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.