Wednesday, December 31, 2014

efharisto para poli 2014

I returned on Monday afternoon.
I was sick as all hell-- stomach cramped like never before. I could feel my intestines freaking the fuck out the moment I stood up from my plane seat (I should probably mention I spent all 12 hours from Zurich to Vegas sitting in my seat... not once did I get up... so uh... yeah, I was fuuuuucked up by the time it came to finally leave. Didn't help that the FIVE fucking men sitting around me were pieces of fucking shit [dude in front of me, guy to his side, guy directly to my side, guy behind that one, and guy behind me... ALL were selfish piece of shit fucking pricks who would somehow manage to shove some body part of theirs towards me/ON ME. By hour three I was really weighing the pros and cons of karate chopping the fucking shit out of their stupid body part invading my space. Caucasian men are always so motherfucking inconsiderate, in my personal experience... all five in this case were exactly that]).
I still agreed to go on a sushi run with Mooney... which turned out to be a great idea (not WHILE at sushi, since my intestines were freaking out even worse upon feeling the weight of the food entering my system), because I hadn't really eaten anything in the 15 hours spent flying.
I'm still messed up, a little, but only because I find I have very little appetite. I have to force myself to eat a second meal late in the afternoon.
I'm also having difficulty readjusting my internal clock. I have been waking up at 3:30 in the morning, and forcing myself to sleep longer... but it all goes to hell by around 5AM, when I'm finally too frustrated to try and sleep.

ANYWAY. My final days in Athens were beautiful.
I wasn't rushed to go out anywhere... it was all done on my time. People weren't pouting like fucking little pussies. No one was arguing. Guys were getting flirty with me.
I was sad to leave... but not too sad, since I now have the green light to head out there whenever I'd like.
I also have some cool plans for the future... which of course I will NEVER discuss with anyone... because when I do, shit goes to hell and my heart gets broken.

This leads me to the whole New Year's Resolution shit I tend to do every year.
Or wait...  I think I'll do the year in review. I'll leave the resolutions for tomorrow... I'll check out if I made good with the resolutions of 2014, and I'll come up with one or two for 2015 (yuck...).

This year... what should I call this year? The slow year? The "I can't really remember this year" year?
It started off somewhat fast... all excited over the things lived the last two weeks of December... where I met those cool boys.
Then BOOM! heart break after heart break... and me just disconnecting entirely from the world.
If I can say anything about the first... seven months of 2014, it's that they were painfully slow and heartbreaking.
I painted a ton, and wrote a good amount.
Did't leave Vegas until about March, for a babyshower in LA.
Then came August-- Mexico time. Mexico Time for 15 days in August, then again another 15 in September. August was unbelievably fun, September boring as shit.
Another LA trip for the filming of that one show... that was something else.
Chicago in September... that was a pain in my ass. Was it September? I forgot. No, yeah, it was, because I went to DC from there.
October I met that cute boy who made me smile and feel pretty for a few weeks.
November was... a blur of sorts... where I'd get up Saturday mornings for 6AM gym sessions... all in preparation for December.
December... December my world finally picked up. December was amazing.
What I CAN recall from this year is 1. My goddamn foot injury which lasted for MONTHS... nearly a fucking year. and 2. Weight gain. FUCK! Did I gain weight! Worst of all was that the weight was on my thighs, spot I've struggled with my entire life (no, really, even as a 7 year old, my thighs were freakishly huge). My arms bulked like a motherfucker... I have man arms... buff as shit as though I'm bracing myself to shark people at bars by asking them to some arm wrestling.
OH! This year was also composed of the boxing fiasco. It was fun in the sense that I got to hang out with my best friend on the regular basis, like we did back in our college days... but negative in the sense that it had me PISSED at the trainer worse than I've been pissed at another human for a very long time.
Hmmm... you know, now that I do some more thinking, this year was kind of the year of "Reconnecting."
Yeah, I'll call it the year of "Reconnecting."
My bond with Kelley was back to the awesome bond it was over ten years ago... I even reconnected with Lucky Soprano-- that wild girl. And the Three Musketeers were once again together quite often... I definitely loved that. I'm cooler than ever with my DudeBestie's wife... that's rad-tastic.
I made good peace with my California girls... we're back to our friendship status of 2001.
I finally had the opportunity to hang out with Clemson as I did in 2008 when I headed over to Spain for a month. That was fun, catching up and heading on adventures together.

Yeah... 2014, the year of Reconnecting to the old AnoMALIE... the better AnoMALIE. The real AnoMALIE.
It might just be hazy because I'm still all fucking sleep-deprived and confused.... but... after I do some light scrambling of my brain, it all comes back. Maybe it's just hazy because it was a chill year... with the occasional tiny heartbreak... and that hideous blowup from the other day in Athens... but overall, I was able to go back to my friendships of the "Good ol' years" and relive, even FIX the relationship.

2014, you were a little boring... but once you decided to pick up the pace, you sure as fuck picked up the pace.
Thank you for all that you gave me.
Thank you for everything you took away.
Thank you for everything you decided to keep the same.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Yeah, but why?

Merry Christmas? It's still Christmas in America, right?

I'm no longer the villain... everything eased up yesterday. People stopped being scared around me, and I stopped feeling like slapping people across the face, finally.
Everyone is behaving themselves, not pouting around the house like spoiled, needy little jerks anymore.
Yesterday (Christmas Eve) we did have a minor speed bump at the US Embassy, though.
We tagged along with my brother to his place of work, since he was going to give his Marine friend a hot plate of Mexican Christmas Food from our Christmas party. We wanted to join Brother inside, but knew we couldn't enter because we didn't have clearance (I do, however, Bro needs to inform them of my visit days in advance). He told us we could take photos OUTSIDE of the embassy while he ran inside and accompanied his Marine buddy for a bit so he wouldn't feel so alone this Christmas.
I personally, did not want to do the photo session sans Brother, however, Clemson and Sister were little dummies who were overconfident and got out of the car. I didn't want to be left alone in the vehicle, especially with this one creepy Greek boy hanging around the car.
So I ran and caught up with the rest of the gang.

Well, guess what.
We got in trouble.
Greek soldiers approached us and asked us what we were doing (who the fuck is shocked by this? What kind of fucking idiot is shocked by this, I ask!). Clemson had already had her photo taken, and I was already shaking my head in disapproval (uttering my typical shit of "I told these bitches... but did they listen? Of course not! Nobody listens to AnoMALIE," as I stand several feet away), by the time the soldiers reached us (they screamed from the other side of the embassy).
Cool Soldier: What are you doing?
Clemson: Taking a photo?
Cool Soldier: Yeah, but why?
Clemson: Because we're waiting for their brother to get out.
Cool Soldier: Oh, whose brother works there?
Sister and I raise our hand like two scolded five-year-olds.
Cool Soldier: Oh... you do? Where is he right now?
Sister: Inside?
Cool Soldier: Oh... ok. Ok then. Go ahead. Go on.
Cool soldier walks away.
FIVE SECONDS LATER a thunderous voice starts screaming something in Greek.
Twenty seconds later big, mean greek soldier (with a meanass unibrow) starts chastising us.
MeanSoldier: What are you doing?
Clemson: Taking photos?
Mean Soldier: Why? What are you?
All of us: ... ??
MeanSoldier: Are you GREEK?
Clemson: We're all American.
MeanSoldier: Why do you want photos?
Clemson: Because... this is my embassy?
MeanSoldier: Sorry for the delay, but you're going to have to show us all your photos. And then delete all of your photos. I will HAVE to watch you delete all the photos of the embassy. For ah, you know, security reasons. Terrorism reasons, you know? We can't let you do that.

So there we stood, Sister and I annoyed out of our minds, watching Pacemaker and Clemson showing and deleting their photos in front of Greek and US soldiers... on Christmas Eve.

However, rather than be angry about this, the entire situation made us laugh... hysterically... once we were in the safety of our car.

And that is how I chill the fuck out.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014


Aaaaaaaand I'm still the villain.

The girls all rounded up this morning and headed out to the metro for the Acropolis.
I told them I've already seen the Acropolis, and that me going was only going to make the situation uncomfortable, because I'm still fucking pissed at my sister... and I will not hide my feelings of absolute discontent with her, even in public-- it's what you get when you piss me the fuck off... it's why I beg people not to cross that line, because I WILL be the fucking cunt you want me to be, and I WILL do it publicly.
So they left without me.

They then posted about their visit to the Acropolis on all forms of social media.
My sister even posted a selfie, which I found to be VERY telling of our dynamic as a family. It was her and my brother... and Clemson (this was a photo from Sunday, while at Meteora). I was nowhere to be found in the photo, despite being only a few feet away.

She calls every fucking bitch out there her "sister" as though I were non-existent. The only one I refer to as a sister, who isn't actually my blood relative, is Kelley... and that's because she's been there for me FAR MORE often than the VAST majority of my family members.
I say this all the time, and I've told it to Sister's face: the only time I was ever a fighting barbarian was when I had to defend one of my family members, usually meaning HER because she was such a cry baby.
How many times have any one of them stood up for me? None. Never. I have to sit there and not only get hurt, but watch as my family looks away-- completely apathetic... THEN I have to act like NONE of it hurt... like it was a fucking cake walk. AND THEN I have to deal with the lot of them thinking I'm a weirdo because I don't play well with others, because I prefer to be alone rather than socialize (didn't know it was so goddamn weird to avoid the shit that hurts you).
So OF COURSE this hurts me. It hurts bad... to see that despite having her back every single time, and remaining there even after seeing she NEVER reciprocates (but instead PARTICIPATES in my shunning), she STILL thinks I'm a shitty sister... so shitty she must go out and find others, apparently (I get all sentimental when I think back to our childhood and remember how I've always hated dolls, but would always find myself getting stuck playing with them for my sister's sake. I fucking hated using my imagination for that sort of shit... but I did it for her. Clearly this meant nothing to her).

And people always side with her.
She has gotten me in trouble numerous times, because she randomly grows a set of balls and shittalks someone, and then when the person finds out, someway, somehow, I get the blame for it, and the people wind up resenting ME.
"Who cares? Shit, let them know it's me who said that. Shit, I don't fucking care!" Sister will say... as the person in question suddenly hates me, but gains this crazy love and support for Sister.

Today, it's no different.
She pissed me off, I blew up, I made her cry and throw her typical melodramatic crying tantrum, and the people, of course, resented me for being such a monster... proceeding to comfort her and shun me.

But hey, 'tis life. It's why I prefer to be alone. It's why I'm happiest when on my own.

Monday, December 22, 2014

what you asked for

So I finally snapped.

Raise your hand if you're surprised.

I was doing my best to remain calm and collected... to take deep breaths each time someone in the house said something to outrage me... but I finally couldn't handle it and blew up this afternoon.
Who was the lucky winner to finally push me over the ledge? My sister. Naturally.

Everything was fine at first, I had been busy getting ready for the day's events. We had planned to visit the Acropolis museum and then stroll the premises. Then I began noticing everyone taking their time... just chillin... not making an effort to get ready. By three, I had given up hope of making it to the museum, so I went ahead and did my own thing... I sat down and played games on my phone... you know, to keep calm and not scream at everyone my discontent for their fucking lackadaisical attitude.
Then the girls had the idea to go out for gyros. Dad decided he didn't want to go, so I stayed behind to keep him company. I told the girls what I wanted, and they left around 4:15.
Everything was fine.
They returned at about 5, and we all sat down to eat.
I bit into my gyro... and bit again... potato. I bit again. More potato. I bit again. Lots of potatoes and a tomato.
I opened the gyro and looked inside. What was supposed to be protein was just pure fucking potatoes.
And I angrily commented about what kind of fucking asshole dipshit would prepare a POTATO gyro. A MOTHERFUCKING POTATO GYRO! POTATO!
(I actually said "Who the fuck would prepare a potato gyro!?" none of this bold, all caps "POTATO!" business I just did due to the rage I felt just remembering the ordeal [I fucking hate potatoes to begin with, so this only made my blood boil worse])
So I stopped eating and set it aside.
This made my sister tell me I was overreacting and that I just needed to shut the fuck up-- that it wasn't their fault.
"I KNOW it isn't your fault. I KNOW it was the idiot fucking chef. I'm not angry at ANY of you. I'm just angry someone could be that fucking stupid... and when I get angry, I lose my appetite. So I'm angry a fucking idiot made me angry to the point where I lose my appetite, when I was hungry before sitting down for lunch."
And then we have Clemson trying to "solve" the problem by suggesting things I could do, like trading gyros etc. Completely ignoring my statement about me losing my appetite when I get angry.
Then my sister says "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING EAT ALREADY?!"
And this pisses me off. It. Makes. Me. Tick.

Last night my brother was going to the airport to drop off the van we had rented for the weekend (we went on some fun road trips to Delfi, Sumio, and ending it all with Meteora, which was absolutely gorgeous and had me in a wonderful, blissful, calm mood), and asked me to join him since he used my credit card to pay for the van.
From there, Clemson added herself, because she thought Bro was going to travel alone (he was going to do the 50 minute treck back to the house on metro/foot). Then Pacemaker added herself to the trip because she wanted to get out of the house.
Sister had added herself, since she didn't want to be alone in the house.
My brother was surprised by the fact that we all wanted to make the mediocre, boring airport trip with him, and he commented that we didn't HAVE to go on this boring trip.
My sister went crazy on him and flipped. She screamed, cried, and locked herself in her room. All because she misunderstood my brother's comment.
"You only told ME I COULDN'T GO!"
That sort of shit.
Clemson, Bro, Pacemaker, Mom, and I tried calming her down and begged her to join us on this stupid trip... but she was her typical melodramatic self-- refusing to acknowledge us... pouting while her earbuds were in, as she stared at some Sons of Anarchy episode on her iPad.
This soured ALL of our day.

Me: Hey, *Sister*, why didn't you come outside without us last night?!
Sister: Because you guys were fucking assholes to me!
Me: WE were fucking assholes?!
::I point at everyone at the table-- Mom, Clemson, Pacemaker, me::

My mom gets angry, tells ME to shut up. Pacemaker leaves the room. Clemson keeps eating at the table.
I sit between Clemson and Sister... feeling my chest heave heavier with each breath I take... losing my ability to keep my chin from quivering, and my eyes from watering.
I can feel my sister sit next to me, feeling victorious. Feeling validated. Feeling CORRECT. Feeling like the winner.
Only thing running through my mind is that once again, I'm forced to shut my mouth, when in my fucking heart, I KNOW I'm right... I KNOW SHE has been the fucking asshole. Angry because I once again have to remain quiet about MY feelings and MY thoughts. MY feelings and thoughts are useless... to be kept silent, because they stir the status quo... because I step up to the little bitch who has ALWAYS thought she runs the show.
I fucking lose it.
I angrily stand up, staring down at my sister, clenching my fists.
Mom seriously spoke English.
Me: I AM CALM. I AM TRYING TO SOLVE A PROBLEM. I AM NOT SCREAMING... IT IS TAKING EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO SCREAM IN HER FACE LIKE SHE SCREAMS IN MINE. I am talking it out. I am letting her know it bothers me. I am letting her know I am fed up. HOLDING IT IN, like you want me to do, is what caused this scene in the first place. You're telling me she can disrespect and pout and throw tantrums... making us all feel bad.. but the moment SHE feels hurt and insulted I need to shut the fuck up? NO.

Tears are streaming down my face, even my nose is running. I am breathing heavier than I do when I run sprints.

Clemson was no longer in the room.
Mom starts giving us some irrelevant speech about having to love our family etc etc, but I am too angry to give a shit. She does this all the time-- missing the point of an argument.
I continue making my argument of "Why can SHE insult us and act a fool, but I can't tell her to shut the fuck up when she's being an asshole," with the reasoning being "because she's your baby sister."
Somehow Sister leaves the room, and I stand at the corner, by the washing machine that is still running, and proceed to calm my breathing-- all to no avail. My body, for the first time I can recall, begins to shake uncontrollably-- my core, my arms, and my legs. I have to stand there and concentrate on staying steady so that I won't collapse.

I have never reached that level of rage, I have never been so pissed I actually shake... "trembling with rage" used to just be a figure of speech.

What happens next? I'm left to be alone in the kitchen, being held up by the washing machine, trembling uncontrollably, while the rest of the house--naturally-- goes and calms down the melodramatic queen that is my baby sister.
She's a sea of tears and sobs on her bed... I'm a silent, shaking beast alone in a corner of the house.

I was a monster. Of course. Is there any other way?
I mean, big ol' mean me... growling, sniveling at this baby sister, baby sister I can easily hurt with just the bump of my hip. Telling her mean shit no one really ever tells anyone... even enemies-- the motherfucking truth.
I am a monster because I spoke the truth... because I refused to "shut up" and allow someone to insult me one too many times.

I TRY to be nice and calm and kind... I FIGHT the impulse to slap and punch and kick the fucking shit out of those who insult me... and I do a motherfucking awesome job at it, considering HOW MANY TIMES and HOW MANY PEOPLE insult me.
They see me sit quietly when they bulldoze over me with their insults/mistreatment. They gain this false sense of security, thinking I'm all talk... a cowardly lion... but the moment I finally reach my boiling point, "PUT HER DOWN! SHE'S DANGEROUS!"
No fucking shit. No motherfucking shit.

People don't give me enough credit when it comes to how well I manage to keep myself calm and collected rather than give in to my natural instinct of just wrecking shit--physically and verbally. They feel this need to constantly poke at me, completely skeptical of my warnings and please to not enrage me... but they just keep pressing to see if this supposed monster inside really does lash out, if it really exists... just push, push, push, stomp, stomp, stomp, insult, insult, insult... and when I finally do show them the horrible side (AT THEIR INSISTENCE), I'm shunned and reprimanded.

I'm calm now. It took me about four hours to chill out... about two hours to actually stop trembling. About an hour to actually stop giving a shit about having to calm MYSELF down, alone in a room next to a rowdy, old washing machine... everyone scared of me, thinking I'm such a horrible human (which I am).

Everyone's out drinking at the bar now. I'm home, watching some Italian crime drama with my parents, typing this up.

Life's motherfucking great.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Oh hell no

I am going to BEAT A BITCH'S FACE IN.


And now she's sleeping in the living room, not speaking to any of us.

I am fucking FURIOUS.


This behavior drives me motherfucking INSANE.
It may work in YOUR fucking house, but not here.
We don't deal with that behavior.




Friday, December 19, 2014

Pouting bullshit

Chatty Cathy up in here.

Frustration does that to me.
I have buttons you don't push... someone getting manipulative on me--acting irritated because they're not getting things done their way-- is a button you don't push.

This whole people observing I do, it gets me irritated when I realize I'm in the company of someone who is neither appreciative or... honest. An ingrate.
I am noticing an increase in hostility from my behalf as far as Pacemaker is concerned. I notice I'm getting pretty rude towards her because I'm finally fed up with her behavior-- that constant need of hers to brag, to act like she is SO important. I'm now openly rolling my eyes at her... I no longer give a fuck if she catches me doing it.
"Oh, I'm just ready to hit Champs-Elysees and shop til I drop at the end of the month!"
Shop til you drop? Where? McDonalds? Not even there, fucking shit is expensive as all hell out there.
She comes to the store with me, and says "Oh, I got it," takes five fucking hours to bust out her goddamn stupid brand-name purse (I don't care about brands. Fucking shit can be a Louis or a fucking Prada... I wouldn't know and more importantly, I WOULDN'T CARE.) until I eventually just pull out my fucking bills out of my ripped up pant pocket, and pay for EVERYTHING.
I comment about staying in the sky lounge for Airfrance in Paris' airport (how I almost missed my flight due to fucking around in there for too long), and of course, she has to comment how she "needs to check it out" when she heads out to Paris after leaving Athens later this month (I saw her itinerary-- she's flying Economy).
... You do know you have to be flying first-class to enter the room, right?

I HATE that shit. I HATE the fronting. HATE IT.
She wants to rub elbows with "rich" people, constantly name drops... but she doesn't pay for shit.
She just sits there, pouting because we don't do what she wants to do.
Homie, I already saw the Acropolis, I drove out to Poseidon's temple... I don't need to see that. Wait for my sister to come to town so you guys can all pool your money for a taxi to go see those sights if that's what you want to do.

I'm here to relax, make my brother's life easier-- 'cause he sure as fuck is not having a good time right now-- not harass him into taking me out after his long day at work.
It's winter... I'm fine just chilling in the city of Athens, seeing sights whenever my brother has time... and chilling at home-- RELAXING. It's why I took the MONTH off. You only have two weeks? Well, then YOU look for tours to fit YOUR schedule. I did my part by convincing my brother to let you stay in his house and eat his food for free for the duration of your trip.

I don't know if this makes sense... or if I'm being irrational... or just highly sensitive.
I just know I am irked out of my mind by someone trying to live beyond her means, putting up the front of being "bougie" and giving me fucking attitude because I'm not catering ENOUGH to her fucking desires.
WHY do you try to make others think you can afford the life of an heiress, when you're just an average person?
Add to that the fact that I see this person constantly reporting back to her siblings and a certain cousin about her stay here... as she fucking pouts, staring at her stupid phone (iphone 6 PLUS, naturally. Of fucking course).... and it all makes me fucking foam at the mouth with rage (dawg, I had legitimate chest pains this morning from the fury I was fighting).

I'm here to relax. My life is about RELAXING. That's it. That's fucking IT.
I don't care to impress ANYONE. Not a damn single motherfucking SOUL in this world. Not one. I want to disconnect. Not talk to anyone. Be alone. With my thoughts. Just observing. Just listening. Just... breathing. I don't care to see you pout because things aren't being done your way.
That clashes with your wishes? Well, FUCK, get up and leave. Shit. Go out and put up the front of swimming in money and rubbing elbows with high society... see how long that lasts you, or how much joy you get out of it. It's an insipid, wildly vapid world... this world you aspire to live in. But cool, dude, what the fuck ever. Just quit pissing me off and take that pissy attitude elsewhere.

I hate getting this worked up... it's just so unbelievable to me to come across people who are so demanding and such ingrates. Delusions of grandeur freak me out.
I also grow upset with myself for believing others will have the same value system I do, the same code of conduct... and then seeing that they really don't. "You should have known better, AnoMALIE."

I'm sure I'll feel better once I stop seeing this chick's pout all over my house... or maybe once I sleep the rage off... or maybe once I go eat dinner later tonight.

Bummer I have so many pissy entries so far, I swear this trip had been rad up until like... three days ago. And I'm sure spirits will pickup soon.

Demanding Princess

Holy Jesus Christ...
Holy Jesus Christ.

So. Irritated.

You are my brother's guest.
He has a demanding, serious governmental job...
We are doing more than enough by HOUSING YOU AND FEEDING YOU FOR FREE.

Remember the time I stayed at your place and all you did was feed me Ritz crackers and cheese? That was fucking TERRIFIC hosting from you.
You KNOW my brother has a busy, damanding job, I told you before you came out here that we'd be left to our own devices.
You're connected to the internet... GO! 
Acting like I've been in Athens before... I know as much as you do, princess.

... GOD! I hate people...

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Center of the city.

Oh, and let me just write one more fucking rant, since Facebook and Twitter ranting are out of the picture... because the person I want to rant about follows me on both accounts:
DON'T fucking tell me what to do. Ever. Because I'll do the fucking opposite. 
And QUIT acting like you can afford all this expensive, luxurious shit. You CAN'T, and we all know that, so enough with the fronting. You've put in a fucking total of FIVE euro in the 500€ we've spent in the last 3 days. 
FUUUUUUUCK I'm motherfucking annoyed.

At 25

Today was a beautiful day.
Sure, it rained in the morning-- time at which I had to walk to the metro to head to the airport to pickup Clemson.
It was also raining when Pacemaker, Clemson and I decided to head to the grocery store.
However, once sunset rolled around, the skies were completely clear.

Yesterday was odd, and useless, because my brother was involved in a fender bender with a taxi. He got the embassy involved and it was a complete brouhaha. Because of the drama, my brother didn't come home until past 9PM, so we basically stayed home and tried cheering him up.
Today we thought would go the same way, but we actually had time to go out to a bar and chill for a few hours.

Things are awkward-ish... because his friends are pretty different from me.
There was a moment where I was a complete mute, because one of the girls went off talking about how dumb it is for my parents to believe their daughters would not have already had sex by age 25 (we were discussing my folks' upset nature when Sister left the nest).
It is beyond weird to sit there and be like "Yeah... totally fucking stupid... 25 year old virgins... in Vegas... pffft!" I sit there like "Yeah, man, totally... I've fucked my good number of dudes. Totally. I fucking love fucking!" I have to fight the urge to burst out laughing... then crying. It feels pretty awful, actually. It feels shitty to be such a rare person out there... pretty fucking shitty. And then to once again ruminate on the whole "well, I should just fuck to get it over with," but then always coming up with the same conclusion that NO, no man, I don't have any interest in fucking. No interest and no rush to fuck. And so... you just end up feeling like such a fucking freak.
So yeah, this girl made that comment and I chuckled a "Yeah..." then spent the rest of the night thinking about the subject and being unable to shake off the thought that I'm such a fucking weirdo.
Drinking while thinking about sex--or lack thereof-- is never a good thing... it never ends well... well, never ends with me fucking, anyway. It's just me, being introspective, feeling embarrassed, completely alone in the world... and realizing I want to keep it that way because I am not comfortable with the though of actually banging ANYONE.

Ugh. I've gone off too much on a tangent. But yeah, that was the topic of conversation and it fucked me up real good and now I'm sad and drunk, sitting in a cold room in Athens. WOOOOOHOOO!

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Rainy days always suck

It has been a rainy day.
Today we decided to venture out and find a grocery store.
Of course we got lost. In the rain.
Of course this pissed me off.

Eventually we found our way to the "food store."
This language barrier frustrates me more than the German language barrier. I look at the letters and all I can think of are my math and science classes. Some of these letters I haven't seen since my calculus days-- eleven years ago.
I sit there and smile... only know how to say "thank you," just "efcharistó."
Reading is out of the question.

LUCKILY, people here are very kind. The moment they see me smile and shyly whisper "efcharistó" their faces light up and they try to speak some more greek... only to have me say "english?" and they switch to english for me.

Frustration runs high currently. People are frustrated because they've been locked in the house... by people, I mean Pacemaker. She's here and is frustrated by the fact that we've wasted all day today locked in.
I could rant about this for a good number of paragraphs, but I'll just say her frustration is only building up my own frustration and irritation.
I'm here to see my brother... not be anyone's tour-guide. If there's time to sightsee, cool, if not, who gives a fuck? Calm your tits, or go out and venture on your own-- my brother's house isn't going anywhere.

Hopefully tomorrow's better.

Monday, December 15, 2014


I've been terrible about updating. I was hoping to update sometime throughout the last week... but my days seemed to run so much shorter, and whenever I had access to wifi, I'd spend my time angrily ranting to my sibling/family about how much I hate certain passive-aggressive "friends" and family of mine.
It's very uncomfortable for me to notice how upset and worked up I can get over the behavior of certain "friends" of mine... as well as many, MANY family members (particularly, from my father's side. Bunch of hating-ass motherfuckers). I don't fucking get it. To my face they're all love and "togetherness" then they are glaringly absent from acknowledging anything I do that I perceive as fun... or even amazing. And not to toot my own horn, but I KNOW I take good photos... the only times I add a filter are when my face will be prominent-- I try to blur that shit out. Other than that, filters are something I don't allow myself to use-- because that's cheating. Period.
So ANYWAY, I need to get off that tangent because I become pretty fucking irate.

SO I'd be getting online infrequently, and when I would be connected, I'd just post photos and proceed to grow very fucking angry... because some people are jealous pieces of shit that really should not be part of my life, honestly.

Life without internet is great. Life with internet is agitating.
I collected many anecdotes, all of which I wrote down on paper.
I did A LOT of people watching... and observed so much art and architecture... and just... observed human behavior-- my own included.
This trip I'd probably remember as my Dude Search.
I did NOT want to look for men, but of course, my brain betrayed me and I caught myself getting HELL of boy-crazy... like a teen.

In Italy, I found myself holding eye-contact with guys... and had my mother not been around, I probably would have been pretty sleazy... ok, no I wouldn't, but I definitely liked what I saw the majority of the time.
Italian men seemed to think I was one of their own-- an Italiana. I'd constantly find myself just smiling and shrugging after a local would ask me questions in Italian. By the third day, I actually gave an Italian lady instructions on how to exit the metro correctly... in Italian. Me. Giving direction to get OUT OF A METRO. The Vegas local, who knows nothing about public transportation. In Italian.
I'd marry an Italian... or just procreate with one, I'd be cool with that.

Spain? Spain was kind of a bummer... but when isn't it?
This time, I noticed a HUGE spike in South American immigrants. Last year it was a spike in Indians/Middle-Easterners, this year, it's a huge Hispanic population. And while all of this does not bother me, what DOES bother me is seeing the TREATMENT of these people. The manner the South Americans walk the streets upsets me. They do not hold eye-contact, they look scared, and they try to make themselves look SMALLER. They look... like a stray puppy who constantly gets kicked in the street by strangers. The way they are looked at by some of the Spanish infuriates me. The way some Spaniards refer to these people infuriates me. They have that... egotistical, patronizing... self-righteous air about them... elitist as fuck.
Not a day went by where I did not hear someone refer to a dark, short person as a "Sudaca"... or even just drop that derogatory term mid-conversation. At one point, a young man about 19-20, tried flirting with me. The Spanish boy looked me in the face, smiled, looked me up an down lustfully, and said "Ciao, chata!" ("chata" is a derogatory term for those who have Native American facial features) as he walked past me, turning around as I walked past so he could scope my ass. I felt so offended, I got teary-eyed. Normally, this would only piss me off, but considering I fucking adore Barcelona, seeing this drastic turn of events upset the fucking shit out of me.

When I walk the Barcelona streets in company of my sister, I don't see this side of the people... because they seem to think I'm one of them. But in company of my little mom? They were hardcore racist... and nothing is more upsetting to me than seeing someone mistreat my little Mexican mom.
So anyway, I know this was another tangent of some sort... but it popped into my head.
While Spanish men did flirt with me, it was a weird sort of flirting... like they were flirting with... a weird specimen. They knew I was a weird mix... not entirely Spanish, not entirely "South American" (not AT ALL South American, but apparently they can't distinguish the look of South Americans versus Mexicans), something weird... familiar in a way, but exotic... weird. I didn't flirt much with Spaniards, I was too busy trying not to cry at how horribly they were murdering my beautiful memory of their country/culture.
I would MAYBE marry a Spaniard... and probably not procreate with one... I was taller than many of them... and OF COURSE always wider than them.

But let's now move on, before I break my heart too hard.
Let's talk pleasant shit. Let's talk France.
BOY OH BOY! Was I popular in Paris! Dudes were hitting on me left and right... whether I was alone or in the company of my mother. French men had a strange ability to pick up on not only the fact that I was a spanish-speaker, but a Mexican.
French dudes were the most insistent on holding eye-contact... it became uncomfortable.
I'm pretty sure I bumped into my future husband while at the Louvre. The guy was one of the museum workers, and *tried* flirting with me... but you know how I have that problem where I refuse to believe cute guys flirt with me, so I end up looking clueless and miss a good opportunity? Yeah, that happened here.
Instead of catching his flow, I became confused, which only made me look like a cold idiot... so he gave up, rather than become that creepy jerk.

Some day I'll become good at interacting with men I actually feel attracted to... not do any of this clueless, confused shit I do.

Marry a French guy? Nah. Have a baby with a French guy? Dude, have you seen their eyes? FUCK. YES!
... but I'd first have him tested.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Leg two

All right... so where did I leave off? I'm not even sure what I wrote was coherent. I didn't read it over because I had an audience at my shoulder.

That place is expensive. Pretty as fuck... but expensive.
I strolled around for a bit... all sorts of fucked up from my nausea, my ear ache, and my uh... bloody visitor. When mother nature wants to fuck you up, she FUCKS. YOU. UP. Thoroughly. Men will never understand. (I'll take a random, sudden, public boner over a blood-stained ass/crotch ANY DAY. You fucking kidding me?)

Anyway, so my plane from Zurich to Athens was delayed by around ten minutes, but did I notice? Hell nah, I was fucked up as shit. I had no clue.
To add insult to injury, the cunt running the boarding show did NOT announce boarding time... and everything turned into a fucking zoo. My mother and I were some of the last passengers to board the plane because our passes were fucked (of course they fucking would be, OF COURSE).
Once IN the plane, we realized there was zero overhead compartment space left, because I forgot what total fucking savaged Europeans are when it comes to overhead space (when they place their fucking coats in there, swear a fucking vein in my brain bursts from the rage. Inconsiderate fucks). So Mom and I Mexican'd it up, and placed our shit under the seat in front of us... as the motherfucking MAN sitting on our row (window seat. Man who placed EVERYTHING in his person up in that fucking overhear space-- but we got him back later) looked on... and we gave him the glare from hell (don't fuck with an angry Mexican woman).
So we sit through this ride... where I STILL want to puke all over the place, but resort to covering my nose with my coat. I was going in and out of consciousness due to having swallowed a anti-nausea pill (Dramamine saves my life when I go to Mexico, so why not Europe, ya know?), and that shit takes me out like a dart to the neck takes out a rhino.
In my random ins-and-outs of consciousness, I remember food being served... and fighting with all my might not to vomit all over the place when I realized it was a cheese sandwich they were serving. I remember the flight-attendant's very concerned look as she asked me (in a very choppy accent) if I was ok, if I needed anything. I just nodded and said "I'm ok," or at least, I think I did.
They also had the air circulating, and I FELT when I got sick. Some motherfucker on the plane was sneezing and coughing (without covering his pig fucking mouth)... and about twenty minutes later, three more of us followed with our lovely sneezes and coughs.
So, there I am, once again sort of awake, when I notice the flight attendants handing passengers little squares from a basket. I was clear-headed enough to remember Swiss gives away free chocolate to its passengers at the end of the flights.
"Oh, I'm not missing this shit!" I thought, as I felt the sleep-monster creep up on me.
The fucking flight attendant was two rows away when everything goes black and I once again open my eyes when the flight attendant is reaching his hand away from me... and the motherfucking son of a bitch sitting in my row has THREE chocolate squares.
I was irate!
But ten seconds later, I was once again unconscious.
I was once again woken up by the hideous pain in my ears... swearing my head was going to explode like a cantaloupe getting smashed by a sledgehammer. I was wringing my hands so hard, I seriously could have broken a couple of my phalanges.
Eventually we landed... and everyone bumrushed the overhead bins. Everyone but the motherfucking pig bastard piece of fucking shit sitting in the window seat of my row. I purposely puffed myself out, grabbed my hand luggage, placed it on my lap, and Mom did the same. When we want to be cunts... we are the motherfucking WORST (it helps that my mom is built like a little bull and I'm built like a... dangerous stork? We just look scary and dangerous when we're angry).
Mom and I relaxed in our seat and just grinned the most passive-aggressive grin we know how to flash at motherfuckers who have wronged us and are now paying the price. We waited until the last possible second to get up... then some more to actually MOVE out of our seats.

Not once were we checked, or even questioned about our luggage anywhere. We found my brother (more like he found us. Mom and I were pretty jacked up by now), headed to his house, and I knocked out until about 7AM.
I proceeded to lounge around and then did yoga while listening to some music.
Mom was still unconscious as ever in her room.
At 11AM and went to go check on her well-being.
She woke up... and I took a seat on the bed... and knocked out... until 6pm.
I felt horrible. Sleeping the day away is the worst fucking feeling for me.

Still, at 8 my brother showed up and took us out for some genuine greek food.
The people are fucking gorgeous. The men have some stunning eyes which I can't help but stare into like some... hypnotized zombie. All I need to do is just start fucking drooling all over the place.
I don't understand ONE fucking thing... I keep forgetting how to say "thank you" and "please." I just know how to say "yes," which... might not be the safest thing.
Our waiter last night had amazing eyes... and he gave us free drinks all night. I was drunk as shit by the end of our two-hour meal.
I came home... with the worst stuffy nose I've had in a long time... and tried to go to sleep.
I just rolled around in bed and sweated everywhere.

I am now just walking around with a roll of toilet paper in my hand, ready to blow my nose every five minutes.

Tomorrow I head out to Rome... which... yey. That'll be great.
That's sarcasm, by the way... Rome is nothing but rain, and all I really know how to do is tell people I'm hungry for an apple.

I don't know how my crafty mother was so shafted with two useless daughters (me FAR more so than my sister).
I'm sorry Ma!
(oh, and it's 10:25 AM, Thursday the 4th)

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Leg one

Well this has been a trip.
I have no idea how this will be posted, but it's 11:21pm, Wednesday the 3rd (shit, at least I think it is).

This has by far been the worst trip I have ever taken up to date.
Not even that godforsaken 36 hour bus ride in the summer compares to this shit.
First off, I was puking up a storm before even boarding the plane... before leaving my house.
On the flight (it was great. It took off on time and everyone was very courteous. I guess the only thing that sucked for me was how I could hardly understand them, since they mostly spoke German the majority of the time) everything was fine for the first three hours-- I was knocked out.
Then hour four struck, and all hell broke loose with my body.
I can only blame the food for the disaster-- the SMELL of the food.
Back in '09, I had a chicken sandwich on a flight headed to Mexico City, on our way to Cancun. As we chilled in Mexico's airport, I was barfing up a storm.
Ever since that ugly episode, I've been extremely sensitive to smells on planes... they fuck me up. Anything that resembles a chicken sandwich fucks me up.
Guess the meal of the day on this 12 hour plane ride. Chicken. With bread on the side.
I fucking blew chunks like a motherfucker.
The moment I felt I was going to lose control, I looked out the window and began "thinking happy thoughts." Bunnies. Puppies. Kitties. Baby ponies running amok in the fields. Butterflies fluttering.
All to no avail.
For the first time in my life, I used an airplane's bathroom. First time ever. At 29.
So there I was, barfing in this confined space, trying to regain my composure.
After about what felt like half an hour, I braved it out the bathroom, to make eye-contact with my flight companions. I'd have to say they all had the look of pity for me... I bet they thought I was pregnant.
I chilled in my seat for two movies ("Boyhood" and "How to Train Your Dragon 2"-- don't judge me for that one... I was told I was going to like it, and I sure did. I sat there like a fucking five year old, crying at the end. Oh well, at least it took my mind off how sick I was feeling), and then BOOM! Here we go again, race to the bathroom. This second time was far more frustrating, because it happened during breakfast service... so I very desperately had to wait for the cart to and flight attendants to get the fuck out of the aisle (the bathrooms at the back were occupied by far smarter people than yours-truly). Eventually I made it to the bathroom and continued with round two. Again the looks of pity.
To feel better, I went ahead and watched my final movie-- "Guardians of the Galaxy." And I cried. Multiple times.
I was feeling a little better, and thought I'd be much better after arriving... but arriving was the issue. My ears were FUCKED. UP. I don't know what the issue is, all I know is that the change in pressure really fucks up my inner ear. It feels as though my ears will explode... my fucking HEAD will blow up. Like an icepick is being shoved into each ear, down to my fucking trachea.
But I finally make it to Zurich.

I'll talk some more about that shit later. I now have to log off and allow my brother to use his computer.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Got it after all

And then I leave the country for a month.

You know my MO:

In case I die: eh, it was ok.

Ps. Of course I'd have a cold/cough AND be bleeding at this time. Of course.
Thanks, Universe.
I'll quit bitching now, things could be worse (but please don't be!). 

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Girl's Girl

I'm not a "girl's girl"... I used to be, for probably the first three years of my life.

Then I agreed to turn four.

I'm not entirely sure if I mentioned it here, or if I did so somewhere else, but I no longer feel ashamed of admitting it:
My "babysitter" abused the fucking shit out of me when I was a kid.
I'm pretty sure I mentioned some of her methods... that idiot girl-- the one who allowed me to get concussed at a playground as I walked across the pony-shaped swings in search for my mother.
The abuse was never sexual, thank god, but it was definitely physical and emotional/mental.

While my mom thought this idiot was taking care of me, she was really just torturing me for her own amusement. She'd say mean things, slap me around... lock me in a room for hours (telling my mother we were just busy playing)... refuse to give me a drop to drink or a bite to eat for hours, or the contrary-- feed me toxic shit... that sort of shit... shit you should never do to a four-year old little girl... not if you have a heart... or a motherfucking conscience.

Thanks to her, I learned people could be mean... really mean... mean for no reason... mean even when unprovoked... simply provoked by "your stupid face."

That same year, I had that aunt of mine throw dirt in my face and call me ugly... that story I've told tirelessly... the story I immortalized by turning it into a short story.
I started making the connection that Yo... girls can be crazy as shit... and they don't have your back, Baby AnoMALIE...
But still, STILL I attempted to be normal and have a normal relationship with my fellow ladies.

Things were great during 1st and 2nd grade. Girls thought I was awesome, and tried imitating me.
Third grade started getting shady... mainly because I became the weird little Mexican girl in all-English classes. I had a different jargon, thanks to being HBO-educated (as in, all my English knowledge came from movies on HBO), and my anecdotes all had to do with the life of a Mexican ranch girl... in the city of Las Vegas.

Then 4th grade happened... TWENTY years ago (goddamn!)... the pivotal year that made me lose faith in my fellow ladies. The year I spent getting the fucking shit beaten out of me EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. by the two girls I considered my "best friends." I was a good, calm girl... trying to make sense of the whole situation. I'd never fight back... I'd never provoke the beatings... but they would happen. Every day at school I'd be humiliated in some way... and physically abused for NO REASON. I've described only some of my more vivid memories of the beatdowns... because I could write a short story on quite a few of the beatings.... a short story PER beating... so I won't rehash some of them on here-- just know they were brutal and soul crushing.
What crushed my soul most was that through all these moments of torture, not one person came to my rescue... or wait, not one FEMALE came to my rescue.
The time of a nasty beating in the bathroom, I remember some girls were going to use the bathroom, but upon finding the scene, rushed the fuck out-- not alerting a single adult to what was going on.
My female classmates? They did nothing to stop the beatings. Sure, they didn't find it funny, or even fair, but they never did anything to get the girls to stop. They'd just catch me alone and then ask me why I still hung around my tormentors-- but NEVER offering to have me chill with them-- NEVER.
After getting my ass kicked, I remember guys being the ones to come up to me, gently patting me on the back, asking how I was doing... helping me straighten my hair... DUDES... DUDES would straighten my hair... GUYS (what the fuck do they know about fixing a girl's ponytail, right? These boys knew ENOUGH, enough to get a smile out of my reddened, sometimes swollen face). One time, I remember three of my guy classmates shielding me, pulling me away from the two bitches during lunch time (it was seriously a tug of war. Boys had one of my arms, the two crazy bitches had the other), keeping me in their company for that short time... they saved me form getting my ass beat at least that time.... which only pissed off the crazy broads... which only made them beat me with all their might the moment they had me in their grasp later that day... and the following day beating the fucking shit out of me before school started.
Ahhhh, and my teacher that year? A woman. I remember telling her numerous times, even trying to hide behind her one day during recess when the two cunts were actively trying to grab me to beat me, and I told the teacher what was going on, and she laughed, pulled me off her, told me they were "just trying to play," and that I should go ahead and just "play." She pushed me toward the cunts... and I just gave up... like a lamb to slaughter.
And when I tearfully opened up to my mom about getting my ass kicked on the regular? She screamed at me for "being an idiot."
I remember my first day of 5th grade, I was placed in a different class from my tormentors, but had the same lunch time. I remember being outside of the cafeteria, alone (OF COURSE), and the two bitches gathering EVERY.SINGLE. GIRL. from their new class so they could chase me and beat me up. What was crazier was that the girls AGREED to beat my ass... FOR NO REASON... just to know what it was like to kick someone's ass. I remember running as hard as I could towards my classroom (it was a portable), and just as I was on the second of the three steps leading up to my classroom's door, I felt the fastest girl's grip the back of my ponytail, yanking me back. The pain in the pit of my stomach, I'll never forget that feeling... just KNOWING, THINKING "Oh no... another year of this... and now it's an entire class..."
I remember getting yanked off the stairs and getting slapped a few times by two other girls as they pushed me against the wall, but this time, I fought back... just wildly swatting at them, pushing them away from me. I remember the group growing to about eight girls... and just looking at all of them... just... feeling so fucking defeated... ready to to just start crying (when I'd get my ass kicked in 4th grade, I never cried... I just dealt with the blows and tried to regain my breath as soon as possible. I learned the importance of "tightening my core" on my own, as a nine year old)... but then I made eye-contact with one girl, Tosha, a smart girl with whom I had my G.A.T.E. classes since 3rd grade... and she just stood there, as though suddenly slapped out of some hypnosis.
"Wait! WHY are we doing this?" she asked the group.
She was a tough girl... a cool girl... a girl with an older, tougher, cooler sister.
"Let her go. Don't touch her," she said. She walked up to me, and grabbed my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and apologized to me.
"AnoMALIE, no one's touching you this year. You're free. No one's going to hurt you. Go into your classroom."
And sure enough, no one ever put a finger on me after that.

While my faith in girls was long gone, that interaction in 5th grade allowed for that tiny silver lining, that optimist in me to continue with life. MAYYYYYBE things could change?
But they didn't. While no one was beating my ass, I was being ostracized... viciously.
High school came around and that was the last straw. 9th grade... well, must I elaborate on 9th grade again? I wanted to die, bottom line. I was done dealing with the world. 9th grade I had ONE girl make the girls in my classes shun me. ONE GIRL. She was able to convince girls that I was a mean cunt (because I was a quiet, shy, terrified new girl)... and that was good enough to have me cast into solitary. During P.E. I'd always be picked last, the team captain forced to keep me ALWAYS complaining about having to take me (this despite always proving my worth-- how regardless of how large a frame I might have had, I'd make up for in strength. I'd hustle hard at everything I did. I could play any sport like a boy, yet no one wanted me on their team).

After twelve years of having girls abuse the shit out of me... how the FUCK was I expected to be a "girl's girl?" I was not. I wasn't antagonistic towards girls, but I certainly didn't seek them out. I was just... I had accepted the role they had cast me in: the quiet, lonely girl... weary of other's intentions.
Like an abused dog, I approached with caution when I absolutely had to (like group assignments... goddamn motherfucking group assignments).
The humans with whom I was meant to best identify, were the ones so adamant on alienating me.

Then I met Kelley.
August 2001, assigned seat in my first class of the day.

SHE is easily the best human being on this planet.
She very patiently (no, seriously... she is ridiculously PATIENT), and gently showed me that I could have a best friend... that I could identify, and get along, with another girl. She proved that not all girls are horrible. She proved that I could have a female best friend who'd respect me, support me, and be the absolute best person in my company.
And while I was SO damaged... SO mentally/emotionally fucked up... SO paranoid and reluctant to believe such good people existed... she very patiently worked on rebuilding my trust in... people-- making me better. This all despite the number of times I hurt her with my paranoia... as though I were some feral dog she had rescued off the street who was so hellbent in defending itself from the one person trying to save them. She never lost her patience, not ONCE. She just healed her wound, and then would go back to trying to teach me how to heal my own.

She's my sister. My entire family loves her, despite me never telling her this. They are grateful that someone is capable of understanding me... more so than they can sometimes. Grateful someone has kept me form jumping off the edge. And they even wish they could have a Kelley of their own... she's a rare gem.

She's responsible for so much of the positives in my personality, so much of my sense of humor... shit, she's even responsible for my awesome vocabulary/curse words of which I'm so fucking fond. She's responsible for about 80% of my grades between 2001-2007. She's responsible for 90% of my taste in english music. She's responsible for this nickname-- AnoMALIE. She's responsible for Henry David, my gnome I've been taking on my adventures since 2006. She's even responsible for some of my wardrobe. She's responsible for my gym membership-- she held my fucking hand through it for a good couple of months, before I felt secure enough to go on my own. She's responsible for my more relaxed view of life (yeah, I'm actually more chill about life now than I was before... I was tight-wound like a motherfucker ten years ago). She's responsible for A LOT of my courage. She is largely responsible for healing my VERY fucking mutilated heart.
She is an ENORMOUS part of my life... motherfucking HUGE part. The absolute BEST part of it.
I can't properly... adequately describe how much I fucking adore this human. I owe her so freakin' much.

The time has come where... well, things are going to change. The time has come for semi-giant changes.
What she told me last week put my life on pause, made me rewind and re-evaluate... everything. Made me appreciate my last 13 years.
It's not my story to tell... so I won't go beyond that.

She is my best friend. She is my sister. She is the one who restored my faith in... humanity.
I admire her as much as I do my parents and brother... maybe more, because I am always so fucking amazed by how she handles the fucking BULLSHIT life can throw her way. She is so, SO MUCH stronger and braver than too many people give her credit for. She's a motherfucking beast. Unstoppable. Resilient, creative, responsible, and resourceful AS FUCK!
The memories we've made over the last 13 years... are awesome. Rad. Hilarious--cramp-inducing hilarious. Maddening. Slightly scary. Some horribly sad.
All life lessons I probably would have never accumulated had I not been seated next to the girl in the crutches with pink pom-poms in her hair, in our 11th grade physics class-- our first class, of our first day of school, on our school's first day as a school.

Goddamn... I was so fucking scared... it took me a week to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

But I am only wishing the best of the best for you. Always.
Do things as you deem fit, and best... do it YOUR way. I will always support it. I will always respect it. I will always defend it. Always.
Thank you. For everything.
Everything will be awesome.

This is not the greatest write-up in the world, it's only a tribute... of the greatest write-up for the greatest person in the world.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014


I'm going to try and articulate exactly how I feel...
But not right now...
I've been unable to communicate coherently all day.

I woke up earlier than usual this morning, feeling fresh... not grouchy or tired... just refreshed.
Then I looked at my phone, and felt popular. My locked screen had a ton of previews of notifications from my various social networking sites.
After scrolling past a few messages that ranged from annoying, to drunk, to hilarious, I reached the one form my best friend.
I saw the preview, and immediately felt the world go silent.

"I know I've been pretty quiet and not real talkative..."

I instantly swiped open the message, and that's where my breathing came to a halt.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Laying low

I wasn't joking about hiding under a rock.
I have tried my best to remain low-key for the last week or so.
The speed at which things go the moment I fuck up is amazing. I literally just sat and stared at my phone go crazy with really upset PEOPLE for a good couple of DAYS.
Yeah, I pissed off a group of people. For days.
Because I'm stupid.

I THINK things are getting better, and it's why I have time to at least jot something down without fear of saying something which I'll only later regret.
I've gone about my day, being as quiet as possible, and seeing as few people as possible... really only agreeing to once again see people yesterday. That actually turned out to be a good idea because 1. I played with children for four hours and they all think I'm the motherfucking shit. Kids are really good at making others feel awesome. 2. I was complimented by nice strangers at a bar... and treated to some rad people-watching later at night. I don't think I pissed off anyone in those hours... thought I was slightly frustrated by the smoking... but I chose to go to a bar, what else did I expect, right?

Today I had a scare of the technological kind... and I felt my life flash before my eyes. Right now would be THE shittiest moment for my laptop to die (please don't die, baby, I fucking need you for the next month more than I need anything on the planet... besides air and water, of course). I have to purchase so much bullshit, and settle so much "paper work," having a dead laptop would kill me.
However, the issue was solved by my lovely, patient cousin... and life returned to me.

So basically, my laptop scaring the shit out of me shifted my entire mood... and now I feel as though everything is wonderful, like this universe is amazing and awesome... and it's so great to be alive.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

... Well damn.

Holy fucking shit... The way things snowball out of control is fucking amazing.

I'm gonna go hide under a rock now...
Holy fucking shit.

Guilty. Ha ha.

There's a Mexican expression that while I find it hilariously accurate for certain circumstances, I'm reluctant to use...
"La cague"
As in, "I shitted it," to directly translate the expression. It's basically the equivalent to the english "shit the bed."
I think I avoid saying the expression due to how ugly I find the spanish word... I CAN be an uptight jerk when I want to be. This is one of the instances where it holds up.
However, right now... I don't think there's a better expression.
I done fucked up.
La cague GACHO.

I have been embarrassed about my recent fuck up since the moment I caught myself in the process of  fucking-up... which was six hours ago.

I didn't cry, which is my MO when I fuck up in this fashion... instead I found myself laughing... like a fucking psychopath (mainly because it's a mistake I mock others for committing, and there I went, like a fucking cow... just plowing right into the mistake, stubbornly).
But I mean... once you mess up, is there anything else you can do?
No, man. I just... have to laugh, apologize for being a dickhead, and use this as a learning experience... and apologize again. And never do it again. And then look back on all of this in a few months and laugh some more.

Man, I'm fucking dumb.

Monday, November 3, 2014

I'm the girl

This last week was spent attending my cousins' home to pray the rosary.
Why? I don't know... it was just a random thing where my mom's cousin called her up and said "Yo, I have the patron saint at my house, we're gonna pray to him for a week straight, can you come?" And so, every evening, we'd travel all the way the fuck across town, into the BIG TIME boonies for this pray time.
We'd gather in their awesome living room, pray the rosary, which takes about an hour, then we'd all move the party over to the kitchen, where we'd eat a different delicious meal for seven days.

These cousins are the cousins with whom I tend to have friction... the Euro... guys... remember that from a few years ago? In public, they treat me with a little bit of contempt--I dare say-- but in private, they seem surprised at how interesting and nice I can be.
SO, at this shindig, I'd have time to chit chat with these guys and laugh the night away. We pretty much bonded... since I was the only person under 30 who'd attend.

Yesterday, the last day, the good vibes finally turned to sad times.
What happened?
The boys found out I was the one who upset their friend.
Remember a few weeks ago at my sister's party, where that guy just straight stunned me by suddenly asking me out? Well... turns out he has a lot of friends... a lot of friends who happen to share a gene pool with me.
Now, the guys aren't mad at me, per se... but it's a sad situation... because apparently me turning the guy down really bummed him the fuck out. No, he wasn't bummed because he feels I'm the love of his life, but because he has been turned down so much now, that this last episode with me was the nudge he needed to go over the depression edge.
This has his friends upset because he's such a good dude-- which I believe, because from what I've gathered, and the conversations I heard him having, he was cool-- it hurts them to see him so down.

My cousins were surprised... because clearly I'm such an awkward girl... and I'm very, VERY far away from what the girls in their circle look like, it's surprising for them to think we'd ever coincide.
I apologized profusely... trying to explain myself... but of course, I was so upset with the news, I found myself choking on my words... nearly crying 'n shit.
I eventually acted like I was receiving an important phone call, and excused myself to a hallway.
I looked at my phone for a few minutes, took deep breaths, then worked my way to the empty giant sofa in the family room... where I laid like a corpse until my mother texted me, concerned, asking for my whereabouts.

I feel guilty. And shitty. And stupid.
And so fucking shitty.

I hate knowing that I played a part in making a good person feel bad... that's the last thing I ever want to do.
But I'd still not accept a date with him... and then that makes me feel bad because I feel like a cunt...
Then I ask myself why I wouldn't, and my answer further upsets me: because I can't handle the thought of "learning" to like someone in the romantic sense. I know what I like, I know who I like... and I'll never ever try and force myself to like someone if it's just not there. I can't handle that shit. That thought upsets me... angers me... makes my chest feel heavy with rage... I just can't do it without feeling wildly agitated.

I know I sound crazy... probably hypocritical... or just nonsensical... but... that's what's going on. It fucks with my head, it's all so contradictory.
I'm an asshole.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Well, ok then

Well, this month started off like fucking shit...

I always speak too soon when things are running smoothly... or even when I'm just not dealing with TOO much shit.

Jesus, I'm not meant to be optimistic.

Friday, October 31, 2014


I had NO intention to participate in this year's Halloween.
After a couple of intense years full of parties, I was fucking tired of it.
I mean, I grew up NOT celebrating it at all due to my fanatical Christian folks (It wasn't until I was in college that I started dressing up and doing whatever the fuck I wanted [like wearing black nail polish. Even THAT shit was off limits growing up. I'm sorry, but I can think of ten thousand other things that are FAR WORSE than wearing fucking black polish on my nails... but I digress]... because I was a goddamn adult), reverting to the non-celebratory times would not be too upsetting.

Sure, I dig using my creativity and painting the hell out of my face... but that shit gets tiresome... especially trying to crank out a new costume, sometimes multiple costumes, every year. I'm not one to opt for the simple, slutty-whatever costume many ladies rely on (I don't have the flawless body, for starters).
So I said I would take this year off... crossing my fingers no one would invite me to a party (Oh, child, you and your anti-social, hermit ways).
All was going according to plan, especially since my friend who invites me year after year is currently pregnant, unable to throw a party, too busy prepping for her baby's arrival.

Then one of my besties decides to throw a party... where I watched many of the guests bitch out with some pretty lame excuses (what is so hard about saying "Oh man, sorry guys, but I have another party to go to at the same time as yours. Have fun though!" It's sincere, and though I'm sure it's a bit of a bummer to hear, sincerity is always appreciated-- at least in my case it is). The excuses irritated me enough to decide to pull out of Halloween-retirement.

And so... here I am... once again participating in the activity.
Shit has had me frazzled as fuck for the last week, since I was suffering from a horrible mental block.
But alas, like always, it comes down to crunch time... my procrastinating ass came up with a costume last night.
Have I practiced the look? Hell nah. Will it work? I don't know. Do I care? Nah, man, I'm going to be eating sugar all fucking night in the company of my best friends... the fuck do I care what I look like?

And with that, the month comes to an end.
October-- always so beautiful, so cool, so chill... so heavy with melancholy.
This year's October was no different.
This year, I had a random gift from a friend constantly keeping me company... meaningful to me in a way in which she has no idea ("It's like, your favorite movie, right? You're into that weird shit..." Yeah, weird shit).

Olvidar-- imposible.
Goodbye October.

Monday, October 27, 2014


Helping out a friend with her essay, writing her thesis.
I can help others, but never myself.
You'd think I'd feel good after reading this, but instead I feel SO. DAMN. SAD.

Like an animal living in captivity its whole life, and once it's released into the wild, rather than flourish--thrive... it just shrivels up and dies... Confused and scared out of its mind. That's how I feel.

I am so damn lost.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

snap snap

My selfie game is NOT strong.
If you look through my photos, you will hardly see any with ME in them.
Comes with the territory of growing up all psychologically fucked up, I suppose. I'm not a fan of looking at myself (actually, I have a hard time looking at anything that has to do with ME. I can't look through my sketches, or read through my stories... I feel weird... so I just sketch/paint/write and once I'm done, I put that shit away, out of my sight. Always have done that... I should probably talk to a therapist about that).

I'm amused by the people who are the contrary-- people who LOVE selfies.
These folk entertain the shit out of me. They give me so much to ponder.
Just like I'm a weirdo for refusing to take photos of myself, some folk are complete weirdos for that compulsion to constantly snap a photo of themselves.
My sister falls into this category... the selfie lovers.

Since I've pretty much lived alone for nearly three years now (I say this because I hardly see my parents, since they work such long hours, then just fall asleep when they get home. I see them for three hours a day, max), I haven't been in the presence of someone who is always taking photos of themselves.
I've been in the company of people who never get off their goddamn phone... texting and reading shit on their internet/apps. It is SO MOTHERFUCKING infuriating. And I better change the subject before I grow too irate just THINKING about it.
I've been in the company of people who constantly take photos of others or their food... not as irritating as the internet thing.
But people who snap photos of THEMSELVES? No, man, I haven't-- until I went to Chicago this last time.

It was creepy... and irritating... and sad, to sit there and observe just HOW OFTEN my sister would be snapping a shot of herself.
She used to be a hardcore texting-and-driving offender... but now she's just a selfie-taker-and-driver.

Sister waiting for me to buckle up so she can drive me to her favorite burger joint.
Me: Dude... are you... taking a photo of yourself?
::I stick my finger into her one cheek that has a dimple::
Sis: Yes. Leave me alone.

Three minutes later, waiting in traffic at a red light.
Me: Dawg... really? How much has changed in the last five minutes that requires a photo?
Sis: Shut up.

An hour later, sitting at our table, drinking a beer. Sister is contorting her lips into an odd, chubby sideways smirk thing... I don't know what to call it. It's not ducklips... but... "cute bored girl" bullshit of some sort.
Me: WHY do you do that with your lips? Your lips don't look like that naturally. Why does anyone have to know how bored you are with my company?

I would grow furious after two days of this shit. I kid you not when I say that girl takes a minimum of EIGHT selfies A DAY. And it's not like it's a photo-shoot session... but eight random times throughout the day.

Then I'd get all pensive and feel sad.
Is she doing this... for validation? Does she feel lonely? Does she miss people? Does she fear being forgotten?
Probably what gets me most is how her selfies don't really look like her. She angles her phone in a way to... uh... well, you know, she "works her angles." And she moves her lips and eyebrows in ways to just... give a different impression of what she looks like.
Me: Quit pouting before I punch you in the mouth, dude.

False advertising, I'd say.
And that bums me the fuck out for some reason.
(She then came to Vegas a week later and did the same shit, except this time she'd have a chauffeur--me-- so she was at liberty to snap safer selfies)

This selfie-centered culture creeps me the fuck out.

I think this means I'm an old lady now.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Asked out

My "Why are you still talking? Can I go home now?" face:
I bring a serious gun game...
Ugh. I'm such a dude.
Luckily, that was only at the end of the night, around 4:30 AM... at a taco shop.
For the majority of the night, I was doing my typical hyena thing... where I laugh at nearly everything.

A strange thing happened that night.
Aside form my teenage-angst shitty moment, there was an unbelievably awkward moment where I pretty much went deaf from the embarrassment.

Hottie sweet young ex-Mormon guy was busy... I don't know what he was doing, I think he was getting me a drink... so I was only surrounded by my female friends/family.
I was feeling good, so I was happy and kind to everyone, even the jackasses smoking nearby.
I had noticed two particular friends of my sister's looking over in my direction, but I honestly believed they would look over when I'd laugh too loud... kind of the way you look at a crazy idiot.
"Can someone please gag this bitch?" sort of thing.
They were the tallest, ummm... darkest... dudes in the area... not that I have a problem with that. I'm just saying, for imagery's sake.
I had been my typical self with these guys, since I knew they were some of the few cool friends my sister has. I'd laugh at their jokes, because they were funny, but at NO TIME, did I bring up anything that had to do with attraction... romance... hooking up... relationships... any of that.
One guy, the tallest one, was asking me many questions. I didn't want to be an annoying mean bitch, so I'd answer them, humorously.
I guess this is probably where the guy thought I was like... sending "mixed signals."
He asked me what I did... about five times. Each time I'd say something new.
Him: So, what do you do?
Me: Nothing.
Him: ... ?
Me: I am an "artist." I paint, I draw, I write, I take photographs.
Him: Is that all?
Me: Well... I travel as much as I can. I like to see the world and write about it. Draw it.
Him: Anything else?
At that point, I was wondering if this guy thought I was the worst fucking lush in the world.
Him: Do you dance?
Me: Only at Zumba.
He looked surprised.
Me: I'M KIDDING. I'M KIDDING. I do more aggressive shit at the gym. I'm not a dancer... well... I know how to dance, I'm relatively good at it... but I don't really like it... especially dancing to this music (they were playing Miley Cyrus).
Him: Well, what DOES get you to dance?
Me: I have a Peter Pan complex... so... I'm going through a really hard EDM phase.
He did not know what I was talking about... or maybe it was a ruse to get me to bust out my phone... who knows, I'm dumb and gullible.
So he asks me to name a song.
Of course I can't name a song off the top of my head.
Me: That one that says "muthafucking animals" thought the whole thing... you know what I'm talking about? Martin... Gar-something.
So there we are, laughing at how dumb I am... and I bust out my phone, and prove my point.

This is where the laughter stops and awkward begins.
He starts talking.
Him: Well... I think you're great. You're hilarious. You're beautiful and smart. Your smile lights up the room from a mile away. I really want to, you know, get to know you better. So, I was wondering if it was ok if I took you out to lunch sometime.
No, seriously... I FROZE. Catatonic.
As I watched him say each word, my mind was going a mile a minute.
What the fuck? NO no no! Please stop... NO no NO! Oh No! FUCK! Don't put me in this position... FUCK! AHHHH! FUCK! My smile? UGHHHH! Don't smile, he won't know you smile when you're nervous, he'll think you dig what he's saying... FUCK! Please don't keep going! WHYYYY?! WE WERE COOL BEFORE YOU OPENED YOUR MOUTH! WHO ASKS PEOPLE OUT WITHIN A COUPLE OF HOURS OF MEETING THEM? WHO STILL ASKS PEOPLE OUT?! WHEN DID WE MENTION RELATIONSHIPS? HOW DO YOU KNOW I''M SINGLE?! FUUUUUUUCK!
And I just stood there, looking up at him, glazed-over eyes, smile on my face.
And I shake my head.
I felt like shit... but my head did not give a shit about being nice to anyone... it was shaking out of simple reflexes.
Me: Oh... you're so nice... thaaaaaank youuuu... but... I... caaaan't.... beeeecauseeee.... I caaaaaaan't...
Him: I should have known! Who is he?
Me: He is uhhhh... he livesss innnn...
Him: You're taken, huh? I should have known. A beautiful girl like you in a bar, single... it's either because your boyfriend's at home or you have something seriously wrong with you.
And he does that motion, where you move your index finger in a circle alongside your temple, to denote someone as crazy.
Me: Yeahhhh... sorrrryyyyy... but thank youuuu...
Him: Can I... is it ok if I curse him?
Me: Oh you go right on ahead and curse your heart out! Here, I'll help you! "YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!"
And there we were, two people cursing an imaginary person.

Guys, I tripped the fuck out. I looked like a cat who gets surprised by a loud, sudden noise.
The dude was hella cool, and as a friend I'd be happy to chill with him... but the way he laid it on so thick... there was just... no way. No way. Zero physical attraction. He didn't know my type of music. It just... nah, man. Nah. But it felt horrible having to say no to such a nice guy. But I had to... to keep it real.
I was still feeling like I had just been static-shocked by a massive metal block when the ex-mormon boy came by and made me forget... with more laughter.

Guess who I'm looking at...
Kinda scary to think this is the deranged look they're getting when I'm greatly amused.
No, really, just look at my nose and eyes. I'm getting slayed.
That night I learned I'm still not a fan of compliments. They fuck me up.
Come on... let's be serious... I was not that big of a deal. I'm a forgettable face... well, besides the enormous grill of mine, but you get the picture.
I know what I look like.. I know my mug is nothing out of the ordinary.
Flattery from others just gets me rattled and upset.

If you dig me (for whatever freak reason you find me tolerable), speak to me for a couple of hours... crack me up throughout the conversations (don't avoid me all night and only approach me as the night is ending). Make me laugh hysterically with your humor, and my attention is all yours, buddy.

Not a difficult concept (difficult to keep me company for a few hours. I understand it's pretty fucking demanding of me... but I'm a shy, painfully timid girl... it takes some time for me to warm up and be myself with a stranger. Some people have the patience, others do not, and that's fine. Just DON'T ask me on a date after having only spoken a few lines with me. That's... I don't handle that well. Never thought I'd have to make that disclaimer...)

Sunday, October 12, 2014

adult playground

So, a little bit of elaboration on last night's [buzzed] post [which took me ten embarrassingly-eternal minutes to type up correctly].
Last night Sis wanted to celebrate her birthday.
So we went downtown to the hipster spot.
Everything was fine, since there were a good number of family members present, and I have an easy time catching up with them. Things were so fine, I was even flirting with my cousin's (whom I refer to as my brother-from-another-mother. The cousin who was able to kick his horrible pacifier addiction as a toddler by having his mom make him believe Baby AnoMALIE didn't have pacifiers of her own, and he very kindly donated his entire stash to Baby AnoMALIE. That story always warms my heart) fucking adorable coworker/friend. (By "flirting," I mean "We were both rooting against USC, high-five-ing each other, then ultimately booing at the end like a couple of maniacs")
The guy is this handsome white boy-- six feet tall, green eyes, dirty blond, chiseled jaw, buff AS FUCK (awesome ass. Broad shoulders, well-formed pecs, small waist, big ass, thick thighs... fucking beautiful, guys, beautiful), sweet, kind, hilarious. Like... an ex-mormon with the good habits, not judgmental of what they consider "bad" habits (shit, he was even drinking with us).
Best of all? He has a total fetish for Hispanic girls, since he grew up on the East side of town.
OH! And even better? Homeboy's four years my junior.
Roar, baby, roar.

As we chatted, we found out we had a ridiculous amount of similarities... bonded over our street cred, sport's teams, schools, gym habits, and even our college majors.
Basically, by the end of the night, I wanted to lick his face (HIS FACE!).
I mean, his presence was appreciated/welcomed by me, I was by NO MEANS bothered by him... at all. My body dug that vibe.

Then the coming-of-age sitcom drama began.
I swear, when this shit happens--and it happens WAY TOO FUCKING OFTEN-- it's a fucking out-of-body experience. I sit back and just watch this happens while internally, my mind is screaming "GODDAMN IT! NOT THIS FUCKING SHIT AGAIN!" and I see the events taking place in slow motion. It's almost comical (actually, it is once I recover from the bit of heartbreak).
I'm vibing with this rad little white boy, when suddenly I catch my sister return to my little circle (she was being a little social butterfly, fluttering between the different circles of groups of friends) and wrap her arms around my adorably perfect white boy.
... The fuck?! NO! This room is PACKED with men... WHY THE FUCK go for the ONE digging my vibe?! YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND BACK HOME!!
While internally I was freaking out, angry as fuck, I had to remind myself to pose a cool exterior... to not let others know how irritated and upset I was over my sister being a sleaze ball.
She then proceeded to slowly kiss the side of his face... repeatedly... while groping him.
This is around the time I decide to post my entry from last night... to calm myself down and keep myself from body-slamming her to the floor.

So I'm upset... wanting to throw Jenga pieces across the room (the bar we went to has a giant backyard with oversized versions of elementary-school games, like hopscotch, four square, and this awesome giant version of Jenga). I see the hugging and kissing from my sister has yet to stop... and I am doing everything in my power not to scream at her, demanding she stop and go take a cold shower ("and stop going for the one motherfucker with whom I feel a mutual attraction, bitch").
This is where magic happens.
This is where my white boy looks over to me with my sister still hanging on to the side of his face, he laughs, and says:
"Damn... your sister is thirsty as fuck!"
And I burst out into a loud fit of laughter.
"I'm not thirsty!" says my sister. She stops grabbing him... and stumbles away to god knows where.
And I go back to vibing with my white boy.
We did random feats of strength the rest of the night. I carried him ("Look, I don't want to end the night with the back of my head on that concrete right there... bleeding profusely. I don't think you can handle this 205 pound body." I love proving people wrong), and he gave me a piggy back ride (at his lovely insistence)... that sort of fun, little kid shit. (but no one licked each other's face the rest of the night)

I woke up with my abs on fire.
I laughed a lot last night.
That was nice. It felt good.

Leaning in

Trust that my sister will lean in at the last minute on the one fucking dude digging me all night.

God. Damn. 


Friday, October 10, 2014


Yesterday I noticed I've reached the level of depression where I literally forget to speak.
As in, I do not know how to articulate... I cannot make sounds, and when I do, I'm surprised by them.

I haven't spent my days crying, like I do other times.
I'm just numb. Blank. Extremely forgetful... EXTREMELY.
I don't know what caused this current bout. Maybe it's the whole Chicago trip... maybe it's a very delayed--or perhaps escalating--reaction to being considered older than my brother... or just a whole negative combination of EVERYTHING... but the point is: I'm very much depressed... and not the "I'm a teenaged girl who just broke up with her boyfriend and I can't stop crying while I listen to these sad songs" type of depressed... but this numb depressed where I feel worthless as fuck... and so fucking... I don't know, I'm just NOT present. Not present at all. The only mental imagery I can think of using, but which describes it perfectly, is when you close your eyes, and just imagine a white background. Just a plain blank, white background. Nothingness.
How do you feel, AnoMALIE?
Like that ::points at white, bare wall of room::

But I'm not crying.
I'm sleeping 8 hours. I go to bed at 11pm and wake up at 7 in the morning.
I'm eating-- twice a day, but that's better than nothing.
I go to the gym and smile at my friends... answer questions.
I do my workouts with my mind on each movement, making my best effort not to hurt myself.
I come home and do not dwell on the past... or on anything.
I'm also not raging hard on anyone... or anything.

I just don't feel.
I just don't care.
I don't look forward to a damn fucking thing.
I'm just going through the movements. That's all. Just follow through with the motions of each day.
No thoughts.
No worries.
No feelings.
No dreams.

Blank blank blank. Blank blank.

I hadn't felt the silent type of depressed in a minute.
It's inconvenient when you try to go about your day... talking to optometrists about your shitty right eye that can't stop watering like a sprinkler.
It's awkward... sitting there and trying to formulate a coherent sentence, trying to remind yourself of HOW to make sounds... pleasant sounds. Then jolting a little the moment you hear your own voice...
Jesus, do you have to be so loud, AnoMALIE? Tone-deaf-ass.

And now I have to be social. Tomorrow I must present myself in front of a couple of social circles and act "normal." I have to once again hold conversations with people... answer questions... NOT look like an awkward weirdo that makes everyone feel uncomfortable.
I have to go about and act like I'm ok... like nothing bothers me... like everything makes me laugh... and like I fucking love life.

Socializing isn't my thing.
Depression makes me forget everything... like communicating... in any form.
I trust I'll be better soon... maybe by the end of the month... maybe by then I'll find a couple of fucks to give.