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!).