nibs for years, but things reached a new level once Dad brought the actual raw cacao from Nicaragua... a couple of kilos, actually.
It took us a while, but we learned the trick to preparing cacao nibs: roast the cacao bean, let it cool, peel away, grind, add to food and drinks (and fall in love)!
We did small batches a few months ago, on our first try, and stopped because it was so damn time-consuming.
Our Nicaraguan friends told us we should finish up the roasting and peeling of the remaining cacao before summer, when the beans run the risk of melting in this extreme heat. This shit is too delicious to allow for this travesty to occur, SO, Mom and I dedicated these last few nights to peeling the rest of the beans.
This shit is TIRING. It also hurts like a motherfucker, since the skin of the bean injures the fuck out of your hyponychium after a couple of hours. It's what I imagine the fucking Olmecs did as a torture tactic on their prisoners.
Anyway, I've hit the hay pretty hard these last few days thanks to this nice finisher.
I have not really given a shit about anything. I just leave the kitchen and enter my bedroom, turn on my television for my light source (and background noise... I need it in order to get sleepy. This goes back to my childhood days in the ghetto), wash my face, brush my teeth, turn off the TV, and go to sleep.
Yesterday, I was extra tired, although in an extremely good mood after a very pleasant day and evening, and a hilarious night of conversation with Mom as we did the cacao peeling.
After saying goodnight to the little lady, I left for my room and did the usual television thing and pre-bed ritual. When I returned to my room and looked up at my television, I froze.

I initially turned off my TV after finishing up with my usual Saturday-afternoon ritual: watching the cooking shows on PBS-- they end at 5PM. I had not been in my room since then.
Upon once again turning on my TV, a little before 1AM, I noticed the TV was still on PBS but didn't care to change the channel-- all I really wanted was some background noise while I washed my face.
Why did I freeze after walking into my room and looking at the TV after washing my face? Because right there, on my TV, on the science program, ON PBS... was Darcy's face.

Goddamnit. You have to be fucking kidding me right now. How the fuck... what the FUCK?!

I wasn't hallucinating. It was really the guy on television (I even rewound the program to make sure I wasn't just imagining shit)... and of course I watched the rest of the show.
Shit like this frustrates me. I don't get it. It makes me laugh... but just... it... frustrates me. Exasperates me. Makes me wave an angry fist at the Universe because it's thinking this shit is so fucking amusing/funny.
Is this fucking normal? Does everyone encounter this shit? I know people go through that thing where you "see" your crush all over the place, in things that continuously remind you of the person... but I LITERALLY see the guy... and he's "real," not a celebrity, not a famous athlete, he's a regular hometown boy... all over the place. He was on my motherfucking television at one in the morning, for crying out loud!
It gets to the point where I feel a pain in my stomach... like someone just violently kneed me. I don't cry only because I'm over doing that shit... but I do always let out a light "Oh no..." as I feel a frown make its way across my face. I lose my hearing for a few seconds, and my face turns warm.
It's the universe digging its nail a little deeper into my empty chest cavity.
The jokes no longer funny, just hurtful.

I take a deep breath, smile after releasing a single giggle, and quietly sit on my bed.
I proceed to do what the universe has worked so diligently at beating into my head: in quiet resignation, I observe and admire what I know was never meant for me.

Je le regarde, le regarde, le regarde.
"Just another girl... Nothing more, nothing less."

Things of bigger importance.

Damn it. Missed two days completely.
That's the sort of shit that happens when you spend your day in the gym and your night shopping.
Well, more like, "That's what happens when the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale comes to town... with an additional 50-75% off."
Do I really need that much underwear? Nah, I still have some from a year ago (that's two semi-annual sales ago) that I haven't worn.
But those skivvies are SO comfortable... I MUST buy them when they're only $2.99 (I'm sure it only cost about 20 cents a pair to make... I mean... just cut the fucking material and viola, calzones!).
Don't get me started on the bras. I tell myself I'm only going to buy ONE, but there's this crazy exhilaration that goes on when I buy a $60 bra for only $17-- including tax. Come the fuck on! I'm doing it!
Shit does get a little out of hand... for instance, yesterday I HAD to purchase spinach, since I ran out and it's my favorite vegetable... practically the only vegetable I eat. Anyway, I had 60 bucks in my pocket set aside for some much needed grocery shopping... but since I was driving on LV BLVD, I convinced myself the bell-peppers sitting in my fridge would suffice for at least two days-- for my veggie count-- and that money could be burned right there, in a better place, on that street.
So what did I do? I took that money SHOPPING.

Today is the dirty task of doing some returns... a couple of bras that just didn't work (one in particular pissed me off. WHO THE FUCK still wears bras that make one's tits look like a bull ready for the goddamn rodeo?! All pointy TO THE SIDES! Who the fuck wears that? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea? WHO THOUGHT THAT WAS FLATTERING?! You might say that apparently I did, but those fucking bras deceive you up until you actually put one on and suffer a rant similar to the one I just spewed).
I'm getting cash back...
No need to say where that money's going... spinach can hold its fucking horses and give me a few more days.

Really him

One day, I will remember to gather all of my dad's stories and store them in a single place.
That man has had quite a life.
Pops drives me insane with some of his archaic beliefs... and his unabashed bigotry... and... I'll stop myself right there before I make this post a negative one.

I had noticed my poor dad was quiet... and actually pretty sad these last two days.
He has different types of quiet, angry-quiet being the one I hate, and sad-quiet the one that breaks my heart.
After sitting down for some dinner with my folks and me being oddly chirpy, chiming a playful hello and getting nothing in return, I remembered:
Dad accompanied his best friend as moral support as they cremated his brother.

I guess Dad's BFF's only brother passed away a few days ago, and Dad's BFF decided he was going to get the man cremated. Dad's BFF demanded to be present as they placed his brother in the furnace, to make sure "it was really him getting cremated."
He told Dad of this, and Dad volunteered to join him, since the deceased was also a semi-BFF by default. Back in the 70's, that's how these three guys did stuff... all three together, it was only right they'd be together for this as well.

I look through my dad's old photos and see young dudes having fun in a very old Vegas. They have the coolest haircuts... a ton of hair... huge glasses... bellbottom pants... they're smoking weed and drinking beer. They're being... young bachelors. They have no cares in the world.
Now they're chubby old men... thin hair... huge reading-glasses. Each one of them have battled some sort of cancer... and now they're watching as their group slowly dwindles.

Poor Daddy.

Well, fuck, look at that... I still made this negative, didn't I?

Come back

Today marks the five-year anniversary that my sister left for her six-month Spain adventure.
Oddly enough, unwittingly, I've been checking out airfares for different cities these last three days.

Everything was fine as I checked out places like Cancun and Costa Rica, but then I went and looked at European cities.
I was excited checking out the Latin American countries, marking dates and whatnot... but when I saw Barcelona, I felt this horrible sense of sadness.
I miss my sister. I miss her so bad. That fucking idiot.

I'm fine with visiting Latin America without D because we never embarked on a Latin American adventure together. But Europe? I feel like a giant piece of my heart is missing.
My partner in crime is missing... left me for that fucking lame city of Chicago... a fucking bootleg version of New York City... to live the life of an ungrad UIC student (which she isn't).

I don't think I can handle Europe without my sister... I just won't feel right knowing I'm out there doing shit while she's in cold, ugly Chicago, working and trying to make ends meet.

I'm not as cold as I brag about being.
I want that little bitch back.

Oh, sweet babies...

Oh, Notre Dame! Babies! What was that? Way to break my heart.
I'm not even mad... it was an incredible, amazing, exhilarating season. But I am sad.

Too sad to update properly.
I'm also sleepy as fuck.
So... here's a nice little thing to say adios today.
The hundred-word minimum can go fuck itself this year.

H-h-h-hate

Aaaaand it begins.
Again.
Oh, Shaman! I need that fucking limpia.
Aren't people supposed to be famous in order to have haters?
Fantastic.

And I made myself so easy to love...

Luckily I can put this stress to good use and fucking PUSH.

You haters, how can I gain your favor?
I need to know, 'cause I care.
I need you to love me, I swear. Look here.

I'll just keep acting like I don't know anything is going on... and mind my own business.

I need you, stay there.
I breathe you, like air.

Oh, HOVA, why you so smart? 
The man gets me.

Que viaje

I've heard numerous friends mention how... not sure how this works, but something about affirmations and manifestations.
"It will manifest because I thought it so!"
Stuff like that.

I've never been one to give a fuck about "affirmations" or "manifestations," but I can agree that when I'm being a NegativeNancy, things tend to worsen. Also, when I wake up with a positive attitude, and SMILE, the world--for the most part-- smiles right back.

So... umm... I guess I'll make a list of places I'd like to visit before this year comes to an end.
Maybe if I "think it" hard enough, it'll manifest and I'll get to do what I love so much: travel.
And keeping in line with superstitions, or whatever this might be, let's make it lucky 13... because that number has always been a fantastic number to me.

Ok, so... before December 31st, 2013, I will have visited... and even had a magnificent time in:
1. San Francisco.
This one is happening... so fuck it, let's add it. It's not cheating-- it's being realistic. I need more fucking REALISM in my life.
2. Los Angeles.
The end of the month will mark one year that I haven't visited this place. I dig it... regardless of how often I shit-talk this place.
3. Boston.
COME ON, Beantown! You've been on my list for SO LONG! I MUST visit. NO excuses.
4. Chicago.
Fuck this place. Seriously. But... my sister's there... so... I have to go all the way out here in order to see her stupid, ever-so-lovely face that I miss so dearly. Bitch. I'll just wait until that despicable snow melts away. FUCK snow.
5. Juarez, CH, MX.
My bro has been asking us to go visit him for nearly a year now. He'll only be there until November... after that he returns to DC for a few months... like... 11. He thinks we're not proud of him for living in this WIDLY dangerous city... but that's far from the truth... we just shit bricks thinking about having to breathe there for longer than twenty minutes.
6. Washington DC!
YEAH, BOY! HELL YEAH! I ADORE this city. It's SO fucking dope, and there is SO much to discover each time. I'm excited just remembering my brother will move back here before the year's over. Man, I missed this place!
7. San Jose, CR.
I miss my babies! They're so huge now! I go to the store and buy these girls shit all the time. I have a stash, my "CR Stash" I'm already planning on filling my suitcases with for my when I visit these lovely humans again. Must return this year... MUST.
8. Cancun, MX.
I promised my godson I'd visit him. So far, this one seems like the one closest to actually happening. Time frame is mid-February, since my Dad was a jerkwad and booked a Cuba trip for March 4th. He doesn't return until mid-March... and that's like... Spring Break time. I DON'T want to deal with that fucking retarded crowd. Ever.
9. HOMETOWN, MX.
God... it's terrifying, but I really, REALLY want to return. I also sort of promised my friend I'd be her bridesmaid this summer. That would require me to head out there. Dear lord.
10. Mexico City, MX.
This city has been on my list for over a decade. I HAVE visited the airport twice... with layovers that were each well over three-hours long, but I never saw the sights... besides what I spotted from the plane. So much history and culture is here, I don't think I can last longer without finally giving it the proper respect and attention it deserves.
11. Barcelona, Spain.
Now here come the lofty plans. I HAVE to return to Europe. I have to. It's been five years. I'm overdue for a visit... especially now that I can fit properly in their stupid barstools.
12. Paris, France.
FUCK FRANCE! But... I have to return. I have to give this place another shot. Everyone I know has had a wonderful time here... and from what they tell me, people are sweethearts. It'd be great to learn I didn't waste four years of my life learning about these people.

And now for that wild 13.
13. Berlin, Germany.
JC has been asking me to finally visit him... and I... well, it's a hard sell. Not knowing a lick of the language of a country I'm visiting freaks me the fuck out. I managed to find my way around Italy because of my orchestra knowledge... and Italian music and movies I've always listened to... but German? Yeah, no. I know the words "nein" and "Schwarz"... where will that get me? Yeah, I know they are nice and speak English to idiot tourists like me... but that only makes me feel like an asshole. However any time I spend with JC is always a wonderful time. That crazy kid knows how to make me laugh, how to get me to be outgoing, and when to be "classy." I'm sure he'd make my visit memorable... and I'd hopefully come out of it alive... he IS crazy after all.

No idea if I'll do all these trips alone... I trust I can handle a good few with just me and my charming smile.
Feel free to sign up to be my travel-buddy at any time. I think I'm pleasant... as long as we don't get lost... or I'm hungry. That turns me into a giant monster.

"Oh no!" wimp

I'm on time, I'm on time!
Yeah, ok, I sort of cheated.

Eventful day, I guess... so eventful, I nearly fainted twice.
It's all good, I just have to learn to quit being so fucking stubborn.

Thing that cracks me up about fainting is how freaked out it makes me... well, the moment where I sense I'm about to blackout (obviously once I'm blacked out I don't give a shit... considering I'm unconscious and all).
Prior to passing out, I can feel my heart race and my conscious always says the same thing: Oh no!
I don't cuss... I don't ask for help... I just think "OH NO!"
When my fright manages to keep me awake, I then proceed to freak out some more... mentally.
I don't want to die! I don't want to die! Idon'twannadie!

Once I sense myself coming back... I proceed to smile or laugh.
Yeah... I'm the bitch constantly complaining about life and how I don't care if I get struck dead any second... but the moment I feel myself "leaving" I freak the fuck out and mentally scream how I fucking love life. What a pussy.

I am such a wuss.

Fishy 2013

Haaaa! And just when I make my resolutions, astrology stops me in my tracks and freaks me the fuck out.
It's on the money, not gonna lie.
How the fuck is this... how do they... fuck, man...
(Like how I play catch-up? I'm a master of procrastination!)
Check it. My year according to... some astrology dude or something like that:

2013 is nothing short of stellar for you, Pisces. By summer, you're ready for the grand water-trine influence as Saturn, Jupiter and Neptune all flow together in Water signs to make magic. Your powers of psychic perception and healing have never been stronger. Your ability to create glamour, weave fantastical illusion and provide invisible-but-potent healing to others is beyond measure. Others will feel inextricably drawn to you without understanding why. This is excellent for your star potential as others sense something extraordinary and sublime in your presence. People want to have you around as much as possible even without fully comprehending why. The best part is that people are willing to pay big bucks for whatever it is you have to offer and no matter how intangible it may seem. For once, you won't feel like the oddball, freak or the perpetually misunderstood alien in the crowd but rather the mysterious-yet-sought-after special someone that others cannot resist. It's all part of your otherworldly glamour and mystique. Work it, Pisces! (No idea about this, but that would be dope. The bold is what I find to be true, obviously)

Let love rule in 2013, Pisces. Born under the sign of compassion, you live for the exchange of true heartfelt energy. Romance for you extends far beyond just the coupling relationships of dating and mating. You're often in love with your entire social circle, not to mention animals, plants and even some beautiful seemingly inanimate objects. (but not like that lady who "married" the Eiffel Tower...) All is alive and endowed with feeling in the life of empathic Pisces. There's a reason you're called the 'bleeding heart of the zodiac'. You tend to fall in love with those you need to help, educate or save in some way. In 2013, you're adding the requirement of long-term stability to the mix. Your standards for a serious partner are more rooted in loyalty and consistency than ever before. You want staying power, which means giving up the unobtainable relationship pattern. The part of you that's drawn to the projected ideal of a person is being replaced with a serious reality check, compliments of Saturn in Scorpio (NO MAAAAAMES! How the FUCK did you know that?!). Intimacy is now what you crave, and that requires stability, reliability and trust. Such character traits need to be shown to you in the real world from now on. No longer will you fall in love with someone's potential. You've been burned too many times trying to play the role of the wounded healer, Pisces. (BOOM! Left me speechless. ... the fuck is up with that?! P.S. I don't "crave" intimacy. Intimacy can go suck a dick)

The powerful eclipse points only intensify your desire for a solid mate (NEGATIVE!). You also find that you're more drawn to someone incredibly grounded if not bordering on earthy, someone real and sensual instead of fleeting and elusive (well, that DOES sound interesting. "Someone sensual"... hahahaha!). You want more tangible proof of your partner's affections instead of allowing yourself to get lost in love for the sake of love. You realize that you have to relate with your mind and the instincts of your body just as much as your heart. Letting your overly tolerant and permissive heart make all of the decisions has only proven detrimental in the past. Employing more discrimination and higher standards can only serve you well in the elimination process. Your friends and family will be thrilled instead of having to counsel you off the ledge of yet another self-sabotaging relationship where you give everything and receive little to nothing (sorry about that, guys...). 2013 is all about radical transformation and self-empowerment -- especially in intimate relationships. Rock on, gold dust woman! (Money... fucking money here. DAMN IT, creepy astrology!)

Success in your career endeavors is contingent upon the amount of energy you're willing to put into expanding your current sphere of expertise. You can sense that it's time to widen your professional horizons, Pisces. When you're fully able to access the power of your imagination, there's no limit to what you can do (ya heard?). 2013 brings plenty of potential for enhancing your current skill set. The eclipse patterns impact both your higher and lower mind, giving you a profound opportunity to tap into your deep well of wisdom. Your work is important to the world, and you're finally starting to realize that you have knowledge to share. No more playing invisible, Pisces. It's selfish not to share your gifts. (My bad...)

Neptune continues to shower your world with glamour. If you're not in high art, fashion, dance, spirituality, healing or anything that involves your imagination, you're probably not feeling fulfilled or even close to living up to your true potential. This is the year to pull everything into alignment. The beauty of being born under the constellation of Pisces is that you're endowed with infinite gifts all seeded in the depths of your imagination. All you have to do is create enough structure and discipline not to float into a dream world that never takes form in the physical universe (Well, I'll be fucking damned if that's not fucking on the money!). Once you start to materialize your vision, you're golden. This is what 2013 is all about for you, Pisces.

Scary.

But like... true.

"Gold Dust Woman"... I might like that one more than... I think it was "Enraged Shark"... 

Nah, I'll always choose "Enraged Shark." Suits me better.

Resolutions v.2013

Damn it! I was going to update yesterday, to finally have a year where my number of updates equals out to the number of days in the year (fail for 2012. Missed 366 entries by a little under 100... 97? Something like that. That's a little over three months... didn't feel like I did that, but the numbers don't lie).
I was supposed to post resolutions... but I guess I was bogged down by the constant pondering.
Truthfully, I don't know what I want.
Sure, I want to remain healthy... keep up the workout routine... but that doesn't change so I don't feel like talking about it.

As far as resolutions revolving around social interactions go: I don't have any. Well... maybe I'll resolve to repair some of the friendships that have deteriorated over the last few years due to my depression... and low-carb rage.
You'd be surprised how many people get offended by the shit I tweet, which often-- usually-- is not directed at them BY ANY MEANS. I guess I'm just offensive by nature. Or maybe people expect me to be a pleasant little saint... a doormat, and when I open my mouth to express an opinion, which often contradicts their own, I get kicked out of their club of hypocrites. I'm sweet and considerate, but if I feel you're getting too outrageously irrational, I'll call you out on your bullshit... that, or if I feel your ego is getting too big and you're crushing too many hearts-- I'll take pleasure in taking an ax to that inflated self-image of yours. Maybe that's what pisses people off? They think my quiet, passive nature means I'm dominated and a just one of their cronies? Sadly, the people who treat me like this are usually family... so I can't just walk away. Instead, I have to continue going to parties and get togethers where we coincide... and shit is just awkwardly quiet where we have to greet each other courteously before both our parents make shit even more awkward. Don't nobody need an intervention during Posada Night #9.
SO! Ok, I'll work on fixing this issue. I won't bite my tongue when one of my cousins is being a shithead... but I also won't harbor so much fucking resentment towards HIM or her (female cousins hardly piss me off, now that I think about it... except for the older ones... those ladies... yeah, never mind, THEY are the ones who piss me off most... with their archaic beliefs snooping around MY business). We. Will. Be. Friends.
Good lord, help us all.

As far as my heart, my "love life," "romance," is concerned: it's dead. Non-existent. Done. Gone. A non-issue.
Now, more than ever, I'm sure this was never meant for me. Ever. Spending any time on this is a waste. Ain't nobody got time for that.
It brings unnecessary pain and worry... and really just turns my brain to shit.
Just like some people don't like the taste of protein powder, I fucking love it. Just like some people would kill for Hawaii-imported pineapples, I'd mule-kick anyone who'd offer me that shit.
Some people are meant to love and have a family and blah blah blah... but a few are meant to just roam the Earth alone-- I am one of the latter. It'd be foolish of me to think otherwise.
Love. Doesn't. Exist. (For me)
Companionship. Doesn't. Exist. (For me)
And that's that.

My "career"? (question mark goes inside or outside of the quotation marks here?) Haaaaa! Give me a minute, I need to scoff real quick.
Ok, so... I shouldn't scoff just yet. I do have plans... I actually HAVE set plans into action here. This is what happens when I convince myself not to fuck around with "love" or any of that nonsense.
My method of getting off the floor and dusting myself off is by putting shit into action. I fall from the imaginary, romanticized world I live in... the fall each time harder than the last, I face-plant for a couple of days... months... sometimes years... but the moment I decide to stand up and take the dirt off my shoulder, I go HARD.
Sure, I lose more of the sweet, soft AnoMALIE... but it's the price I pay for ever putting down my guard.

So... for 2013, I resolve:
1. To be nicer, more forgiving.
2. No "love" or any of that dreamy bullshit.
3. Action! Drawing, writing, the whole bohemian shebang!
and of course...
4. Travel like a motherfucker!

REsolutions, duh

2012 Resolutions:

1. I will work on my road rage-- curbing it, that is.
2. No more barking at people... it's fucking ugly.
3. I WILL bench 150! (I tried while in Chicago, and I left a little "forget me not" on Coconut's concrete basement floor... from where the plates hit full speed when I tossed that shit off me. SO embarrassing)
4. I will squat in the big boy room at the "scary gym."
5. I will not fear carbs. They are my friend. They are my friend. They are my friend.... yeah, not working.
6. I'll smile at least once a day. THAT I can try.
7. I'll make... two new friends. Lowballing the number because I doubt I'll interact with others much this year, though I enjoy this task (even if it initially intimidates the fuck out of me). I love "how I met you" stories... mainly because other's stories of how they met ME start with "I thought you were a bitch." Always pleasant to hear.
8. I'll talk. At least... I'll try... for at least half an hour.
9. I'll smile at minimum two strangers a month. This I find fun, because it's rad to see their face change with delight. It's cool.
10. I'll master the basic pistol 
11. I'll be less cynical. Not less sarcastic... ok, maybe just a little... a little less sarcastic. 
12. I will not waste a single day laying in bed, sleeping my life away. I did that shit four times this year. That's fucking four times too many. 
13. I will forgive without resentment... and I'll trust without... paranoia. 
14. I'll be a sweetheart at the gym. I'll forgive the stupid newbies who invade my space... or I'll just give them a gentle nudge with my weights to let him/her know there's more to come if they don't get the fuck out of my way. 
15. I. Will. Not. Scream.

Obviously a must on the first of the year.
Time to reflect on last year's resolutions and see how I managed to mangle that shit.

1. My road rage. Umm... I kind of refrain from being my usual Chola persona behind the wheel... mostly because I'm no longer in a rush to get to places... unless I really have to go take a piss. A girl with an urgent need to piss is NOT a pleasant thing.
2. Barking at people. Ummm... I have... well, the AMOUNT of people I've barked at has significantly decreased... but I now bark VICIOUSLY when the time comes. I've gotten pretty ruthless. Nasty, really.
3. BENCHING! 150 was NOT met, but I do bench 10kgs heavier than I did last year, so that's a plus. 150 was TOO ambitious. My chest isn't THAT massive. I hit other spots instead... my back inadvertently being the biggest winner.

Just let me... admire that delt real quick, I don't get to see it w/o the help of a mirror.
(people thought I was showing off my bicep. NOT true. My bicep is weak as fuck)

4. The Big Boy room! I DID NOT do it at my gym, but I DID try it with my godson in September. He has a lovely weightroom in his house that I used ONCE, because I'm a bum. He corrected my form, and the results were quickly noted. Crazy how your ass (literally) will shape up in as little as two months the moment you quit being a shy fuckhead in the weightroom.
5. Carbs. I went back to those badboys in September. I hit that shit HARD. My mood showed improvement almost immediately. I loaded up in December, and yesterday, the cutting cycle once again began. I'm sorry America, I'm sorry Universe... but I'm going to be one cranky bitch for the next few months. Is it crazy that I'm a little excited?
6. Smiling at least once a day. FAIL. I did smile a lot, and I DID try my hardest at being nice and friendly... but sadly, I had some very rough days. At least I tried.
7. Making two new friends. I killed in this department. SMASHED this number. Like I said yesterday, I even acquired a family (last night, we Skyped and counted down together as a way to say goodbye. Those babygirls were so happy. They fill my heart).
8. Talking for at least half an hour. Not exactly sure why I made this a resolution, or what I meant by it. Talk every day? Or talk at every social occasion? Regardless, I would say I failed at times, but due to suddenly turning into an only-child in 2012, I was pretty much forced to be more social, since I no longer had D to answer FOR me. I still remained the quiet girl at numerous social occasions.
9. Smiling at, minimum, two strangers a month. Umm... I think I actually did this. While I became vicious with my family, I was rather pleasant and friendly to strangers.
10. Mastering the pistol-squat. Jesus, this was hard! I definitely did not master it, since I still can't get too low with my foot completely parallel to the floor, but I'm definitely able to do single-leg squats. Mastery might come about this year, fingers crossed.
11. Less cynical, a little less sarcastic. I was SO GOOD at this for so long... then came... November, I think? Maybe October, and I just because outrageously cynical. Embarrassingly cynical.
12. Not spending a single day laying in bed, wasting my life away. Umm... let's see... I guess I can say I passed this, since even at my lowest, I still managed to... wait, no, I had two days of being too annihilated to get up. Perfectly excusable occasions, but like always, I pulled myself together and life continued for me.
13. Forgiving without resentment, trusting without paranoia. DONE! This shit right here burned me, but... I guess it did make me a better person. You have NO IDEA how difficult it was for me to get over my resentment/hatred for those two-of-three "enemies," and while one of those is now bugging the fucking shit out of me, I'm glad I was able let shit go.
14. Being a sweetheart at the gym. HA! Hahahaha! Ok, yeah, I'm pretty nice, and I now have a "crew" at the gym... and people now know me by name in there (it makes me a little sad that they greet me so warmly, while I sit there smiling damning myself for being such a lame-ass who never catches people's names. I'm a dick), I HAVE had moments where I shoot daggers at idiot newbies. Kickboxing is just... never ask me to be a nice person in kickboxing. You're never sweet when beating the shit out of someone, so calm down.
15. I will not scream. Ooops! In arguments, I lowered the tendency, but these last two times I argued with my brother I couldn't help but raise my voice... fool is a vet army sergeant, it's a given that guy is going to get in my face at deafening volume. I also screamed a lot in December. It's liberating.

Jesus. I was hella pushing shit with 15 resolutions. Fuck.
This year? Umm... I'll come up with a list tomorrow, possibly.
BUT! So far, I have these crazy amazing prospects in the horizon I fear I won't mention until shit becomes more concrete... I don't want to spoil shit like I tend to do.
2013 is going to be one motherfucking amazing year, and I don't need astrology or numerology to tell me that shit.