Friday, January 29, 2016

cheaters never prosper

Well, I'll be fucking damned...

I'll never complain about my parents arguing, because despite their frustration with one another, they remain loyal... and adhere to the commitment they made, contract they signed: I'm sucking this shit up until one of us croaks of natural causes.

I never knew how tight wound I was as far as infidelity is concerned. I mean, I knew I was a stickler-- it's why I'm single as good ol' dollar bills... well, you know, partly due to that. But yeah, I don't feel capable of sticking with a dude for the rest of my life... at least I haven't felt that way about any of the guys who have shown interest in me (again, because the guys I've always liked have wanted nothing to do with me).

Dealing with this couple has made me fall into some despair, because I had never dealt with infidelity/marriage deterioration in such proximity. I'm just an observer, but goddamn, is it heartbreaking.
I've spent more on the two daughters of this fucked up couple (I don't like referring to them like that, because the girl is such a sweet person... but in the last five days I've seen her transform into a jaded, cynical woman. It devastates me) in the last week than I spent on myself the last half of 2015.

At Disney, I'm pretty sure I was the only person frowning. I couldn't muster the heart to smile because I kept watching this family interact and my mind couldn't stop thinking about the sadness this trip will carry for the kids in the future-- "the last trip as a family we ever took... and it was to Disney."
They'll think of it as "remembering the good ol' days," a time when their parents' marriage "might have" been salvageable in the children's eyes, but to the rest of us observing the scene, it was blatantly... painfully obvious that there was no turning back-- hatred finally entered the heart of the mother.

The wife, Mom, Pacemaker (she joined us and caught on to what was going on without me telling her), and I watching this fucking imbecile man buy HIS LOVER all sorts of Disney shit, while his daughters and wife just wished to own something from the place (I tried buying them stuff, but they adamantly refused because we had already paid for their entry fees and hotel... and we drove them out there. By "they" I mean the wife and kids... the husband doesn't mind taking as much as he can).
This made me SO sick to my stomach... to see this fucking asshole behave this way... but opted not to make a scene... because it was motherfucking DISNEYLAND. The audacity and shamelessness of this piece of shit irked me to the point of giving me a headache that lasted two days.

All this observing has made me incredibly resentful of the man. I go out without inviting him, but I take his wife and kids EVERYWHERE. When he asks me a question, my reply is ALWAYS "I don't know." Always. I am NEVER alone with that guy, ever. Fuck that motherfucker. The good guy I met in CR died the day he decided his wife and kids were a burden... when he decided he "wanted to experience what normal guys" his age experience... when he decided his dick was more important than the self-esteem and comfort of his children.

Fuuuuuuuuck that guy, man. Fuck. That. Guy.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Before you

Like in any goodass Latin American soap opera, the wife discovered her husband's lover's identity after her second attempt at his phone's passcode. She read the texts messages between the two cheating idiots (the lover's married), she confronted him before breakfast, he admitted to the lover ("she was here before you were!" They were high school sweethearts), then the wife slapped and punched him violently.
We all proceeded to give him the cold shoulder... Then my father was told the news.

I gotta drive out to Disneyland in four hours, but I'm too fucking hyped to go to sleep.

I need a fucking reality TV show... This is fucking incredible.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Leve her sleeping

I have been dying to find the time/moment to update this past week.

Jesus. Christ.
All fucking hell is breaking loose, and for once, it's not happening to me-- I'm just standing in the middle of it trying not to get trampled in the madness

I waited too long to update. My father's birthday came and went... that in itself was interesting because I had to deal with his family who decided to drop by unannounced. This visit included one of the cousins with which I'm in the most fucking acrimonious relationship after she failed to invite me to her baby shower IN A TIMELY FASHION. I was trying to be a fucking adult, and swallowed my pride... I was gifting these bitches some of my most prized art pieces (mainly because one of the bitches was part of the collection. The photo session had taken place during happier times), and for the first time, I felt like MAYBE they realized I'm sort of a good fucking person, who gets motherfucking offended and doesn't give them a free fucking pass. It was my "Look, you pissed me the fuck off with your goddamn shitty behavior towards me, I didn't act like it was ok... but I'm fucking over it now... please quit giving me more reasons to want to go to your house and break all the motherfucking mirrors and windows. We're family. I'm a dumb, forgiving bitch. Let's be cool again, I want to laugh with your once more," gift.
And... I think we're cool now. I think? I mean, I did my damn part. I'm done. I let that shit go. I quit. Whatever. There are more pressing issues.

I also received my passport. It took 10 days. Fucking shockingly awesome.
I look like shit, but that was expected, so I'm not even angry about it.

My acne is chillin the fuck out, too. I purchased some new facial shit, and surprise, surprise, I look like a post-puberty female... like... I'm in college or some shit, not some stressful highschool AP classes. This adds to my happiness, so it's all good.

NOW... the drama:
Remember the Costa Rican family I met... almost four years ago?
The family who was incredibly sweet and welcoming... with that one brother-in-law who messaged me some gross, creepy shit on FB before I knew how to screenshot incriminating evidence?
WELL, ok, they're in town. For years, they worked on getting a travel visa to the States, they finally were granted their wish in September, and they arrived last Saturday.
Now, I SORT of figured the couple (who have 14 and 9 year old girls) were having marital problems because about two months ago they had a public fight on FB. The argument was somewhat in code, never mentioning exactly WHAT the issue was, but I just figured someone fucked up.
I never received a message from them telling me the trip was off, quite the contrary, I received messages from both the guy and his wife... where we discussed who was picking them up, and where they were going to stay.
I received conflicting information, but thought nothing of it besides "Man, these people have idiot relatives... how the fuck are we BOTH going to show up to the airport?"
So, they show up last Saturday... and at the airport, I see it's me, and their actual relatives chillin' at baggage claim.
After some discussion, it is agreed they will be staying with the relatives for three nights, and we get them for the remainder of their stay (until February 2nd).
Cool up until then.
We got them back Wednesday night (THAT was some bullshit... they showed up at my house at 1 in the morning, and I wanted to stab motherfuckers for waking me up from my slumber).
I didn't notice anything weird because I left for the gym at the same time they woke up for "breakfast." In the afternoon we all went to a kid's birthday party, where I noticed the husband sat on the complete opposite side of the table from his wife, and as soon as he finished his meal, left to the other side of the HOUSE... leaving his wife and daughters sitting alone at their table (I was a table over, because there was no room with the Costa Ricans).
That night, I was sorting through my recorded shows in my room, in complete silence (because who the fuck talks to themselves when doing that sort of shit?) when I hear the wife completely losing her shit in my sister's room.
The woman was sobbing as violently as I've ever heard anyone sob... and her 14 year old was telling her to chill the fuck out, that she "saw everything."
That's when I knew all shit was about to break loose. I had the option of sitting in my room like a heartless sociopath... or comforting a 37 year old crying mother.

Me: Uh... is... everything ok?
(Might I add, I had a facial mask on because, again, I'm fucking old and I'm trying to fix my fucked up face)
Her, through violent sobs: I guess... you... al...ready... noticed.
Me:... no?
Her: That... th...things... aren't... ok... with... me and... (starts crying out loud)
(I look at the 14 year old, concerned and upset as shit. What the fuck did I just do?! I should have acted like I was sleeping)
Her: He.... leftTwoMonthsAgo (cries inconsolably, loud... not giving a fuck who hears her)
Me: Ohmygod, ohmygod...
Her: I just... I... I feel... I'm so embarrassed.
Me: No no no. Don't be... oh my god.

She continues to cry like a lost toddler... wiping away at her eyes like... a lost little toddler... and I feel a knot in my throat and I hug the poor girl as she stands in the doorway between my room and the bathroom. She starts to tremble and shake from her sobbing, and I swear I'm about ready to lose my shit too... because that is quite possibly the saddest thing to feel-- another human being breaking down in my arms is not something I've felt often... it's usually just me doing it on my own in the privacy of my room, in complete darkness. So I just tighten my hug of her and pat her back gently, telling her it's ok.
We do this for a good two minutes (an eternity), then she finally catches her breath to talk some more.

Her: I wanted to cancel the trip. But he told me "I deserved the trip." I told him we should have told you guys before coming here. I told him we needed to be upfront about it... and he said... that we needed to fake it. Not to bother you guys.
Me: I'm sorry...
Her: One day he just... changed. He told me he no longer felt anything for me... and he just... slept in the living room... then one day, I returned from work, and all of his stuff was gone. He left me and the girls in the house. Out of the blue. He left each one of us a note... telling us how much he loved us and what great people we were... but he left us... no explanation. I have no proof that it's another woman, but someone has changed him... this is not the man I've known for 16 years. And to see how these poor babies have suffered... how they've cried for him, is what hurts me most. How they're here crying, broken hearted, and HE DOESN'T CARE. He has seen them TWICE in these two months. And here, these poor girls are excited thinking our problems will be solved now with this trip... that we'll get back together... and I love him, I STILL love him... and I was a fool for thinking all was going to be well... because he had been so sweet in the airport, and these last couple of days at my cousin's house... but the moment we got here, he changed. He kicked me out of the bedroom last night. Then today at the party he just abandons me with such anger, like I did something to him... embarrasses me publicly like I am the absolute worst. I don't get it!

By now, I'm ANGRY. Things are starting to make sense, and I'm ANGRY... so I quit protecting people and speak up.
Me: Oh... now it all makes sense. Of course he wanted you to put on the act like everything was fine... because he knows HE is the one who did wrong, and if we knew, he'd be fucked... we have NO tolerance for that bullshit. NONE. You don't do that to your kids, you don't do that to another person. He would not have been welcomed here. I figured something was going on because I did see your sister have that public argument on FB once...
Her: That was the night he left the house...
Me: Ok. And then when we were making these plans, he did mention how I had to take him clubbing... and I told him how you and I had agreed that WASN'T going to happen because it was too cold, then he said that it was ok, that we'd just leave YOU sleeping in your room... I found that strange.
Her: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed.
Me: DON'T be. It's not your fault. I flat out told him NO, that it was NOT going to happen. What a fucking asshole. What terrible influences he must be surrounding himself...
Her: I don't know what his problem is... but he's under the impression that he's 15 again... like he's some rich conquistador... RICH WITH DEBT is what he is! He doesn't have a penny to his name! But all these bitches see him with all this shit... that HE OWES. The moment they find out, he's getting dumped as far as their arm can throw. That fat piece of shit.

So there I am, listening to her go from heartbreak to anger and indignation. I tell her to calm down, that all will be well, and that I will no longer force them to put on the act... that she is free to act as she likes... go sleep with her daughters if she chooses, that none of us will judge her for it. As far as her husband, we will NOT be showing him around. FUCK that guy.

And she starts crying again, thinking about her kids.
I tell her she might want to talk to my mother... and that I could talk to my father, so that this fucking idiot doesn't go around with impunity in MY HOUSE, taking advantage of MY SHIT.
So I arrange for her to have a conversation with my mother.

Knowing my mother's backstory, of course she is completely outraged with the revelation, and gives solid advice.
Guess who overheard. The dickhead.
Friday morning the girls wake up fresh as roses, and the fucking piece of excrement is silent... like a fucking dog who nows it did some fucked up shit.

I have no clue if my father knows what is going on, but I have no doubt the fucking cheater is making up stories, trying to cushion his fall from my father's grace... desperate, cheating men do that... they play the victim card-- I fucking know, I've seen them work that angle... the "I'm so fucking angry at you for some made up reason because you just found out what a piece of shit I am so now I'm going to act angry to make you paranoid and guilty."

No, bitch. Not me. I have the screen captures... I have all those fucking winking faces and euphemisms saved. FUCK. YOU.

Indeed, I did feel uncomfortable, downright paranoid when I was first getting his messages.
"Is this... motherfucker hitting on me? WHO does he think he is? WHY would I in any one of his fantasies EVER be interested in him? I'm too YOUNG, SMART, and RICH for that shit... goddamn, I'm to motherfucking PRETTY for his troll piece of shit ass. GET. THE FUCK. OUT.
... but don't be conceited. Just ignore it, AnoMALIE."

I asked a couple of friends for advice, just to make sure what actions I should take... if I was justified in what I suspected, because men have mindfucked me so much into thinking I'M the one who is making shit up. It was agreed I keep the imbecile at bay, but not disclose the information to his wife.
But then this happened... so... FUCK sparing him from anybody else's wrath-- he deserves it ALL. I did nothing wrong, and I never gave him reason to think he had any sort of shot with me... and I'm game for making piece of trash like that PAY. Get read for the heat, motherfucker.

So, guys, I'm having a bitch of a time out here... trying to juggle these poor girls from feeling bad, or seeing their parents belittle one another, comforting the poor wife (who is very much like me. We're equally "sweet" and doormat-y), while letting the POS husband know he's TRASH. (oh, god, I forgot to mention how Thursday afternoon--before the party-- we went to the mall... and I lived the most fucking surreal moment. It was a straight scene from Love Actually, but twisted as hell. We went to a perfume shop, were we watched the husband buy "his boss" a $100 bottle of perfume "discreetly" and then throw a fit when his wife wanted a $30 bottle. The wife later told me how he has been buying a bunch of fancy female shit, and he "hasn't even given me a pencil!" Basically, I am seeing him buy his lover all sorts of shit. It's great. sarcasm)

Let me say this again:

Monday, January 11, 2016

dipshit optisimt

I had the opportunity to visit Turkey while in Athens.
I was very excited about this trip, especially because I said I'd never visit that country without a male partner... because I've heard too many fucked up stories about girls going out there on their own.

So, as my brother was collecting all of our passport information, he broke the news that we would all be unable to visit the country, because our passports weren't valid for sufficient enough months.

This angered me, but only at myself.
I had put off renewing my passport over the summer because I thought "Well, I have a little under a year, I'll do it the closer the date gets... maybe by then my acne will ease up."
News flash: my acne has not gotten better.
It fucking SUCKS. That's another fucking shitty thing 2015 ushered in-- fucking horrible acne. Like some goddamned teenager, I sit here with swollen, red cheeks.

Holding off this passport renewal made me miss out on Istanbul, and Japan (I had been eyeing a trip for ends of February so I could celebrate my birthday in that gorgeous country)... and now I have this fucking horrible haircut.
It is ALL A FUCKING MESS and horrible mistake because I was too much of a dipshit optimist.

AND NOW, I received a notification that my license is due to expire and I MUST renew in person.
In motherfucking person.
I've never been cool with any of my IDs, but this one I currently have is the BEST I've ever had. I look good as fuck, and I never freely admit that... because I always think I look like garbage.
But now I have a shittastic hairdo that doesn't cooperate and this fucked-up-ass face.

Good shit. Really good shit.
That's sarcasm, by the way.

I'll just laugh at how idiotic I am. It'll be ok.

Saturday, January 9, 2016

recipe to exacerbate me

The FB feature which reminds me of the bullshit I did in the past, on the date, has changed my behavior.
Things I wrote back in 2007 up to like... 2012 are ridiculously embarrassing, not to mention annoying as fuck.
I become mortified each time the fucking notification appears.
Because of this embarrassment, I've become much more quiet over the recent years. Then again, I can't blame it all on my emotional state. My acquisition of family members on FB has also made me become increasingly silent.
Of course I know that I can place them on limited view and all that shit, but I've never been a fan of going through all that trouble. I've never really been a fan of censoring myself in that way-- the only thing I do which is private is my original on-line journal, which no one can access except me, and then there's this, which is under a pseudonym. Even with this pseudonym, people have been able to find me because I slip up and do something stupid like link my email address and that shit.
However, my IG account as well as my Twitter are public-- I don't put it out there for others to find, but they certainly can (and HAVE) if they snoop hard enough.

OBVIOUSLY my opinions get me in trouble.
This shouldn't bother me, because in my heart of hearts, I know I'm only telling the truth. As someone who spends her damn life observing others, and has been doing this since a fucking toddler, I believe I have a pretty solid grasp on what is good and bad behavior, what is fucked up, what is selfish, what is mean spirited, what and who sucks. Honestly. (Not saying someone can't fucking bamboozle me into thinking they're better people than they actually are... because that's the story of my fucking like, that should probably be titled "Wait, you're a lying piece of shit too?")
Sometimes I speak out of anger, and even then, what I spew tends to be a long-held opinion which has been simmering on low for fucking months, if not years.

OK! So, point is: I'm now very quiet on most social media (NOT Twitter. I still go off the rails on that badboy. It's my fucking therapy).
The self-imposed gag order has been conducive to keeping my sanity.
Then, of course, I am fucking idiotic and think "I gotta share this!"
Always a bad idea.
ALWAYS fucking problems.

My WORST problem is how fucking worked up when certain people purposely ignore my post. I know there are people out there with busy lives who don't have time to sit there and "like" shit, and they don't work me up. It's their fucking M.O.
But the motherfuckers who NEVER FAIL to like or post shit on FB... like their goddamn Starbucks cup of coffee... or some motherfucking harboiled eggs they had for breakfast... or their goddamn seventh selfie of the day-- FUCK those people. FUCK. THEM.
I especially take note of people who are well known for their absence from my posts. Like, ZERO acknowledgement of me... EVER... in the history of our FB friendship.
And the people MOST NOTORIOUS of this? My own goddamn cousins, the paternal side of the family, that is.

Last week, while visiting my mom's sister, we were discussing this latest trip.
My aunt slipped up.
She mentioned how at one of the Posadas, the family gathered around phones and looked through my photos from the trip-- ladies who DID NOT give me props... but at this fucking Posada were all fucking praising it loudly with their "Oh how beautiful" and blah blah blah. It was the motherfucking topic of conversation. MY PHOTOS. MY TRIPS.
THAT'S what pisses me off. The fact that they want to put on this fucking front around family like everything so fucking fantastic and awesome, "YAY! Go AnoMALIE!", but to MY FACE they don't say shit, they don't acknowledge shit.
It drives me FUCKING NUTS.
These are going to be the same fucking cunts who are going to get theatrical at my funeral some day.

SO, this trip did that negative to me. It made me get extra neurotic and pissed at the CLEARLY hatin' ass family I belong to... and now I'm resentful as fuck with my "I KNOW THIS IS A MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME PHOTO AND YOU'RE A DUMB MOTHERFUCKING CUNT WHO WILL NEVER HAVE THIS GODDAMN SKILL YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" rage.

But hey... hope life continues to treat them exactly like they treat others.

I mean... other people MUST notice it, right? How these fucking imbeciles are notoriously absent from my life, regardless of how fucking rad my shit might be.

Ugh. I just made myself angry again. I'm an idiot... and easily exacerbated idiot.

Friday, January 8, 2016

Cheesy peace offering

I can't decide whether or not I want to keep up this sleep routine... I'm somewhat enjoying it.
I go to bed no later than 8pm (last night I managed to stay awake until 9pm), and always wake up at about 5AM.
This is nice for me because on Saturdays, my days do begin at five in the morning. This makes me less of a grouch, and oddly enough, much more alert.

Anyway, I've fucked up on updating regularly because I always end up falling asleep (like a queeeeen!).
Back to business.

Yesterday afternoon my father returned from his trip to Mexico. He refused to join us in Athens for Christmas because "it's pointless, since your brother already came out here for Thanksgiving."
We mentioned how the trip was actually not on HIS dime, but paid for by his work, but Dad still thought it was a "waste of money."
Dad preferred to go off to Mexico and spend the holidays with the family of his paternal aunt's second husband... as in, a bunch of fucking strangers.
He tried "prohibiting" us from going to Europe, but Mom busted out her "I MAKE MY OWN MONEY AND SPEND IT LIKE I WANT TO SPEND IT AND YOU DON'T PROHIBIT ME FROM ANYTHING!" line, so the rest of us went to Athens to spend Christmas like a motherfucking family.
Great showcase of where each one of us have our priorities, huh?

Something I left out in my year in review was the fact that 2015 was plagued by some of the most intense fighting between my parents. Things never escalated to physical altercations, but one time my mom did utter "GO ON, FUCKING HIT ME! THAT'S ALL YOU FUCKING NEED TO DO!" while they were at work... in front of a customer... which... you know... wasn't too fucking awesome. Luckily, this served as a wakeup call for my parents to tone it the fuck down.

I hadn't seen my dad since the 12th of December... and felt guilty because I didn't miss him.
I think we all needed this break from one another. While my relationship with my siblings and my mother has been strengthened over time, I cannot say the same about my relationship with my father. 2015 made him grouchier, more... idiotic, less tolerant... it made him a LIAR for the first time ever... and it made him a potty mouth-- something he NEVER was.
He has said some of the most radical bullshit that downright frightened me... he seemed possessed.

Then I saw Daddy yesterday, and I realized "I do miss this grouchy, ignorant man."
He's much more chill.
He went to the doctor while in Mexico and they fixed him... for now. I think.
And he brought me cheese.

Hope 2016 sees this old man chill out and more tolerant.
Same goes for me.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016


Damn it! I wanted to post every day this month, to keep from ignoring it all like I did last year, and I did a decent job... for three days.

I knocked the fuck out yesterday after shopping.
Well, not really shopping, I just went to Walgreens to get a passport photo taken of me... which, by the way, came out as all passport photos do: like trash. I don't know a soul who has a good passport photo... everyone ends up looking like a criminal.
In my first photo, back in 2006, I looked like a porky, overly excited girl. The photo should not have been allowed, since there are shadows in it, my face is sort of obstructed, I'm smiling like I was just told the best news in the history of the planet, my eyes are semi-closed, and my ears are not visible (did ya know that's one of the points officers inconspicuously check? They suuuure do. You're welcome). It was a shitty photo.
In this new photo, I look like a sad, somewhat scared criminal about to be handed her orange jumpsuit-- a criminal who had been running from the cops for months, chopped her own hair, and dyed it in the bathroom of a motel room. That's what I fucking look like in this new photo I'll be parading for the next ten years. It is a shitty photo.
(Can't say I'm shocked, 'tis the AnoMALIE Way)

All of this nonsense is draining to me. Having to get a photograph taken of me is very emotionally draining for me-- comes with the territory of being psychologically/emotionally/verbally fucked since the age of almost-five.
"Let me take a photo of you" is pretty much equivalent to "Let me saw off this limb from you."
I get my teeth drilled much more willingly than I pose for a photo.

This brings me to the photo experience of my trip.
Since I took both my mother and my aunt to my favorite cities, I went all out taking photos of THEM.
Despite my reluctance to take photos, I enjoy taking photos of others... because I try my best to get their best angle.
This obviously stems from my own dislike of photos of ME, because for the most part, I come out unflattering as fuck. So, when I photograph others, I tell them to trust me, I'll get a good shot of them... I'll fucking stalk them until I do.
So I got plenty of rad shots of these little ladies.
Of myself? I wish I could put my favorite shot on here... it's me at the London Eye. I asked my mother to take a photo of me (imagine that! Imagine how much I liked that scene, where I wanted to be captured IN it!)... and when I looked at it, I almost threw my phone in the Thames.
I looked at Mom and burst out laughing, "What the fuck is this? How the fuck does this even happen? The fuck is this shit...? Man, forget it. You're terrible."

So I must settle for selfies, where my true solitary nature shines in all of its depressing glory.
Surrounded by people, yet still isolated.
C'est la vie.

Sunday, January 3, 2016

cry more than me

Originally I wrote about this in exact detail... but due to the sensitivity of it, I opted to save it without posting. If things don't work out, I'll post about it around December... when all will be clear.

What I can discuss without getting OTHERS in trouble (who gives a shit if I'M the one to get in trouble. It happens often, so I don't give a shit if I get in trouble), is this:

I was under the impression that my brother was having the time of his life.
He seemed to love his job, he definitely loves his location, and more importantly, his peers and LOCALS love him.

Turns out, my brother is not having such a great time. Times are very rough.
That's all I'll say about that.

I knew things were busy, based on what we all see on the news in regard to Greece.... but apparently I don't know a third of the bullshit.

I knew he was stressed, because when he visited us last month, he basically spent his time reading, sleeping... and clinging to us like a needy little baby. This, of course, broke my heart.
Then Christmas Eve happened.
His "work wife" who happens to be one of his best friends was drunk and spilled a little too much information.
"I love this guy. Man, I've seen this guy cry more than HE has seen ME cry! 'I just don't want to disappoint them, man. They've all sacrificed so much for me, man!'"
And my brother turned red... giving us a nervous laugh... then rushing her out of the house (she was already half way out the door when she said this stuff).

I always leave Athens sad as fuck. I always cry the night before my departure flight. This time, however, I was a depressed mess since Christmas (I was already a crying bitch by my second night in Rome, which was my 3rd night abroad. That's when we received our first bit of bad news, relating to my brother's situation). I'd fid myself looking at my brother... just admiring him... fighting tears, but at the same time trying to comfort him as best I could... making him laugh... forget his shitty situation.
But I see it-- I see he's tired and broken. He is disappointed. He is confused. He is... he's disillusioned. He's all of this, but trying his hardest to put on a brave face, like he's having fun... like he's happy.
And that's not cool. Not cool at all.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am a jaded, cynical, fucked up individual. I am broken... like, dysfunctional, unrepairable garbage. I am emotionally fucked, psychologically damaged, and exhausted. I've seen a lot fucked up shit, heard a lot of terrible shit, and worst of all, physically felt a lot of bullshit that I don't wish upon anyone.
However, as fucked up as this all has been, and how much it has ruined me, I would go through all of it again if it meant it would keep my siblings from knowing or dealing with  ANYTHING of this shit.
I'm the jaded, cynical cunt... but I'll be motherfucking damned if that happens to either of my siblings.

That hurt me... that's my brother, he is the least deserving of those feelings.

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Sleep is a beautiful thing

It's never my intention to write total downers, things just evolve to that.
I'm actually very good right now. The issue is that I have my moments of sadness, especially when I get all introspective and take inventory of my life. That shit never ends well.

I'm also still trying to adjust to the time change. While out there, I hung out in three different time zones, so my body was thrown into total disarray. Some days I'd sleep 12 hours, others three, and the two days after arriving, I slept ZERO hours at night. I'd cat nap in the afternoon for an hour or two, then be furious at night with my inability to sleep.
The night I arrived, I slept for three hours (I arrived at 1AM on a Monday), then I "went to bed" that Monday night, because in the morning, I'd be jetting off to Rome. I slept zero hours that night, left to Rome, an hour behind Athens, and hit the ground running... thinking I'd come back to my room at night and pass the fuck out.
No such luck. I got to the room, got in my Tempur-Pedic bed (for reals. I learned of this hotel with the cool-ass beds last year, and returned this year 'cause FUCK does it feel good to get massaged before going to bed), and tossed and turned ALL MOTHERFUCKING NIGHT. I was a fucking mess... and angry, hungry mess.
I finally got into the swing of things that Wednesday night, when I slept for five hours before my mom and aunt woke me up at three in the morning with their "AnoMALIE... AnoMALIE... are you asleep?" No. I'm fucking bungee jumping! Of course I was fucking asleep, women... fuck!
They'd claim they wouldn't sleep... but their snoring would beg to differ.
"I haven't slept a wink since arriving on this side of the pond!" they'd both say.
For reals? So the snoring is... just... you singing yourself to sleep or something?
The snoring would keep me awake, and their claims of being unable to sleep would bother me too much to sleep.
Then my aunt would allude to "someone snoring last night" and I'd correct her. "Weren't you guys concerned I was dead because I was so silently sleeping?" I'm a fucking corpse when I sleep, don't come at me with suggestions that I snore. Often times I don't even move from my original position all damn night. I fucking die when I go to sleep.

In Paris, I slept like a baby... a baby who had spent all motherfucking day crying for her mom and then knocked the fuck out.

Back in Athens, I would sleep about eight hours, regularly. I would struggle to make it past midnight, then would wake up no later than 7:30AM, like clockwork.
Once it was time for London, two hours behind Athens, I went to bed at 11 and woke up at 5AM, wide awake.

I don't remember dreaming while out on this vacation. Of all the days, I only remember the one dream I had on Christmas eve, which had me waking up drenched in sweat Christmas morning.

It was a most random nightmare, which had me shaking my head the moment I forced myself awake:
I was sitting in my car, idling around, when suddenly Brett Favre started smashing my car with a baseball bat.
I remember jumping out of the vehicle, and staring at him completely bewildered. I saw him angrily running around the car towards me--yelling terrifying obscenities-- and I bolted down the street... still confused as to why this famous stranger wanted to kill me. (Know that I am at my highest level of horror when I run in my dreams. I don't enjoy running in real life... and if something gets me to "bolt" in a dream, I'm having a REALLY bad time)
I managed to escape to an idilic suburban neighborhood, kind of like the one on "Pete and Pete," where I bumped into... the guy I always talk about-- the guy who always pops into my dreams.
He was standing (his usual stance, where he puts his hands in his pockets. That's how I remember him most back in college), observing, not saying a word, as I walked across the street.
We looked at each other, my heart still pounding, scared out of my mind... when good ol' Brett cuts through the neighborhood like some motherfucking bull in Pamplona.
The guy I always talk about and dream about, my former classmate, looks over at me, and only says "You better run."
And that ends my dream.

I woke up confused. STILL scared and confused as fuck.
Why the fuck was I dreaming about a football player, THAT football player of all players?
Then my best friend accidentally clarified it for me:
He played for the Packers.
What state are the Packers from?

Boom. Clarity.

My mind is such a little bitch... my mind on a fucked up sleeping schedule is a manic little cunt.
Thank you for that fucking bizarre-o dream. Next time, can we go back to the more typical shit of this homeboy comforting me in desolate, yet beautiful locations like the beach or hidden forest? That'd be ideal, if you're so intent on bringing him back into mind.
Not this scary bullshit that has me exercising like some fucking olympic athlete.
(LOL. This just reminded me of the first dream he was ever in, where he led me to some rave under the Sun Temple of Teotihuacan... hahahahaha. Good times. Good random times)

Friday, January 1, 2016

Alas pa volar

Resolution checklist time!

I kept uttering "2016... goddamn, what a fucking horrible sound... 2016," last night. I actually knocked out HARD last night from 7pm until 11:57pm, when my neighbor set off a massive fireworks display (the dude makes bank with his business, spends his dough throwing parties). My internal clock is FUCKED.

Anyway, my resolutions.
Let me start with what I wrote last year:

I guess I'll go ahead and do some resolutions.
1. DROP THE FUCKING COOKIES, ANoMALIE! I will go back to my strict "clean" eating (I fucking hate that term). I won't be as much of a nazi about it, though. Slap me if I ever try lecturing you on the "evils" of certain foods. You like sugar/salt/tasty shit and you're happy with your image? Well, shit, that's all that matters (well, as long as you're not acquiring diabetes or any of those health problems). And please, for the love of my sanity, don't try bullying me into eating after I tell you No. Bad things happen when people don't respect my "No."
2. I WILL NOT BE A CUNT! This is what? My 20th year saying this?
3. I will take time-outs. I won't try and act like everything is OK, and allow bad shit to accumulate, only for me to have major melt-downs like I tend to do. If something bothers me or upsets me, I won't subject myself to "roughing it." To "power through." I'll straight call a time-out and just... leave. Chill time... I'll have chill time.
4. DON'T TALK SHIT. Walk away, Holmes, walk away.
5. Don't let trolls get the best of me. I learned there are a good few people in my life who actively seek to rile me up. Why they enjoy this is beyond me... makes me sad FOR THEM... because there are much more interesting things out there to do besides upsetting me... but to each their own. I'll do my best not to give them any satisfaction.
6. My most ambitious move EVER: I'll sell one of my works. I don't know what... but it'll be ANYTHING, for WHATEVER price... just not free. I've sold two photographs in the past, but everything else I've given away for free. I won't specify whether it'll be a short story, or a painting, or a photograph... just anything my two hands have created.

I also wrote how I was going to neglect anything having to deal with relationship goals, because it's a non-existent point in my life... at least I was right about something for once.
Anyway, let's check how faithful I was to my goals. Ha.
1. HAHAHAHA. No. Hell nah, son. Know what I did each time I went on vacation? I ate motherfucking cookies, chocolate, pasta... every fucking little thing I WANTED. Although... this year ice cream was noticeably missing from my life. That was strange, since ice cream is fucking life, but... I just didn't crave it in 2015. I also didn't gorge on food... I didn't really give a shit for food, is all.
2.  I win! I was not a cunt. Well, once or twice I showed my sharp teeth... but it was fucking warranted. I DID NOT act like a cunt to people out of the blue. I hadn't been so mellow in years... probably because I genuinely quit giving a fuck. Shit happens when you die on the inside... like you chill the fuck out.
3. Not sure how to count this... because I did keep things to myself, and I did have MASSIVE emotional explosions (I had my worst case on December 10th, where I even lost my voice for a day from how incredibly loud I got. It was fucking terrible). However, I had A TON of chill time. Call this a half-half? Null point?
4. I do not think I did much shit talking. I didn't do much talking, PERIOD. I'll consider this a win, because I can count on one hand the number of people I shit talked. Only one was undeserving.
5. Again, this is a toughie. I was enraged a couple of times in 2015, especially that one time I found one of my paintings vandalized. I should have been cooler about the situation, but seeing something so personal to me physically ripped hurt me... and made me flip out. I did let that kid get under my skin. But I was a lot better at not getting neurotic about the assholes who purposely ignore me on social media... SO, I'm calling this a win.
6. Ding Ding Ding! I win! I sold a painting! I didn't sell for the conventional cash money, but something more important: chocolate. Hahahaha. Whatever, I'll take it. It fucking counts.

Look at me, I win. Ha! The beauty of low expectations.
Something that also happened in 2015 is that I once again visited a new city/country that year. I hit up Prague in the summer and that was by far one of the best decisions ever taken, I even made a new friend there. Totally unexpected, and not something I had ever thought of doing, but there I was... suddenly on a plane, en route to a country where I don't even know how to say "hello," hitting up a pole dancing competition... drinking pilsner all day, every day.
Spontaneity. I like that shit. I'm doing it 2016.
Be spontaneous.
I will not be mean.
That's all.

2016... I no longer know what to say, or wish, or think.
Whatever happens, happens. I'm just winging it.