Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Behind cameras

As always, I intended on updating sooner... but shit got in the way. Luckily, I'm only sick, and not dealing with bullshit-ass family drama... my parents seem to have gotten their shit together... for now.
I'm sick because I spent my Monday screaming my head off at Disneyland... and getting incredibly soaked on that godforsaken Splash Mountain. Guys, never get on the same log as FIVE people who are well over 250 each... with one being at least 6'2" and in the 300's. The boat rocked in the most terrifying way, and splashed far more often than it intended. I was thrown to the front of the log, and so... I was literally drenched from head to toe... like a wet cat... my mascara even ran (and my maxi pad slid off my underwear, but no need to get into details about THAT beyond: I was MORTIFIED... and REALLY. FUCKING. WET. I should have just dived into a pool. This sort of shit only happens to me, I swear. Y'all should hang out with me more often and just witness the bullshit that occurs to me... it's amazing in a way).
I spent the rest of my day trying to dry off... and of course, I caught a cold like the dumbshit I am. I caught my flight back home that night, and I was so subdued by the illness, I didn't freak out when I had thirty minutes to reach my gate and a GIANT group of people with down syndrome (who had apparently attended some sort of convention earlier, based on the shirts they were all wearing) were ahead of me at the TSA checkpoint. They were confused... talkative... and did I mention confused? Had I been my normal self, I would have started sweating bullets, scared of not making my flight... but again, I was sick, and I just wanted to go to sleep.

ANYWAY! That update from the other day, the Saturday one that was sort of incoherent... that was written up while I very angrily sat at my table at the party, watching everyone act like a dick for the cameras.
It's baffling... terrifying to see how fucking different people behave once a legit camera crew is on them. I was the best behaved person present... and I was just fucking angry the whole time... and holding back my puke... and sort of drunk... and upset.
Each scene was shot a minimum of five times. FIVE TIMES. We were given freedom to be ourselves, but once one of us did or said something witty or outrageous, we were asked to re-do the "scene."
There's something about saying the same thing repeatedly, where you just feel a piece of your soul disappear.
There were about 28 of us, and I was the only one who isn't a regular at their parties... and one of the two Vegas girls they invited. So I sat at the table trying to remember everyone's name, while everyone else got mine the moment I shook their hand.
For the most part, I was checked out of the conversations... I had no reason to listen, since I didn't know anyone they were talking about.
Starting the night/filming
There were three tables set up. One was pretty much empty the entire time because the four people who sat at the table left early, the other table was the "action" table where all the "main characters" of the show were sitting, talking their made-up scripted shit, and then there was my table-- the drunken, loud, unruly table (where real drama was going on).
We were only allowed to drink Bud Light-- that was hell, and why I was drunk. I hadn't had food in my system for a good eight hours, and they hadn't given me water. I sipped my beer and felt like garbage within minutes. I swear I'm allergic to that shit... fucking beer.
ANYWAY, they eventually got us some tacos... and that proved to be a mistake, since I spent the remainder of the party trying not to vomit them out.
There were some funny moments, legitimately sincere moments... like when we started playing the game (Loteria, which is the Mexican version of Bingo), and when the main character of the show won and yelled Loteria, we all naturally called bullshit and flung our beans (what we were using as markers, like in Bingo) at him. This, of course, tickled the producer pink, and thus, he had us throwing beans at the guy another five times... and another three at the end of the night. He killed our joke.
There was also my favorite part of the night, when the cameras left, and everyone behaved like themselves. The superficial fake folk left along with the camera crew, but the cool people stayed and proceeded to crack jokes... and we had a very nice sing-along. A girl at the party brought her guitar, which apparently is what she does at parties, and proceeded to sing our favorite Mexican songs. It was so fucking mellow, I momentarily forgot about my fucked up stomach.

And then the fucked up part rolled around at midnight.
The entire night, a girl at my table-- the loudest broad-- kept asking when the blow was getting there. I swore she was just being obnoxious.
But she wasn't.
The blow got there.
Lots, and lots of blow.
Ahhhhh, yes! For a minute I had forgotten what part of Mexico we hail from...
I don't know if I'm the only person who feels like this, but few things break my heart more than seeing WHO does that shit... I seriously feel my heart shatter. It's horrible. The disillusionment I feel when I see someone I perceived as "cool" hitting that shit... it never gets better.
Cocaine has ruined so much around and in my life... there's no way in hell I'll ever be cool with it... or those who use it.

So... feeling completely shitty about humanity, I finally bitched enough to get taken home.
Upon entering my friend's home, I rushed to her bathroom and proceeded to vomit the red velvet cake I had stuffed my face with a few minutes before leaving the party (I initially panicked when I looked at the puke... thinking I was bleeding like some tuberculosis patient or some shit). Little did I know my "friends" took the liberty to look through my phone and steal some of my photos and read my texts while I panicked in the bathroom, projectile vomiting. That was nice... I wish the camera crews had captured THAT fucked up shit... at least that way I'd be publicly validated when I tell you guys some of my "friends" can be pretty fucking shitty people.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

And I didn't win the Super Bowl

And then, to make up for the pathetic, fucking shitty day that was yesterday, it was decided that I will hit up Disneyland tomorrow. 

No guys, really, yesterday was SO. FUCKING. SHITTY. that I now must revert to the sweet memories of my toddlerhood in order to find some sort of comfort in my soul.

So fucking shitty, guys.
I hate the zoo that is "reality TV."

Now I'm just crossing my fingers I get cropped out of every scene.
(I mean... There were multiple bean-throwing scenes... BEAN-THROWING, for crying out loud! I should have just done my hair into two side braids with red, white, and green ribbons woven into them. Then the guy scenes... FUCK Mexican men, man... FUCK. THEM.)

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Film Crew

You know those impulsive decisions you make with all the hopes that something hella good is going to happen... and then it's the opposite. Not terrible, but not fantastic.

A moment where you get to pull yourself out of the moment and just observe human nature and think "... Fuck... People really act like this?" 

Add a camera and film crew to a mundane event you're participating in... Then dare yourself not to play in traffic.

Shit-tastic decisions-- I take those. 

Thursday, August 21, 2014

1 to 6

And then I try to keep busy the next day in hopes of forgetting yesterday's ugly argument.

First on my list is a simple trimming of my hair.
As I sit in the waiting area, I am treated to a racist, homophobic rant of some middle-aged redneck motherfucker who rips into every non-white person in the room-- everyone else in the room (11 people).
I happen to be called up by my stylist as this man goes on and on about MY people, the illegals, ruining this country and how we should all be sent back.
My stylist, who was black, tells me to ignore him. This only shifts the idiot's spite towards the drama going on in Ferguson... Dropping the N word every other second.
This man has me so upset, I fail to notice what the stylist is doing to me.
I told her "one inch trim, layers cleaned up."
Half-way through my cut, when I see her raise the longest batch of my hair, I note HOW MUCH she actually chops. My ONE inch turned to SIX.
But... What was done was done. I wanted to cry. My braid was past the 18-inch mark, the length that is the most desired by little girls when choosing a wig. I wanted the simple trim so that in a month or two, I'd once again be set to donate my hair (I go a little above the length so that they can still hit the 18 when they go ahead and trim the final product... At least that's what I hope happens). This six inch "trim" set me back probably until next year.

I decided to call it a day after that... but then Dad needed me to drive him in circles out by the boonies of Vegas. As I chauffeured him around the city, he ranted to me about mom. 
This kills such a big part of my soul... I can't explain it.
I catch myself growing increasingly resentful of my siblings for leaving me out here on my own trying to fix this problem between the two people we love the most... Leaving me the sole person to hear and see the mean shit they do and say to each other. It's overwhelming. The only thing I do that eases my distress is praying at night. ME. PRAYING. I never pray... But recently, the continuous repetition of the same two prayers manages to calm me down enough to where I can finally fall asleep.

Anyway... Yeah... Today was not a good day.
All progress made in Mexico in regards to my emotional/psychological health has definitely gone to hell. 
Not even a week later. 

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The Bitch

Today, I diffused the biggest bomb between my parents up to date:

Dad: WANNA KNOW WHAT THEY KNOW YOU AS AT WORK? AnoMALIE, want to know what they know her as?! "THE BITCH!" What does that tell you about your mom?!

I have never felt so bad. So angry. So sad.

I took a deep breath, and spoke up, gently.
Me: Whatever "man" says that about a woman knows nothing about respect. So I think that says more about HIM than it does about my mom. It says he's a disrespectful piece of shit.

I didn't scream, I didn't pout, I just tried to be as calm, and soft spoken as possible-- this despite seeing my mom looking defeated as hell sitting on the bed, next to Dad on his recliner chair.
I got Mom to leave the bedroom by saying we had to go grocery shopping.

I listened to Mom the entire drive out to the grocery store, and would (again) try my best to be as soft-spoken as possible while telling her that yeah, she does have a volume problem with her voice-- she's loud and harsh.
"It's not your fault, little lady... You were raised that way. You had no other choice. Just... practice speaking at a lower volume... make a conscious effort, just like I do to speak LOUDER. You make the effort to speak softer."
That seemed to calm Mom... but by ending her rage and just breaking her spirit. Her little face killed me. 

Once home, I gifted Dad some chocolate clusters I bought him, along with two buckets of Bluebell ice cream.
This, in turn, cheered him up... I got a smile out of him... and I managed to coax him out of his cave.

I don't know how much longer we will all be able to handle this. Both my parents are ready to burst... and it scares me. I feel stupid being this upset about the topic, considering I'm 29, but god, hearing and seeing all that felt worse than anything I've experienced.

I'm so angry about those weak motherfuckers having those sentiments about my mom... But I'm fucking devastated my dad did nothig to defend her from the talk. So, SO fucking hurt.
I can't imagine how she must be feeling.

"Until death do us part..." No guys, no... Don't let that shit break your spirit. Once respect goes out the door-- fuck. That. Shit. 
Be free. Be you. Be happy.

Monday, August 18, 2014

This type, that type

Going to Mexico gives me the best opportunity to step back and analyze my life.
The best soothing effect.
I'm alone in Mexico, but it's a different type of loneliness... it's a good kind of loneliness... a comforting sort of loneliness.
It feels warm... golds, reds, and oranges... sunlight... if that makes sense.

Feeling lonely in the States is different... it's horrible. It's cold. It's blue and black... a world of shadows.

In Mexico, it's absolutely normal to be alone. People will see you walking by yourself... hanging out by the river on your own, and won't question it. They'll look at you, smile, greet you, and if you allow them, they keep you company for as long as you'd like. They are also perfectly fine with leaving you alone if that's your wish.
I guess this type of alone is "warm" because despite being on your own, you're still surrounded by creatures--not just humans-- intrigued by you. I don't know how to better describe it. You're not just another faceless lump in the crowd... they think you're interesting, but respect the fact that you'd rather be on your own for a bit... and they don't think you're crazy for it... they don't FORCE you to be social.

Here in the states, they tag you a loner, a negative connotation. Many times, the people in my surroundings get ANGRY because I want to be alone... because I don't want to text or talk or even have my phone anywhere near me. This, in turn, only makes ME aggressive.
CAN'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE FOR ONE MOTHERFUCKING MINUTE?! Can you go out and do something that doesn't require my input or presence? NO, I'm NOT angry, NO I'm not being passive aggressive with you... I just WANT TO BE ALONE... unreachable. I do things on my time... because I'm a broken girl... give me a minute to piece myself together.
In hopes of alleviating the angry friend, I will pretty much be bullied into calling/texting back... which never fully makes the friend happy, and only builds resentment in me. It's never a winning combo.
I'm not saying I'm ALWAYS pissed about my friends calling and texting... I enjoy that shit like normal people, too. I just get really frustrated when I show clear signs of wanting to be left alone (say you text me at 5 in the afternoon and I don't text back within two hours. I'm PROBABLY busy... and if it goes longer than 2 hours, it probably means I'm in a mood that requires I not socialize... because all you'll get is some overly aggressive shit, or some disturbingly depressing shit. Do any of us want that? Nah, man! Unless you hate me and enjoy my pain for some reason).

It's exhausting to be my friend, I bet, but it's also why I love the people in my life... because, for the most part, they understand.
I just need to recharge every few months in order to give others the best of me... because when I'm good, I'm fucking rad. I'm playful... so very playful when I'm happy. I'm convinced that's my natural state, however, it is too often weathered down to nearly non-existence with the passage of time. I run and jump and tickle and hide... and moreover, I allow others to be the same way with me (I'm a total curmudgeon when I'm running on empty. Even the laughter of children irritates me). I laugh and giggle and randomly smile all over the place. I hug people. I listen to others with the attention they deserve when I'm recharged-- EVERYONE wins.

Anyway, I enjoyed plenty of time to myself out in Mexico. I was free to walk around and admire nature, listen to it... bask in the sun, run in the rain. I also had the chance to socialize when in the mood-- which was just the correct amount to neither be overwhelmed by the demand, nor depressed by absence of people. It was all just right. Shit, I even had a couple of dudes crushing on me-- all at least four years my juniors (that cougar shit is real. I've embraced it. Whatever, man. It's just what's in my draw. Unpopular in my teens/early20's, babe in my late 20's+. I'm being facetious-- I'm not a babe, I'm a nerdy mouse. Probably explains why I make these guys "crush" on me all bashfully instead of inspiring passion like vixens do... I make boys CRUSH sheepishly like nerdy grade-schoolers). But that right there is an entirely different entry, because (of course) shit went down after I said I had no interest in finding a guy. 

Friday, August 15, 2014


I'm back.
Did I miss anything?

Sarcasm, of course.
I got in yesterday night, but was too tired and frustrated to update. I woke up to a ton of news-- amazing what type of shit a person can miss out on when she disconnects from the world for a simple ten days.

Some of my news? Well, my bus ride to Mexico was a 36 hour ordeal... THIRTY-SIX FUCKING HOURS on the goddamn road in the company of 45 other people. Do you know how painful that is? No, I don't think you do... (I'm being dramatic. I'm sure refugees know worse fates). Thirty-six hours sitting in a bus full of old people with bladder problems... and the ONLY fucking toddler being conveniently placed directly behind me. A screaming toddler who--I kid you not-- would sound very much like the Jurassic Park velociraptors every thirty minutes... just fucking randomly... because she was a fucking illogical toddler (she knew how to communicate verbally, she did it occasionally like when she pissed herself... but screaming seemed to be her preferred method of communication). At one point, when we were stranded at the border crossing in Juarez, she was separated from her mother because the chick failed to declare a box full of carpentry tools. The poor kid cried so hard and so desperately for her mother, she wound up puking all over herself... and her seat. I was too upset for the baby to be upset about the puke, though I did gag once or twice when I first caught sight of her projectile vomiting directly behind me.
But the crying toddler and smelly old people were the least of my problems. I'm so mindfucked into "being a lady," that my body immediately freezes when I have to do long trips in the company of strangers. By "freezing" I mean my body will refuse to perform normal bodily functions-- I struggle to take a piss, shitting and passing gas is out of the question. You don't fully appreciate taking a shit until your stupid body decides to freeze your anal sphincter for thirty-six fucking hours... I swear I was knocking on death's door. TMI? I don't care. That garbage was fucking painful and tortured the fuck out of me the entire ride.

Why do people subject themselves to these ridiculous travel times instead of taking a plane ride (depending on what flights you snag, the most time you'll make is probably 16 hours if your layover[s] is lengthy) or just driving themselves down to Hometown (a 20.5 hours process, if you haul ass non-stop)? Because the bus is a measly $100. Plane? Roundtrip is at least $700.
After this bus fiasco and my "near death" experience, I said "Fuck this shit!" and purchased a plane ticket back home for $500... which in all sincerity, they could have asked for double that price and I still would have forked it over.

Anyway, all this talk about traveling issues took entirely too much time... maybe because it was the only negative I encountered on this trip.
Well, there was ONE bad day, and that was the day I heard about Robin Williams' suicide. While I didn't sob violently or any of my usual behaviors while breaking down, I did shed many tears... tears for him, tears for me... tears for everyone struggling with depression.
I know I just mentioned that shit... about placing the dead on a pedestal... but FUCK, did I love that man... I loved him. And FUCK, did my heart break!

And with that, I have to stop writing... before I really do lose it and cry myself to sleep or something. At least in Mexico I was able to calm myself down with the fact that I was "home"... in peace... in the land my mind wanders to when trying to find solace. Mexico was there to distract me. Here? Quite the contrary... everything here encourages me to lose it-- my mind.

Peace: that's what I wish people now... because I never knew the true value of it until it was lost and I encountered the perpetual struggle to recover at least a bit of it. Peace.

Monday, August 4, 2014

deluded 3AM thoughts

No sleep all day.
Went shopping for final outfits and beauty products most of Sunday, then packed in a matter of twenty minutes.
Now I'm wide awake-- oh, I also ate taco after taco and a PB/Honey/Cinnamon/blueberry quesadilla as dessert at midnight-- forcing myself to pull an all-nighter so that the moment I take my seat on the bus at 6AM, I will knock the fuck out until Phoenix for some Golden Corral, then again pass out until the border... and finally once more from the border on... because FUCK being awake for that 36 hour bus ride... FUCK being awake in the Mexican side... I shit bricks in Mexico, STILL.

All I can really say is I'm pretty stoked to be going to Hometown.
My family thinks I want to head down to Mexico to "meet my other half," little do they know I'm doing it to keep my sanity... no, I'll seriously lose my fucking mind if I stay in this city any longer... I need to disconnect for a couple of weeks.

... Meet my other half... HA! Since when has that shit been a priority in my life?

Friday, August 1, 2014

La buena onda

Yeah... I'm definitely dying soon...

What the fuck is going on, Universe?
The craziest part was that this was from a dude... dudes are NEVER nice to me when intoxicated (well, I have had a couple of "I LOVE YOU!" texts from drunk guys... only to be followed by something along the lines of "you're such a bitch!" a couple of hours later... or a straight up phone call where he professes his love to me and then proceeds to berate me for ten minutes, telling me what a fucking idiot I am, a la JC).

Ok, I'll confess something: I'm going to Mexico on Monday... on a bus...
So, that's why I'm a little uneasy over the sudden influx of positivity towards me from my friends... that shit usually occurs when someone's about to croak.

(But I AM happy and appreciative of the kindness... one day I'll learn to handle it without freaking out and getting paranoid)