Rocking in the Dark

The moon was so bright, it called my attention as I walked past glass sliding doors.
I was making my way to the laundry room to finish with my favorite chore when the light caught my eye.
I slowly made my way to the doors, each step my hopes building.
I'll look toward the lemon tree... and had this been 2012, he'd be over there... ears perked...
I pressed my forehead against the glass-- I couldn't see the moon without coming in contact with the doors.
Unsatisfied, I walked to the kitchen and opened the door leading to the backyard.
Again, I felt a glimmer of hope when I looked at the right hand corner.
Maybe I'll see that cuddly ball... and his huge orange eyes stare up at me... his little eyebrows wondering what the hell my problem might be.

But there was nothing... Just the dark stain left by years of Tyson's body resting in that corner.
I looked away, and saw the two rocking chairs. I took a seat and stared at the moon... in complete silence, complete darkness, and for the first time in seven months-- completely alone.

This same scene, so many nights, by my side.
For 11.5 years.

I still can't sit in the backyard for too long. I can't have stare-downs with the moon without feeling... the worst emptiness my heart has ever felt.

I miss my boy.

Sweetheart? SWEETHEART?!

I was really hoping my friend had forgotten about me agreeing to being a bridesmaid at her Mexican wedding.
Then I received her group message today.
It was a photo of the dress and information on how she was mailing us a sample of the dress fabric.

NO WAY.
FUCK!
DAMN IT!

I'm officially a bridesmaid when I was never really... formally asked. I was just unlucky enough to be sitting at the same table at the sushi restaurant my sister had chosen for us three to catch up. Supposedly D and this friend were going to talk about the wedding plans... then suddenly the bride-to-be starts talking in plural... and I kinda hoped it was her having shitty grammar.

I don't want to go to Mexico in the summer. I don't want to go to Mexico... ever.
Fuck, man. Damn it.
There go my plans for August.

P.S. The dress? It's strapless, sweetheart neckline. The color? Tiffany blue.
Someone please just... shoot me now. I'm going to be a miserable wreck for the next 5 months.
Strapless sweetheart neckline...
Can you hear the wailing? Can you see my fucking mascara running from my eyes, my red nose covered in snot? God. Fucking. Damn it.

Ale-Ale-Man-ia

It was nice catching up with the girls on my dad's side. The only person missing was my sister.

At first, it was a little awkward. Last time all three of us were together, as in... all three of us having a chat, was back in '09 when our grandfather died.

One has a newborn baby, another has a divorce AND a new man in her life... and then there's me. Good ol' constant AnoMALIE.

Of course we talked about the divorce... though I didn't have the heart to ask WHAT EXACTLY went down. I also asked to be given details about the new man. Homegirl's like a teenager all over again. All excited and giddy... jumping at her phone each time it lit up with a new text.
Her new guy's Italian, so I made the comment about being jealous 'cause now she had the excuse of visiting Europe ever so often.
Cousin: Oh! I'm going in April!
Me: To Europe?
Cousin: Yeah! NewDude is living out there right now.
Me: Ahhh! That's so cool. I've been looking into going out to Berlin, since Germany's the only "big" European country I haven't hit.
Cousin: That's where NewDude is. He's living out in *?* (Totally forgot the name, and why act like I know anything about that country)
Me: Oh shoot! Why's he out there?
Cousin: He's in the Air Force and got stationed out there until December.

The conversation took off from there.
She's cool with me joining her for the trip, and I got the green ($) light as soon as I told my folks about it.
Now I have to mull over the idea... because that's what I do to ward off my impulsive nature.
How SMART is it of me to join a couple which will MOST LIKELY be acting like... a honeymooning couple? Sure, I won't spend a lot of my time with them, since I have plans to hang out with JC... and will probably end up just being with him...
And then there's the whole Germany thing... like... I'm scared of the place... well, more like "intimidated."
And then there's the length of the visit. Homegirl's going for ten days. If I'm going to be on a fucking plane for THAT long, I'm not going to fuck around in the foreign continent for ONLY ten days.

I don't know... too much information to process. I'll think about it.

Countdown begins

I turn 28 on Friday.

I suspect all my irascible, unpleasant behavior is largely due to this impending doomsday.
I do it all the time. This acting up always rears its ugly head this time of year... it's like seeing all those animals freak out days before an earthquake.
I live in fear of one day just snapping. Sometimes I sense I'm an umbrella away from shaving my head publicly as paparazzi snap photos of me beating a car (Britney reference here). BUT, I know I'm just being looney because of my reluctance to age.

This birthday has some folks coming out of the woodwork, eagerly inviting me to go out-- some even demanding so.
I think it's due to the fact that it's my first birthday without my sister... or even my dog... that has some people worried. They must be under the impression that I somehow celebrate turning a year older...
Anyway, my female cousins from my dad's side have taken it upon themselves to take me out for my birthday. They originally wanted to take me out on Friday, but I made up some lie about being too busy.
I finally obliged to just go out for some sushi tomorrow afternoon as a form of early celebration.
These girls are very excited... and why lie? Even I feel giddy about a day with these girls.
One of my cousins recently had a baby, baby I finally met yesterday, but refused to hold.
It is SO creepy to see the offspring of a girl I remember babysitting... an itty-bitty creature who happens to be related to me.
I refused to hold the little dude because I'm about as gentle as a hawk swooping rabbits. I sat next to my mother and tickled the baby's feet instead... because I'll be a bitch to anyone... even a one-month-old. (sarcasm)

ANYWAY. I'm sort of excited to hang out with these girls... and that poor baby I irritated last night. I'm crossing my fingers they don't throw me a pity-party for being sister-less... all fuckin' spinster-like.

Artistic stuff

I've been writing for years.
I know I've mentioned how I've kept a journal since first grade.
I did numerous writing-related activities, which I always saw as... games.
Mooney and I would write stories-- we'd collaborate. I think it'd be something like two chapters each before handing it over to the other to do her two chapters and so forth, until the story came to some resolution.
This to me, was a game. It was fun.
I did this same activity with one of my best friends in middle school. We'd write a story in a spiral notebook. I think we'd settled on two chapters a turn as well, and the story would end as soon as the notebook ran out of room.

This hobby I never saw as... a career possibility? I don't know, I just grouped it in the same category as basketball-- it killed time, I enjoyed it, but I knew I would never make money off it. I never considered any of my artistic hobbies as being capable of getting me paid.

I've GIVEN away numerous paintings now. It's super strange, and it makes me feel weird to know someone wants something painted/doodled by me... but I oblige. It's my gift to them. A little piece of me... actually, a very intimate piece of me... since I keep my "art" to myself... something about it embarrasses me. I can't really put a finger on it. It's just something incredibly personal to me which leaves me feeling vulnerable. When people find out I paint, I usually just want crawl under a rock.

My photography? I've GIVEN some of my prints away. Actually, I gave one of my little cousins an entire story board. Facebook has also pretty much assassinated this possible "lucrative" prospect. People just see your photos and more than often steal them. I do it... but only with photos that are... umm... well, not of an artistic nature.
HOWEVER, on Friday, I sold my first print! THAT was strange... especially the chosen photo (photo from my Costa Rican travels, where I photographed my breakfast one morning), however, it officially goes down as my first sold art project.

Short stories? Well, that's my next venture. I had been working on my writing since day ONE of this year (for real), but the project has been stalled... which of course bums me out, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. I take set-backs much better now.
I also have a bit of inspiration, due to my middle school friend who is currently shopping around her first book. She wrote this badboy in a matter of about a week... I even make an appearance... as (surprise, surprise) a character named "Teresa." At least it's not "Maria," right?

I like being part of things.
I even gave Kelley the green light to write songs inspired by my F'ed up life. I can't write poetry/songs for shit, so I have given her full liberty-- even encouraging her-- to sing about my woes.
Add me to your stories, sing about me, write poems about me, just don't write my autobiography... I have to be left with some sort of job, right?

Art's lovely.

Sugary needs

This inexplicable sense of nausea is frustrating.
I woke up at noon, and before stepping foot off the bed, I felt this bizarre sense of disconnect between my brain and body. It's not like when I ride a roller-coaster... but it is somewhat dizzying and confusing. I would touch things and my brain just wouldn't register, if that makes sense.
After about two hours of this crap, I became frustrated... and nearly cried.

I don't really know why this is going on, but I feel my no-sugar thing might be to blame. Hypoglycemic issues, perhaps?
With this in mind, I decided to snack on some blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries... and when that didn't do the trick, Mom made me eat an empanada... a Bavarian-cream-stuffed empanada (WHO came up with that idea? Since when the hell do Mexicans fuck with Bavarian cream?).
No dice.

I'm going to sleep now.
I'm guessing this shit is due to the accumulation of poor sleep this past week.

This feels terrible.

Wonderland

What does AnoMALIE do when she's feeling anxious, annoyed, frustrated, upset, angry, violent, and all those ugly feelings a person should never feel?
Resort to art.

Obviously not complete... that's about three hours worth of repeated motions... for the most part.
I'm sure my mood and feelings are more than self-evident.

Random AnoMALIE fact: Disney characters have to be some of the easiest characters to recreate.
As a kid, I was most fascinated with Jessica Rabbit. That broad made an appearance in the majority of my "work." I think about it now and I have to giggle... I mean... I was a seven-year-old... drawing a sex-bomb. WTF?

Anyway, I'm feeling much better, as predicted.
The world would be a better place if everyone was just given some canvas, brushes, and paint.
It feels good. I promise.

Gitanita

So... like... February 20th was kiiiind of a jerk to me.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm in desperate need for a vacation.
I swear some gypsy soul was reincarnated into me or something. I'm not happy when I have to stand around for too long in the same place. I get restless.

I think it's time I make that reservation to Cancun.
I'm getting that cleanse.
Fuck it.

Not-so-heartless Me

I'm terrible at being bad.

I mean, I can definitely be ruthless and cruel... damn near inhumanely cruel... but after a few hours, perhaps days, I'm always reminded I have this stupid thing called a heart. And a conscience.

I feel like garbage. Always.

The hater broads, surprisingly, have haters themselves.
These last few months of dealing with them, especially NOW, I've found a bit of camaraderie with the other girls who have been "victims" of these mean girls.
I've realized I'm actually too nice to be in this company.
Sure, I giggle for a while... but the hatred sometimes gets out of hand...
For instance, I was having a blast talking trash with one girl... then she went off and started talking about how she won't be happy until HaterBroad's mom dies.
Whoa... yeah, too far.
I stayed silent.
But the girl kept going.
Well... this is unattractive... and scary.

I'm pretty sure I AM a sweetheart with a horrible angry streak... but I'm definitely not a psychopath.
Now I don't know if I want to follow through with the whole revenge thing.
I WILL continue with the whole work-out thing, since I do enjoy it very much and I'm doing that for myself... but I'm going to quit paying mind to the haters (who have definitely increased their pressure... though ONE removed me as a FB friend... finally doing me a fucking favor. Sadly, with the herd of hating hoes, today one of our mutual friends lost an uncle... and we coincided when giving our condolences on FB. That was awkward... but I TOTALLY killed it in the sympathy department. Writing's my thing... I'll dominate on a bitch, especially if she's a simple-minded DUMBFUCK. The remaining "friend" of mine has also written SO MANY status updates, which are obviously digs at me [one was like "I love winning ::smiling face::" and I was SO tempted to HATE... but I just let it slide). I hope.

I did it all for the cookies

Lent was on the 13th.

I had a difficult time deciding what I'd give up.

I once again went for the no cussing thing.

However, knowing that I'd most likely break this promise within MINUTES of leaving the church parking lot, I decided I'd make a second "super easy" promise.

No sugar.

I thought this would be "super easy" because I've dropped sugar from my diet, for over 45 days, FOUR TIMES in the past two years.

Big mistake. BIG FREAKING MISTAKE.

I am like a pregnant woman right now. I'm craving some crazy stuff... like eclairs-- I don't like those things because they don't agree with my palate. Suddenly, I find myself contemplating the best bakery to find the tastiest eclair in the city.

Mexican sweet bread-- I LOATHE it, yet now I find myself eyeing my mother's conchita as we enjoy our late night tea time.

There are also those bastard Girl Scout Cookies.

I've NEVER had Girl Scout cookies... EVER... yet for some freak reason, a stupid scout was setting up on Sunday outside of church, slangin' her freakin' sugary meth.

AND I WAS SO TEMPTED! I have no clue what those pieces of crap taste like... yet there I was, for an hour, absolutely tortured as I debated whether or not to purchase some cookies once Mass was over.

I'm alone... I have my wallet in the car... Mom won't know... I'll just sit in the car and finish it before coming home... like some Bulimic high schooler... Oh my goodness... what the hell am I doing?!

I ALMOST ran to my car-- I'm absolutely serious right now... that's how fast I walked out of the area.

Crisis averted.

This morning, I check out Facebook... only to see Subway is GIVING AWAY free cookies.

WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! What is this garbage?! WHY NOW?!

My birthday is a little under two weeks away... NO SUGAR on my birthday? What THE FUCK was I thinking?!

I should have just given up sex and drugs again.

(Get it?)

I'm an idiot.

Slow and steady-- it's what I do.

AND the trashtalk CONTINUES!
I'm so fed up... so, so, SO fed up.
I HATE perpetuating stereotypes and being trite... but sweet baby elephants (I once again gave up cussing for Lent. Sorry guys!), I'm dealing with some incredibly stubborn haters.
Here I was stupid and naive, thinking that maybe with time, the garbage would end.
I'm sure after a couple of months of seeing me NOT rebound, they'll believe me when I say I did things LEGITIMATELY, and not with drugs or surgery...
But instead, the hate has grown more vicious... and from THE SAME BROADS!
They say it with SUCH CONVICTION, people believe them... and I'm left SPEECHLESS.
How can... how can anyone propagate lies like that... so shamelessly?! WHAT DID I DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT TREATMENT?! I'm a MOUSE! I mind my own business! I sleep, eat, hit the gym, shower, shop, draw, paint, write, watch some cooking shows... and sleep some more! I hardly see ANYONE, let alone speak to anyone. COME ON!

I try to be calm... and very rational. But it's so strange to see that even after I come out and "clear up" the situation, I still hear the SAME lies.
If pills really CAN build muscle... then... why in the hell have YOU not tried them? I mean, wouldn't you rather have muscles than that amorphous blob you call a body? Why are people still freakin' fat if such a damn magic pill exists?!

I know celebrities get hate on a regular basis... most public figures deal with this garbage. I'm baffled and bewildered because I'm such a private NORMAL person, and I've always been that way... the reason why anyone would want to talk about me confuses me. I'm practically invisible.
I've seen girls hate on each other due to jealousy... but I had never been on the receiving end (well, maybe they hated on me once or twice for my financial situation... I've heard plenty of people deprecate my travels as well as my vehicles. "Why does SHE get to do that?" I dunno, homie... because... I won some sort of lottery by being born to the parents I was born to. They love me. I'm sorry you didn't run such luck? You can always hitch a ride with me, if that's what you'd like. You can even travel with me, as long as you pay for your ticket. I'll pay for your meals, if that'll make you happy. I've done it before), since I've never been a "threat." I don't flirt... I don't date... I DON'T TALK! I just mind my business and carry on living... ALONE. Come on now. Why mess with me?

Friends have suggested I take it as a compliment... and I try... but it's just not me. I don't possess that trait.
I just live confused and then angry. And uncomfortable.
What do I do when angry, confused, and uncomfortable? I return the favor (you know, after I'm done crying from the frustration). I give the people what they want.
It's only fair. I'm considerate like that.
Because I'm a sweet, lovely girl.

Like I said, I'm a pro at slow-roasting...
I live to shark-- I work MAGIC in that department.

You want to hate me? Oh girl, why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have saved you the trouble of trying to be clever with your "sarcastic" "witty" and "indirect" remarks.
Sit back, relax, and watch me burn you. It'll be fun. And DELIBERATE.
Promise :)

Step one: I call you out.
Let's make this badboy PUBLIC. Let's get it out in the open, shall we? I'm feeling a little suffocated.

Holy cow... my tits look huge now that I see this on my laptop....
Too bad everyone already saw them on IG.
Welp... there they are, ladies and gents... my boobs.

Pill popping and plastic surgery? I'll show you whatever body part you want to see... but only if I can do the same to you. Most you'll see on me are my tiger stripes I very idiotically acquired from allowing myself to get so large. However, I have never been under the knife... I haven't even had my wisdom teeth extracted... so... good luck finding any of those scars. Can YOU say the same?
Let's also play a game: punch me ONCE, as hard as you'd like, right in my abdomen (never the face. My big nose is sensitive. Hitting me in the face only means you're ready to kiss a sidewalk)... but you must agree I get to do the same to you. It'll only hurt if your core isn't too strong... but considering you've ONLY hit the gym for YOUR weight-loss, I don't think you'll have a problem. Don't worry about me, though I've NEVER checked in at the gym like you have, I promise that place has been my shrine for two years. My core is a-ok.

Let the games begin.

(Hours after posting that photo on IG on Friday, I inadvertently became the personal trainer to three of my friends. I was answering nutrition questions as well as lifting questions. If only my haters would be as trusting. I'd answer their questions, TRUTHFULLY, if they'd just bother to ask me personally... instead of assuming things to pass off as facts. Who knows, maybe we'd even become close friends... gym buddies, minimum. I LOVE helping people out. I wish these jerks would understand that)

Perfidy

Nadie comprende lo que sufro yo. 
Canto, pues ya no puedo sollozar.
Solo temblando de ansiedad estoy.
Todos me miran y se van.

Mujer, si puedes tú con dios hablar, pregúntale si yo alguna vez te he dejado de adorar;
Y al mar-- espejo de mi corazón-- las veces que me ha visto llorar la perfidia de tú amor...

Te he buscado dondequiera que yo voy, y no te puedo hallar.
Para que quiero otros besos si tus labios no me quieren ya besar?
Y tú... quien sabe por dónde andarás.
Quien sabe que aventuras tendrás...
Qué lejos estás de mí...

"No one understands how much I suffer.
I sing, since I can no longer sob.
I only tremble from the anxiety.
Everyone looks at me and leaves.

Woman, if you can speak with God, ask him if at any time I've stopped loving you;
And to the sea-- the mirror of my heart-- the times it has seen me cry the perfidy of your love...

I've looked for you wherever I go, and I can't find you.
Why would I want other kisses if your lips no longer want to kiss me?
And you... who knows where you might be.
Who knows what adventure you might be having...
How far you are from me..."

In Spanish, this song is so freakin' gorgeous (it's quite famous, even used in "Casablanca" and, oddly enough, the show "Dexter")... translated, not so much.

Of course I identify with the song, of course I sing along.
Pregúntale si yo alguna vez te he dejado de adorar.
Since the moment I met you? No. Never.
Y al mar-- espejo de mi corazón-- las veces que me ha visto llorar la perfidia de tú amor...
Every time we reunite-- the ocean, the sea, any body of water, really.

I travel the world... I meet new people, often hoping to find someone who will outshine you, and it never happens. I never want anyone like I want... you. I don't admire anyone the way I admire you.
If it isn't you, I don't want the guy even touching me... I get defensive and do everything to repel him.
I do wonder where you might be and what you might be doing... having that constant reminder that whatever it might be, you are still so very far from me... too far.


Mexican song writers rock my world.

Siete Palabritas

It has been FOUR years since I spent my Valentine's Day in the bay.
To this day, it remains as one of the most beautiful Valentine's Days I've had in my life... it holds a top 50 spot in my favorite moments of all-time.
I think about the day and I smile. There is no anger, no resentment, no sadness... just a bit of nostalgia and happiness.

I'm always told not to live in the past, but I can't help it. Memories are what keep my heart beating. Memories keep the smile on my face. Memories make my life worthwhile. Memories help me bypass the pain.

I have difficulty releasing the negative memories, why in the world would I refuse to latch on to the beautiful ones?

February 14th, 2001: the "love of my life" knocked up the school whore.
I hated Valentines Day for who knows how long.
February 14th, 2009: the boy I claimed as "mine," as well as his brother, showed me the sweetest, most hilarious time of my life on a rainy, chilly weekend.

I've spent all Valentines since then just... enjoying the sight of my friends on this day... especially when they have a good day.
It's nice to see what life can be like... when it's good.

No use in hating... just ride that wave.

***

I spent many years wondering if I ever crossed your mind on this day... if even for a few seconds... if only just a quick flash of my image... for whatever reason... anything.
Just think of me...
Years.
Just another girl... nothing more, nothing less.
Seven words that violently shook me awake from my dream state. Seven words that forced me to open my eyes. Seven words that punched me to the cold reality. Seven words that... seven words... who would ever think seven words could be so powerful?
Seven words helped me see how truly insignificant I could be.
Seven words killed me.

I was but a grain of sand in one of the many oceans of MY "Sun"'s universe.

'bout it

Hey, AnoMALIE... how has this weekend treated you?

I'll try and be back to normal tomorrow.

What throwback?

Thursdays seem to be the universal day to post old school photos.
I finally decided to participate.

I'm tired. I'll clean up this post later.

Jack Frost

I'd immediately look away from his stare.
I'd feel a kick in my stomach each time he'd call me by name.
He terrified me... yet, I couldn't hate him... my heart felt PITY for him.

My grandpa, the crazy one, was an asshole... a dude with a horrible temper, a dude who'd beat the fucking shit out of anyone for any fucking reason, a dude who would fuck ANYTHING with a vagina, regardless of how that vagina was related to him.
But those crazy moments were just that-- moments.
The older I became and the more I learned in school, the more I suspected his temper flares to be due to his time in the US Army-- his time in the Korean War.
I also learned about Gramps' incredibly rough upbringing... and so... I began to understand him.

His rough upbringing made him have a soft spot for the destitute. He NEVER told a beggar to go away. He ALWAYS bought something from the little kids selling bubblegum on the side of the road. He'd buy random people clothes and shoes, and then treat them to lunch.
He'd sometimes cry (for about five minutes at a time) when he'd see really young kids begging for money... or just walking around in raggedy clothes, shoeless.
My Gramps was the wealthiest man in Hometown, but he'd spend the majority of his dough on others (yeah, I guess PROSTITUTES can be included here. It's the truth).
Grandpa could be such a horrible monster one minute, and the most selfless, generous soul the next.

Gramps always had a peon.
In my memory, the ones I remember most were two extremely loyal peons: Ivan, whom I've spoken about previously, and Marcos.
Both were young guys from the poorest families in Hometown, who Gramps hired as a way to get out of the misery... to help them put food on their family's table.

Ivan always played with me... even if he was so much older than I... but Marcos NEVER paid me ANY mind.
Marcos always scared me, he'd just stand there smoking his cigarette, criticizing Ivan for being such a child... and ignoring me as if I were invisible (he did like my sister. I remember him holding her, flashing a huge smile. Who could blame him? She was a motherfucking porcelain doll... the epitome of a beautiful baby).
I could be skipping around the backyard, happily feeding the horses or playing with the kittens, but the moment I'd catch his eyes on me, it was as if a weight were placed on my head... or if I had been touched by Jack Frost.
Paralyzed by fear.

He had blue eyes... sky-blue eyes... that were hard to miss... especially when they'd be focused on you.
His hair was black... he could only grow the measliest mustache, no beard.
His skin was red-- he wouldn't tan under the sun... just turn that lobster-red white folk turn when sunburned.
He was always sunburned.
Or drunk.
Or smoking weed.
Or chain-smoking his cigarettes.
He was around 5'10" and built like a bull.
I guess he could be considered handsome... if he were ever fucking sober for more than three days.
But like I said, something about his eyes freaked me out. He could have looked like motherfucking Ryan Gosling, but I'm sure I'd still shit bricks the moment I'd make eye-contact.

Once I grew up, hit my late teens, we'd be somewhat cordial. He'd sometimes mumble my name... usually only after he'd greet my mom at the park. He'd greet Mom as if greeting a sister.
Then he'd go back to being his usual sourpuss-self.
When we'd play volleyball, he'd often leave pissed off after a bad call. He'd fight with everyone, everyone but Mom. The moment would argue, he'd just "PSHHHH!" throw his right arm into the air, and storm out of the park.
Whenever Mom would fail to join me at the park, I'd come home early if Marcos was at the park. When I'd overhear him mention my name... I'd feel my erector pili go CRAZY. I would no longer freeze, but I would pause momentarily.
It was during this time that he gained his fame as the town's only thief.
I never saw him break into my house, but I DID recognize a pair of my Etnies on one of his nieces... my very fucking particular Etnies... with my MOTHERFUCKING NAME WRITTEN ON THEM.
Did I ever say anything? HELL NO. Fuck getting on Marcos' bad side! He already didn't tolerate me... didn't want to further aggravate that shit.

When Gramps died in '07, Marcos cried a river. He confided in Mom how he was going to miss him with all of his heart, and how he was going to need him...
When my grandmother died in '09, I don't remember much... everything was a blur... I felt as if the world were going in dizzying slow-motion, being rewound, then fast-forwarded, then once again in slow-motion. During one of my few moment of clarity, I remember looking over to my left as we were getting ready to put Grandma's coffin into the ground... and I caught a glimpse of Marcos-- his eyes swollen, pink, tears rolling down both cheeks, his hand over his mouth.
Marcos... the... terrifying bad guy... is a fucking wreck over my grandma? He has feelings?! Wow. Th...ank you...

Today we got word Marcos was murdered in TJ.
He was one of the ringleaders of abductors in our home state.
Mexico's military got him during some sort of operation sting.
This doesn't surprise me in the least bit, it was obvious he was up to no good.
Still, I have this bizarre sense of sadness in my heart.
I couldn't focus on anything today, because all I could think of was Marcos.
I felt pity... and scared... sort of relieved... then sad.
Such a bad guy... a guy who'd nearly get me to piss myself with just one glance... a guy who did not care about anyone or anything, and who was willing to do anything for a buck... never did anything to me or my family besides steal a pair of my Etnies to give to his niece. In fact, he showed my family an odd version of respect.
We flirted with disaster... with grave danger... it was right there, for so long... but nothing ever happened... if anything, I dare say we were protected.
Jesus Christ...

The summer of 2010, Alo, D, Jaz, and I were playing in a volleyball team that was turning out to be invincible for the evening. We only had two guys on the team: my godson and Marcos.
We were cooperating so well, we were kicking ass so hard, and we were laughing SO MUCH.
At one point, one of the guys on the opposing team spiked on my head. Angry, I cursed and threatened the guy.
Marcos let out a roar. He quoted me... and burst out laughing, uncontrollably.
"Ayyy, AnoMALIE. You're so fucking silly, kid."
I laughed... I fearlessly laughed... and felt good for finally managing to amuse him.

That was a good day.


I'm sorry Life turned out this way for you, Marcos...

Baby, baby, bayyybeee

Babies are scary.

These last few days, I've been in contact with too many.
What's so scary about it?
It's like the little fuckers know I'm not very happy... and that I'm actually quite disappointed in humanity.
So what do they do? They act all fucking adorable and loving... and actually provoke me to play with them. Little monkeys.
They flash me this giant smile the moment I walk through the front door... do this crazy little cute thing with their eyes, they basically speak to you-- the eyes, the twinkle in them.
I don't know how they do it, but I suddenly find myself chasing after them, playing tag.
Tonight, one of the little ones (none of these babies can speak yet. I must admit, this is my favorite stage of a kid-- old enough to walk and run around, too young to talk and express thoughts. Once they start running their mouths, I try much harder to avoid them) dared to have a staring contest with me. Little fucker DID. NOT. BLINK. He was making this angry face... you know, staring me down. Once I blinked, fucking kid SMILED and tossed me that "Nahhhh! I was just kidding! I'm not angry!" face... the playful, sarcastic little punk.

I'm not baby crazy, I still stand firm in my stance of NO BABIES!
... but I do appreciate the creepy sixth sense shit they have going on... especially how they act upon it, and proceed to try and change my shitty mood.
Babies have made these last few somber days of mourning and praying into something entertaining... lighthearted. I actually kind of look forward to seeing their stinkin' little faces each day. SO weird.

Babies... que lindos.

Sweet Rocks

I'm currently experiencing my typical delayed reaction to unpleasant news.
My brain has processed it, and now my body is reacting.

I'm lethargic... I'm apathetic to everything going on around me... and I've finally released a couple of tears.
I'm also retrieving some fucked up memories I hadn't thought of in... years.
Today's most vivid memory:

8th grade science class was where I first did the sugar-crystal rock candy lab.
I was excited.
I remember we were allowed to choose the trippy colors we'd want our rock candy to turn out, using food coloring in the primary colors.
I took my time to make some green food coloring, orange food coloring, and kept blue for my third color.
We were given styrofoam cups, which we had to write our name on... and since I'm so ADD prone... and get carried away when anything similar to sketching is involved, I decorated my styrofoam cup with my name in different styles. I was the one with the most extravagant cup.
We all did the lab, which was basically making a sugar and water solution, tying a rope to a popsicle stick in one end, and a paperclip on the other. The paperclip went in the dyed sugar-solution, and the popsicle stick was placed on the mouth of the cup to keep the rope suspended and the paper clip from touching the bottom of the cup.
We were then told to place the cups in the room's only window, which had a sliding door, which would prevent us from opening it and perturbing the crystallization process.
The experiment would take about two weeks, but we'd all end up with really cool crystals attached to the paperclip and rope in the end, as long as we were patient and did not touch the cups.
About three days into the experiment process, I remember the teacher allowed us to carefully examine our cups to see how the crystallization process was coming along.
Everyone was excited, their level of liquid was diminishing and a couple of crystals were starting to form.
Mine? No difference... although I could no longer see the orange dye... which I thought was weird, so much so I checked the cup a couple of times to make sure it really was MY cup.
A week in and we were allowed to re-ceck our crystals.
My classmates had some awesome, colorful crystals by now.
I was crossing my fingers, kind of excited, hoping my cup would have finally gotten with the fucking program.
I grabbed my cup and felt my heart drop.
My cup was heavy... very heavy.
I looked in, and saw it was now a syrupy, dark blue liquid... like the deep ocean... with my string and paperclip just chillin' in there.
I called my teacher over.
"Oh my God, Anomalie! What did you do?"
I was watery-eyed... choked up... and confused.
Me: Nothing. I followed your instructions... and I had green and orange in here... I don't know what happened.
"I guess someone must have... accidentally... stirred your cup... and added more water... You'll just have to use your friend's data to finish the lab. Go throw your cup away, I'm sorry."
I walked over to the trashcan and felt some of my classmates follow me with their eyes. I had to look down into my cup as I made my way across the room, so I wouldn't have to make eye-contact with anyone... and have them see the tears in my eyes... or my quivering bottom lip.
I finally couldn't help myself, and a couple of giant tears dropped as I looked down into my lap when I took my seat... the rest of class was still at the window sharing glimpses at each other's cups.

I hardly spoke to anyone... I hardly SPEAK... yet someone disliked me enough to fuck up something I was so interested in-- something so cool. Someone decided to take that away from me.
What hurt me most? This person was anonymous. I'd never know who he or she was... or why he or she did it... yet he or she had the satisfaction of watching me sit very dejectedly in my seat while our 28 classmates gushed about their cool project by the window.


That's pretty much what my life has been all about. Not much has really changed. I doubt it ever will.

Lies. Lies. LIES. AGAIN.

I'm so gullible.

I trust.
And I love.
And I DEFEND.

I believe you not because I'm an idiot... but because I'm nice... and I love you... and I'm loyal. I convince myself that EVERYONE is like that.

Then I'm proven wrong. The lies are revealed. I'm left looking like a fool... or a mean cunt... but mainly just a fucking idiot.

I hate lies.
I hate them so much.

I hate having my trust betrayed. I hate knowing someone knew they were leading me astray, and didn't do shit to prevent it.

How did these last couple of days get so fucking out of control?

Lore

Yesterday's blowup is something that would have been frowned upon by my Garcia side-- my grandmother, her siblings, and especially their father.
This side, the Garcias, are known for their generally calm and patient disposition. They were raised to mind their own business, be people of faith, and work hard. Their patience was OFTEN tried, and instead of getting physical, or even vocal about their anger (I have never met people of such few words. Wonder where I get my silence from? Here. 100%), they'd just walk away and say "Que haya un tonto y no dos." (Let there be ONE fool, not TWO)

In September, I had the privilege to go back to Durango, and see one of the remaining Garcias: mi Tia L. She was the cutest, most hardworking little lady my eyes ever did see. She was kind beyond measure... she had this way of looking at you, so adoringly, without saying a word-- only squeezing your hand/arm. When we'd sit in a group and talk, I'd think she wasn't listening (because she was so busy looking at everyone, in her own world, as though trying to mentally soak in everything about that moment), but suddenly she'd ask a question that would catch me off guard-- question totally pertaining to the conversational topic ("Holy moly! She was listening the whole time?!"). And she had this wit... which often went over people's heads, but the more I'd listen to her, the more I'd giggle to myself, and shoot her a quiet smile ("Oh, clever! I got you, Tia ;) ").
A widow at a young age, she learned to HOLD. IT. DOWN. I can't tell you the number of times I visited her, only to be greeted by one of my primas who'd tell me mi Tia L was outside trimming the trees... or, too often, on the roof, fixing it (she was still a busy-bee like this in September).
Each visit, she'd sort of force-feed me... not because I needed it, but because whatever she was giving me tasted DAMN GOOD and I NEEDED to try it (she force-fed me a .5 liter of coca-cola in September, because Coca-Colas are THE BEST. I don't drink soda, but for her, I'd chug a gallon of it. Then she didn't let me leave the house until I finished the lollipop she had given me... to wash down the coke, ya know?). Her enchiladas rojas? Only THE best!

In September, for the first time ever, she gave me her benediction. I never knew about her benedictions... so special... so... unique for each person-- I wasn't the exception, she made my benediction quite particular... it was like she knew what I needed. It's a beautiful moment I'll forever cherish...
... along with all those times with the sodas, the enchiladas, the frijolitos, the tight, loving squeezes to my arm, her gentle, adoring stares (she was one of the few who ever told me, from the very beginning "You are such a beautiful girl. So strong and tall... always so beautiful." Whereas everyone else's "compliments" would go somewhat like "You know... if you lost a few pounds, you'd be SO PRETTY!")... or how much I admired her ability to forgive (if they ever murdered my only son, in cold blood, in front of the town church, during the festivities of the patron saint... I would never have the heart to forgive the murderers. I would NEVER accept their apologies, and I would never allow them to walk free, as if nothing ever happened. But she did)... and her never ending pride and love when she'd show me the photos of her gorgeous kids, grandkids, great-grand kids, and even great-great-grandkids.

My wonderful cousins, I join you in your sorrow. I hope you know I love you all-- each and EVERY ONE of you-- with all of my heart, and grieve at the thought of any of you suffering with this loss. I am glad, however, that there are so many of you-- people who have a piece of this magnificent woman in their hearts (and genetic make-up), who are able to share it with the rest of the world. She left quite the legacy... and will be greatly missed.


... this is what I wished I could have posted... what I WANTED to post... but... I decided to keep the memories to myself. Is the selfish?

If there is anyone who deserves to rest in paradise, I know for a fact mi Tia L is one of them.
I can't begin to describe how grateful I am for the time I spent with her, and the opportunity I had to see her one last time this September.
She left me with some beautiful memories and beyond-admirable life lessons.
Hometown no longer has a reason to... I no longer need to go there... at least not immediately. It ended today.