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Showing posts with label Darcy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Darcy. Show all posts
Friday, April 8, 2016
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)
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)
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Calmarme
I was slowly sipping on my favorite beer (not sure if it should be considered a beer, but OK) as I sat at the bar with the dudes.
I was nervous and concerned about my week with the ridiculously successful young man I was going to be paired up with for the wedding.
I was sippin' and trippin'.
"What am I going to say? This week of activities is supposedly meant for the bridal party to get to know one another and get comfortable. I haven't done shit... what am I going to talk about? This is going to be terrible!"
And he eased my irrational, anti-social fears.
"Just get him to talk about himself, and you'll be good for the night. He's a lawyer. They love doing that shit."
He kept giving me a play-by-play of what to do in case scenario A turned into B, or if it was more of a scenario C, and so on... you know, shit people like me NEED in order to be less socially awkward/anxious around others.
Look at him... helping me out. Helping me land a dude. Thank you.
As the smell of beer and garlic (so much garlic) invaded my nostrils, the only thing my brain was doing was sustaining the stupidest, saddest smile across my face.
Bittersweet, this entire exchange.
I am (and more than likely have always been) quite insignificant to him, but it's little gestures like the above mentioned, which will always keep me appreciative of him, appreciative of April 8th.
(... Also: his advice? Totally worked)
I was nervous and concerned about my week with the ridiculously successful young man I was going to be paired up with for the wedding.
I was sippin' and trippin'.
"What am I going to say? This week of activities is supposedly meant for the bridal party to get to know one another and get comfortable. I haven't done shit... what am I going to talk about? This is going to be terrible!"
And he eased my irrational, anti-social fears.
"Just get him to talk about himself, and you'll be good for the night. He's a lawyer. They love doing that shit."
He kept giving me a play-by-play of what to do in case scenario A turned into B, or if it was more of a scenario C, and so on... you know, shit people like me NEED in order to be less socially awkward/anxious around others.
Look at him... helping me out. Helping me land a dude. Thank you.
As the smell of beer and garlic (so much garlic) invaded my nostrils, the only thing my brain was doing was sustaining the stupidest, saddest smile across my face.
Bittersweet, this entire exchange.
I am (and more than likely have always been) quite insignificant to him, but it's little gestures like the above mentioned, which will always keep me appreciative of him, appreciative of April 8th.
(... Also: his advice? Totally worked)
Monday, December 2, 2013
Made into a bird
Te espero, te espero, te espero...
como la niña estúpida que soy.
Me alegro con cada día que pasa, entre mas se acerca el fin del año.
Te espero, te espero, te espero...
Que coraje.
December.
I've always anticipated this month, for one reason or another.
This year it's a bit of... anticipation and dread.
It's not easy, getting accustomed to this "No Darcy" deal with myself.
Some days I do well, carry on with my life without thinking much about the absence of my heart.
But other days... something like... the sight of a Starbucks cup makes my chest cavity hurt.
I miss him. My heart is his, no matter how hard I try to tell it he doesn't want it. He gave you away like some raffled gift, for crying out loud! How the fuck can you still only beat for him?
What makes things somewhat easy is the thought of him being so far away.
There's no way you'd hang out with him anyway, he's SO FAR AWAY. So chill, AnoMALIE. Carry on!
But now he's returning. Now, he'll be a few minutes drive away from me. How will I handle having him so close... yet... knowing... knowing he's so indifferent to me? So impossible? So not mine.
I feel this ache in my heart when I think too much about it... when I think of his return.
I know when I last saw him, I felt this wave of serenity... I felt I was fine. I enjoyed everything.
When I look back, it all feels so... airy... like I'm on clouds... but everything is silent... or like the lull of the ocean.
But... I don't feel fine now. I gave myself these month to let him go, to let the idea of My Darcy fade away, to go to rest... and it hurt, and the hurt never left.
I think of the feelings I will have to knock out if I'm ever again in his presence, and I feel sick.
He's right there... the one person your heart races for, your sight blurs, ears deafen, and room spins-- is right here, in front of you, feeling ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for you.
The thought kills me.
So I did the only thing I know how-- I planned a getaway. I am running away.
I'm leaving for a good chunk of his return to the states. I will be road-tripping during the first few days of his visit (ok, this is questionable because I still have shit to fix over here), and will be visiting Mexico from the 21st until the 30th. I will return the day after he has left.
It won't be necessary to learn to withstand the agony his indifference causes me, because... you know, "I'm not even there, so I couldn't even get an invite anyway."
... Delusions that help me go about my life-- they help me smile on good days, they keep me from crying in others.
You're not seeing him because he's not here, not because he doesn't want to see you.
It's the best I can do when trying to explain to my stupid heart why in the hell it's impossible to be loved by the person it chose to belong to, and was instead returned to sender.
(But no worries, my brain knows the truth-- He. Never. Liked. You. He. Never. Will. My heart is the only idiot that occasionally needs that tiny comforting lie)
como la niña estúpida que soy.
Me alegro con cada día que pasa, entre mas se acerca el fin del año.
Te espero, te espero, te espero...
Que coraje.
December.
I've always anticipated this month, for one reason or another.
This year it's a bit of... anticipation and dread.
It's not easy, getting accustomed to this "No Darcy" deal with myself.
Some days I do well, carry on with my life without thinking much about the absence of my heart.
But other days... something like... the sight of a Starbucks cup makes my chest cavity hurt.
I miss him. My heart is his, no matter how hard I try to tell it he doesn't want it. He gave you away like some raffled gift, for crying out loud! How the fuck can you still only beat for him?
What makes things somewhat easy is the thought of him being so far away.
There's no way you'd hang out with him anyway, he's SO FAR AWAY. So chill, AnoMALIE. Carry on!
But now he's returning. Now, he'll be a few minutes drive away from me. How will I handle having him so close... yet... knowing... knowing he's so indifferent to me? So impossible? So not mine.
I feel this ache in my heart when I think too much about it... when I think of his return.
I know when I last saw him, I felt this wave of serenity... I felt I was fine. I enjoyed everything.
When I look back, it all feels so... airy... like I'm on clouds... but everything is silent... or like the lull of the ocean.
But... I don't feel fine now. I gave myself these month to let him go, to let the idea of My Darcy fade away, to go to rest... and it hurt, and the hurt never left.
I think of the feelings I will have to knock out if I'm ever again in his presence, and I feel sick.
He's right there... the one person your heart races for, your sight blurs, ears deafen, and room spins-- is right here, in front of you, feeling ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for you.
The thought kills me.
So I did the only thing I know how-- I planned a getaway. I am running away.
I'm leaving for a good chunk of his return to the states. I will be road-tripping during the first few days of his visit (ok, this is questionable because I still have shit to fix over here), and will be visiting Mexico from the 21st until the 30th. I will return the day after he has left.
It won't be necessary to learn to withstand the agony his indifference causes me, because... you know, "I'm not even there, so I couldn't even get an invite anyway."
... Delusions that help me go about my life-- they help me smile on good days, they keep me from crying in others.
You're not seeing him because he's not here, not because he doesn't want to see you.
It's the best I can do when trying to explain to my stupid heart why in the hell it's impossible to be loved by the person it chose to belong to, and was instead returned to sender.
(But no worries, my brain knows the truth-- He. Never. Liked. You. He. Never. Will. My heart is the only idiot that occasionally needs that tiny comforting lie)
Friday, November 1, 2013
Te Pertenece
This drama with the pigs I've been dealing with recently... you'd think I'd be able to keep my mind busy.
And it had been busy... I had been good... so very good.
I wouldn't think... I wouldn't... I wouldn't miss. I wouldn't wonder. I wouldn't daydream.
I just lived.
But this time of year, it always has, and always will, resuscitate the ghosts I try to forget.
Halloween for AnoMALIE is owned by one person, and one person alone.
And so I remember him. He comes to mind. With everything that is associated with this holiday. At all hours of the day... mercilessly on the actual day.
I remember his smile, and his eyes when he smiles-- it's probably my favorite thing in the world. I think of... everything I've ever heard him say.
And I miss him.
Now I can even add missing how his hand feels on my waist.
I miss his sarcastic little comments... even miss seeing his nails painted black back in the day.
I had been good. I had been good at keeping any and all thoughts and memories of him locked. Any and all feelings for him subdued. Numb.
I hardly spent any time wondering what he might have done in the day... or if he had at all looked up at the stars at night... or if he even COULD see the stars at night that day. How many times did he smile? I wonder if anyone aggravated the fucking shit out of him today... How many jokes did he crack? How many times did he smile... ?
But not today. Today... this past week... the memory of him has been haunting... reminding me. I have caught myself thinking such thoughts... wondering such things as I go about my daily routine. I catch myself smiling when I think of his cute mannerism... his peculiar walk... and I catch myself frowning when I catch myself remembering all the things that made me like him... when I catch myself remembering him so fondly.
Here I am, being consumed by this... weird, stupid shit... and he's out there living a pretty damn cool life... with me not even being a motherfucking blip on the screen.
But alas... I don't care about this... about not being an afterthought in his world, while he is the main attraction, the star of my show.
Fact of the matter is, ever since I met him, this day belongs to that boy. That dark, alluring, intriguing, interesting, sarcastic, cynical boy I met nine years ago. The boy with the dark, curly hair, black nail polish... and sly, sometimes sardonic, smile.
And it makes me smile.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
No-just-Me
I first met the ocean in 2005.
I had seen it from a distance a few times prior to '05 (as in: from inside my car as we drove past it on the highway), but never walked along a beach until that summer.
My cousin, who is also my godson's mom, took my sister and me to Mazatlan.
First thing that occurred when I walked down to the beach with my godson and his brother? A fish flopped onto the sand and wobbled wildly... completely grossing me out. My godson's 11-year old brother grabbed the fish by the tail and flung it back into the ocean.
After removing the thought of that crazy fish from my mind, I proceeded to dip my toe into the water and said "Hello, Ocean, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm *AnoMALIE*"
I'm a Pisces... according to astrology, I'm supposed to like the ocean. I do like the sight of it and all that shit... but to say I constantly yearn to go to a beach would be pretty farfetched.
Typically, all I really do when I visit a beach is walk up and down the shoreline (making sure the water always touches my feet... unless there are jellyfish present. Fuck those motherfuckers), sit at a comfortable spot on the sand, and listen to the sound of the waves. I am not a fan of swimming in the ocean.
But... there is always one thing I have done when I visit a beach, every single time: I doodle on the sand.
Besides my own name, I have always doodled a single other name/initial. Same person.
I feel dumb as fuck admitting all this... but hey, it's a little secret of mine... a weird little ritual... an embarrassing, pathetic (of me) little ritual.
The only time I've been caught doing this was that first time I went to Cancun, the debacle with Mario... the time he caught me writing the initial in the sand in the middle of a giant heart. "Hey! My name doesn't start with a J!" he said. "I'm in love with Joe Jonas, didn't you know?" I responded.
Even his fucking name is pretty. My brain even considers the string of letters that identify this dude... it even finds that aesthetically pleasing, and melodic in sound.
Year after year, visit after visit, I find an opportunity to jot his name in the sand, and sit back to watch the ocean wash it away. I watch the waves erase the letters, leaving no trace of it ever existing... the ocean helping me keep my corny, lame, grade-school crush-behavior a secret.
Last year in April, on my first Costa Rica visit, I got remarkably, embarrassingly silly and wrote some very corny shit in the sand... hearts everywhere and all that shit. I got a little brazen that time. I even took a photo of it... to admire it at my leisure... like a dumbass fangirl.
This year, on my last visit to a beach prior to this Mexico trip, I jotted down a phrase: Goodbye, *Darcy*
I wrote it many, many times... and sat there, each time, watching every last trace of the phrase disappear, then starting the process all over again. I did it until I could finally watch the letters fade away without shedding a single tear.
On this recent trip to the beach I only wrote once... and it was this single word:
I'm here... on this continent. I'm on the land where my entire family was born and raised for centuries. I'm here, on this land that taught me to love nature, to enjoy solitude, to laugh, to be playful, to listen to the subtleties in... everything, to love music, to be kind, to help others, to find solace. I'm on the land that has always had a firm grasp on my heart and soul. I'm bound to this land, I'm part of this land... this mysterious, warm, wild, abused, marginalized land... this third-world.
And you're way past those waves... so, so much further away. In a land of so much advancement... a cold, rainy, but very civilized first-world... a historical, awe-inspiring land. Way past those waves-- unaware, unaffected by what happens here.
I was a fool for believing I could ever possibly, in the words of my favorite Disney movie and character, "be part of your world."
I've waited so long. I've hoped for so long. I've dreamed for too long.
It's just me. It always has been just me. It always will be just me.
Accepting the truth of a situation.
Just another girl... nothing more, nothing less.
I sat on the sand and watched as the waves made my name fade away, fade away, fade away.
I had seen it from a distance a few times prior to '05 (as in: from inside my car as we drove past it on the highway), but never walked along a beach until that summer.
My cousin, who is also my godson's mom, took my sister and me to Mazatlan.
First thing that occurred when I walked down to the beach with my godson and his brother? A fish flopped onto the sand and wobbled wildly... completely grossing me out. My godson's 11-year old brother grabbed the fish by the tail and flung it back into the ocean.
After removing the thought of that crazy fish from my mind, I proceeded to dip my toe into the water and said "Hello, Ocean, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm *AnoMALIE*"
I'm a Pisces... according to astrology, I'm supposed to like the ocean. I do like the sight of it and all that shit... but to say I constantly yearn to go to a beach would be pretty farfetched.
Typically, all I really do when I visit a beach is walk up and down the shoreline (making sure the water always touches my feet... unless there are jellyfish present. Fuck those motherfuckers), sit at a comfortable spot on the sand, and listen to the sound of the waves. I am not a fan of swimming in the ocean.
But... there is always one thing I have done when I visit a beach, every single time: I doodle on the sand.
Besides my own name, I have always doodled a single other name/initial. Same person.
I feel dumb as fuck admitting all this... but hey, it's a little secret of mine... a weird little ritual... an embarrassing, pathetic (of me) little ritual.
The only time I've been caught doing this was that first time I went to Cancun, the debacle with Mario... the time he caught me writing the initial in the sand in the middle of a giant heart. "Hey! My name doesn't start with a J!" he said. "I'm in love with Joe Jonas, didn't you know?" I responded.
Even his fucking name is pretty. My brain even considers the string of letters that identify this dude... it even finds that aesthetically pleasing, and melodic in sound.
Year after year, visit after visit, I find an opportunity to jot his name in the sand, and sit back to watch the ocean wash it away. I watch the waves erase the letters, leaving no trace of it ever existing... the ocean helping me keep my corny, lame, grade-school crush-behavior a secret.
Last year in April, on my first Costa Rica visit, I got remarkably, embarrassingly silly and wrote some very corny shit in the sand... hearts everywhere and all that shit. I got a little brazen that time. I even took a photo of it... to admire it at my leisure... like a dumbass fangirl.
This year, on my last visit to a beach prior to this Mexico trip, I jotted down a phrase: Goodbye, *Darcy*
I wrote it many, many times... and sat there, each time, watching every last trace of the phrase disappear, then starting the process all over again. I did it until I could finally watch the letters fade away without shedding a single tear.
On this recent trip to the beach I only wrote once... and it was this single word:
I'm here... on this continent. I'm on the land where my entire family was born and raised for centuries. I'm here, on this land that taught me to love nature, to enjoy solitude, to laugh, to be playful, to listen to the subtleties in... everything, to love music, to be kind, to help others, to find solace. I'm on the land that has always had a firm grasp on my heart and soul. I'm bound to this land, I'm part of this land... this mysterious, warm, wild, abused, marginalized land... this third-world.
And you're way past those waves... so, so much further away. In a land of so much advancement... a cold, rainy, but very civilized first-world... a historical, awe-inspiring land. Way past those waves-- unaware, unaffected by what happens here.
I was a fool for believing I could ever possibly, in the words of my favorite Disney movie and character, "be part of your world."
I've waited so long. I've hoped for so long. I've dreamed for too long.
It's just me. It always has been just me. It always will be just me.
Accepting the truth of a situation.
Just another girl... nothing more, nothing less.
I sat on the sand and watched as the waves made my name fade away, fade away, fade away.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Encender los días
Que seas muy feliz estés donde estés, cariño.
No importa que ya no vuelvas jamas conmigo.
Deseo, mi amor, que sepas también que te amo.
Que no te olvide, que nunca podré, te extraño.
Que seas muy feliz, que encuentres amor, mi vida.
Que nunca, mi amor, te digan adiós un día.
Que seas muy feliz, mientras que yo te sigo amando.
"You had your chance Monday..." someone told me Wednesday.
Did I? Did I really?
No. I did not. Because I respect. Because I don't matter.
I was numb for the time Darcy was back in town... numb to crying.
I was happy to see him loosen up and show us the great girl he has found.
I was happy to see him happy... and I appreciate anyone who makes him happy.
My face once again hurt from smiling all day. I laughed a lot. I was a friend.
But that shock thing... when the numbness wears off... and I'm left to sort my feelings and thoughts... it's all bad news. I crumble.
Monday night, we stood outside for a bit, by the pool.
There was a slight breeze... very warm air occasionally blowing at our faces... my hair getting fucked up, since it does not just blow in the breeze all romantic like on normal girls, but instead flies erratically and unflatteringly.
Blues and whites... those are the colors that I noticed most. Blues and whites flooded my field of vision. Everything white... with the occasional blue square. White cushions... foamy jacuzzi bubbles... white tiles... dark blue, almost black skies... sky blue buildings... a chlorinated pool.
The giant white cushions.
There he was to my left... smiling... chatting about Chicago, of all things... smiling... bright, white teeth.
Calm, quiet admiration... like when staring at the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian-- so pretty and amazing. You can only imagine how fucking wonderful life would be if it belonged to you, but you're fine staring at it from behind the glass... you're fine walking away from it... because it will always be there if you ever want to admire it again... you just can't touch it, much less take it home with you.
A ti que con lo que te sobra me darías la luz para encender los días...
Your scraps give me enough light to ignite the days...
I was happy. I was calm. No heart palpitations... but knowing for certain that yeah... este corazón, it beats for you... I'm not this comfortable with anyone else. No bells or whistles or... crazy spinning room... just quiet recognition of my heart's situation.
It's yours... though you will never feel the same for me. I'm just a common person to you, but to me... there is no equivalent to you. And it's ok... it's ok... some feelings were just never meant to be reciprocated. Your girl... lucky, lovely girl.
Not all stories have happy endings.
Sometimes, the protagonist's love walks off into the sunset with his love... as the protagonist walks in the opposite direction, kicking rocks, resigned to the fact that she'll have to swallow her feelings... bottle them up and shove them into her darkest shelf.
But a smile will slowly creep across her face as she thinks of the happiness displayed by her love... happiness not provided by her as she had always hoped... but the happiness she had always hoped for him.
That silent understanding-- You don't belong to me. This whole time, I've only belonged to you, I still do, and I always will... but you never did belong to me... you never will...
No importa que ya no vuelvas jamas conmigo.
Deseo, mi amor, que sepas también que te amo.
Que no te olvide, que nunca podré, te extraño.
Que seas muy feliz, que encuentres amor, mi vida.
Que nunca, mi amor, te digan adiós un día.
Que seas muy feliz, mientras que yo te sigo amando.
"You had your chance Monday..." someone told me Wednesday.
Did I? Did I really?
No. I did not. Because I respect. Because I don't matter.
I was numb for the time Darcy was back in town... numb to crying.
I was happy to see him loosen up and show us the great girl he has found.
I was happy to see him happy... and I appreciate anyone who makes him happy.
My face once again hurt from smiling all day. I laughed a lot. I was a friend.
But that shock thing... when the numbness wears off... and I'm left to sort my feelings and thoughts... it's all bad news. I crumble.
Monday night, we stood outside for a bit, by the pool.
There was a slight breeze... very warm air occasionally blowing at our faces... my hair getting fucked up, since it does not just blow in the breeze all romantic like on normal girls, but instead flies erratically and unflatteringly.
Blues and whites... those are the colors that I noticed most. Blues and whites flooded my field of vision. Everything white... with the occasional blue square. White cushions... foamy jacuzzi bubbles... white tiles... dark blue, almost black skies... sky blue buildings... a chlorinated pool.
The giant white cushions.
There he was to my left... smiling... chatting about Chicago, of all things... smiling... bright, white teeth.
Calm, quiet admiration... like when staring at the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian-- so pretty and amazing. You can only imagine how fucking wonderful life would be if it belonged to you, but you're fine staring at it from behind the glass... you're fine walking away from it... because it will always be there if you ever want to admire it again... you just can't touch it, much less take it home with you.
A ti que con lo que te sobra me darías la luz para encender los días...
Your scraps give me enough light to ignite the days...
I was happy. I was calm. No heart palpitations... but knowing for certain that yeah... este corazón, it beats for you... I'm not this comfortable with anyone else. No bells or whistles or... crazy spinning room... just quiet recognition of my heart's situation.
It's yours... though you will never feel the same for me. I'm just a common person to you, but to me... there is no equivalent to you. And it's ok... it's ok... some feelings were just never meant to be reciprocated. Your girl... lucky, lovely girl.
Not all stories have happy endings.
Sometimes, the protagonist's love walks off into the sunset with his love... as the protagonist walks in the opposite direction, kicking rocks, resigned to the fact that she'll have to swallow her feelings... bottle them up and shove them into her darkest shelf.
But a smile will slowly creep across her face as she thinks of the happiness displayed by her love... happiness not provided by her as she had always hoped... but the happiness she had always hoped for him.
That silent understanding-- You don't belong to me. This whole time, I've only belonged to you, I still do, and I always will... but you never did belong to me... you never will...
Why'd you do that?
It took me a nice nap to recover from the hurt of my Saturday night.
I napped for four hours, woke up at 7 in the morning, and rolled out to church... where I served the purpose of a sad, lonely zombie for an hour.
I then sped home to catch the final games of the Confederation's Cup.
Soccer has always managed to get my mind off issues... especially when the sport's lovers in my life and I get to spend time chatting and analyzing the situations.
It's fantastic clarity... it helps ground me... and remember that I do matter in the lives of some people... that I AM part of circles.
By the time night rolled by, I was fine... fixing a nightclub outing for Darcy and Baby Bennet for Monday night.
I hardly ask for favors... because it makes me feel stupid... but since it was Twiggy, she was... almost eager to help me out.
When she saw I wasn't adding my name to the list, she was compelled to ask what the deal was (come on, it's Twiggy... she HAS to know everything).
I told her the deal, and asked her if she still thought it was a good idea to add my name.
Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
See, Boom! That's what I thought.
I know this girl often drives me bananas, and I talk shit about her and her wonky ways... but she HAS always had this weird admiration for me. She has NEVER talked ill about me (of my sister on the other hand, well... ha! We know about that shit)... so I do have love for her... and some trust.
So... she proceeded to help me out... more than I thought she would.
*Fiance* said to just go and say you're on HIS list... everything is taken care of. If you end up feeling up for joining them, you'll have no problem ;)
I relayed the message to Darcy, and when asked if I wasn't going to join them after all, I remembered Baby Bennet asking me to please join them at the club as I hastily said goodbye to her that horrible Saturday night.
I'm a girl of my word... and Baby Bennet is cool... and adding an extra girl to a party always helps.
So I agreed to go.
True to my soul, I hit the club looking like Elvira... prepared for... for... the worst.
Get them in, toast, jet.
I imagined the entire night to be awkward... but it was not. At least not for me.
At one point in the night, there was so much people traffic in the hallway, BB and I had to stop and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before following Darcy.
As I momentarily distracted myself with a glowstick, I was caught off-guard by the most violent push to my right shoulder... damn near giving me whiplash (it did give me a bruise).
"DON'T BLOCK THE HALLWAY!!"
I was so shocked to see a fucking idiot MAN i.e. security guard had manhandled me so viciously, I was silent... on the verge of tears, actually.
Does this motherfucker think I'm a transvestite? Some MAN to push me like that?! WHAT THE FUCK?!
And that's when I see Baby Bennet's little figure turn around and scream "HEY! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I had to think of how angry I was in order to keep from crying.
She's defending me... oh my....
I was so touched, I don't know how I didn't just lose my composure and start sobbing like a baby.
I stayed the remainder of time Darcy and Baby Bennet remained at the club... no more manhandling... just people watching and chatting.
As the elevator doors opened to their floor of the parking garage, I wished Baby Bennet a safe, and fun remainder of visit to the States.
She frowned a little, I hugged her, and waved goodbye as she stood outside the elevator... waving as the doors closed.
Girl, I got your back for life. Thank you.
I napped for four hours, woke up at 7 in the morning, and rolled out to church... where I served the purpose of a sad, lonely zombie for an hour.
I then sped home to catch the final games of the Confederation's Cup.
Soccer has always managed to get my mind off issues... especially when the sport's lovers in my life and I get to spend time chatting and analyzing the situations.
It's fantastic clarity... it helps ground me... and remember that I do matter in the lives of some people... that I AM part of circles.
By the time night rolled by, I was fine... fixing a nightclub outing for Darcy and Baby Bennet for Monday night.
I hardly ask for favors... because it makes me feel stupid... but since it was Twiggy, she was... almost eager to help me out.
When she saw I wasn't adding my name to the list, she was compelled to ask what the deal was (come on, it's Twiggy... she HAS to know everything).
I told her the deal, and asked her if she still thought it was a good idea to add my name.
Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
See, Boom! That's what I thought.
I know this girl often drives me bananas, and I talk shit about her and her wonky ways... but she HAS always had this weird admiration for me. She has NEVER talked ill about me (of my sister on the other hand, well... ha! We know about that shit)... so I do have love for her... and some trust.
So... she proceeded to help me out... more than I thought she would.
*Fiance* said to just go and say you're on HIS list... everything is taken care of. If you end up feeling up for joining them, you'll have no problem ;)
I relayed the message to Darcy, and when asked if I wasn't going to join them after all, I remembered Baby Bennet asking me to please join them at the club as I hastily said goodbye to her that horrible Saturday night.
I'm a girl of my word... and Baby Bennet is cool... and adding an extra girl to a party always helps.
So I agreed to go.
True to my soul, I hit the club looking like Elvira... prepared for... for... the worst.
Get them in, toast, jet.
I imagined the entire night to be awkward... but it was not. At least not for me.
At one point in the night, there was so much people traffic in the hallway, BB and I had to stop and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before following Darcy.
As I momentarily distracted myself with a glowstick, I was caught off-guard by the most violent push to my right shoulder... damn near giving me whiplash (it did give me a bruise).
"DON'T BLOCK THE HALLWAY!!"
I was so shocked to see a fucking idiot MAN i.e. security guard had manhandled me so viciously, I was silent... on the verge of tears, actually.
Does this motherfucker think I'm a transvestite? Some MAN to push me like that?! WHAT THE FUCK?!
And that's when I see Baby Bennet's little figure turn around and scream "HEY! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I had to think of how angry I was in order to keep from crying.
She's defending me... oh my....
I was so touched, I don't know how I didn't just lose my composure and start sobbing like a baby.
I stayed the remainder of time Darcy and Baby Bennet remained at the club... no more manhandling... just people watching and chatting.
As the elevator doors opened to their floor of the parking garage, I wished Baby Bennet a safe, and fun remainder of visit to the States.
She frowned a little, I hugged her, and waved goodbye as she stood outside the elevator... waving as the doors closed.
Girl, I got your back for life. Thank you.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Hyena bait
My friends... my close friends, all knew what was going down these last two weeks.
They never admitted it, but I'm sure they felt sorry for me (not the type of pity I hate, but that... head shake you make when a friend tells you of a terrible idea of theirs, but you just let them do it... because you know trying to convince them otherwise would be futile... so you just... shake your head. Oh... baby... bad idea... but... ok...), because I'm an idiot with poor luck.
I did not cry a single day in these two weeks. I think it was two weeks. I attribute this to that initial shock I have to traumatic events.
Wait... no... I did cry last week... when... I... was cornered at a pub by a moron who does not understand no means NO... a manipulative, lying idiot.
It was all too much.
I would look around and note no one would try and get this blubbering moron off me... and it would sometimes make me laugh out loud to see how BAD everyone was at noticing my discomfort... some of them even encouraging it. Then I grew upset thinking that maybe it was because no one CARED about my discomfort... and once that idea entered my mind, I spent the rest of the night trying my hardest not to cry.
You're alone. You're a stranger. All you have is this creep who is hounding you like a vulture does a dying animal... and all you want to do is kick and scream and disappear... as everyone around you has a good time, has a partner, is part of a group... group that occasionally turns around to watch you squirm... with zero intent to help you out.
I'm just a piece of meat for this hyena... that's all I've EVER been. I don't matter... I NEVER DID!
I ran to my car that night... I jogged through the casino, and once I entered the parking lot, I burst into a sprint. The tears flowed the moment I started the sprint... the sobbing didn't start until I entered the safety of my car.
Obviously this reaction stems from my childhood.
I grow agitated when someone pushes themselves on me... regardless of HOW MANY TIMES I've told them no... regardless of the DIFFERENT WAYS I've told them NO. Hmmm... I wonder why...
When I see people apathetic to my distress... well... that just... devastates me. Few things hurt more than this... very, very few things.
These are things that will always hurt me, for as long as I live... I know it.
The fact that this all happened in Darcy's presence... killed me.
Just another slap across the face from Life, trying it's damn hardest to cement the fact that I am, and have been, rather meaningless in his life.
Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less.
(Ohhhh shiiit! Look at me on my Kanye rant flow! I think I have juice for another story before I go to bed... perhaps two if I stay focused)
They never admitted it, but I'm sure they felt sorry for me (not the type of pity I hate, but that... head shake you make when a friend tells you of a terrible idea of theirs, but you just let them do it... because you know trying to convince them otherwise would be futile... so you just... shake your head. Oh... baby... bad idea... but... ok...), because I'm an idiot with poor luck.
I did not cry a single day in these two weeks. I think it was two weeks. I attribute this to that initial shock I have to traumatic events.
Wait... no... I did cry last week... when... I... was cornered at a pub by a moron who does not understand no means NO... a manipulative, lying idiot.
It was all too much.
I would look around and note no one would try and get this blubbering moron off me... and it would sometimes make me laugh out loud to see how BAD everyone was at noticing my discomfort... some of them even encouraging it. Then I grew upset thinking that maybe it was because no one CARED about my discomfort... and once that idea entered my mind, I spent the rest of the night trying my hardest not to cry.
You're alone. You're a stranger. All you have is this creep who is hounding you like a vulture does a dying animal... and all you want to do is kick and scream and disappear... as everyone around you has a good time, has a partner, is part of a group... group that occasionally turns around to watch you squirm... with zero intent to help you out.
I'm just a piece of meat for this hyena... that's all I've EVER been. I don't matter... I NEVER DID!
I ran to my car that night... I jogged through the casino, and once I entered the parking lot, I burst into a sprint. The tears flowed the moment I started the sprint... the sobbing didn't start until I entered the safety of my car.
Obviously this reaction stems from my childhood.
I grow agitated when someone pushes themselves on me... regardless of HOW MANY TIMES I've told them no... regardless of the DIFFERENT WAYS I've told them NO. Hmmm... I wonder why...
When I see people apathetic to my distress... well... that just... devastates me. Few things hurt more than this... very, very few things.
These are things that will always hurt me, for as long as I live... I know it.
The fact that this all happened in Darcy's presence... killed me.
Just another slap across the face from Life, trying it's damn hardest to cement the fact that I am, and have been, rather meaningless in his life.
Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less.
(Ohhhh shiiit! Look at me on my Kanye rant flow! I think I have juice for another story before I go to bed... perhaps two if I stay focused)
Baby Bennet
Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
WHY?!
No.
::Sigh::
The heart wants what the heart wants.
Emotional break down, or acceptance... or a combination?
I'm not trying to be a martyr, it's just the way I am-- I try to reason shit out and often, sympathize.
I'm not brown-nosing, I find no use in falsely flattering anyone. When I compliment, I mean it... wholeheartedly... there's no hidden intent behind it.
When I don't give a shit, I don't even bother. No, I won't just be quiet-- I often care when I'm quiet-- but I WILL pick up and leave... just so I don't have to deal.
This entry was bound to happen, I mean, I've known since December.
Darcy and his girl.
Darcy has a girl, and once again, it isn't me.
Raised your hand if you're surprised. Ha.
Trust me, I've cried this one out numerous times by now.
I could get into the cruel specifics behind the tears... but that just makes me angry now.
Just know that for the last six months, a particular asshole has been making me cry thanks to his insensitive, inconsiderate comments. Trying to make me "snap out of it" or whatever.
When I learned that Darcy would be returning home for a break, I was happy... then of course, that certain idiot very abruptly and crudely informed me Darcy would be returning with his girl... a wife, to be exact. Boy... did I cry!
My trip abroad helped clear my mind... for the most part, since there will always be something to remind me of Darcy... every day... but at least I was smiling and laughing and exploring.
And then I returned to face the harsh reality.
The two weeks leading to Darcy's return were spent crying. Every single day. Crying and dreading the moment I'd have to see... both of them. Crying and dreading and lamenting... and trying to carry on like a normal person.
Cry it all out now... so when you have to face them, you'll be normal... get it all out now.
This, of course, is something I could have completely avoided in the eyes of many people... it's not like I was being forced to see them. It was entirely my choice to be exposed to this truth... this fact.
But you see... he's my friend. We are friends. It's not his fault he can't like me in the sense I wish he did. And I hadn't seen him in a year. And he's my friend. I appreciate him.
And then I met her.
I had to laugh to myself... at the coincidences in life-- her name happens to be the same name as one of the Bennet sister's on Pride and Prejudice. Of course Life would work out this way. Silly Life.
Often I hear girls hate on their "rivals"-- it's one of the reasons I tend to avoid girls. The cattiness is despicable, but so fucking contagious. I'm not immune to cattiness, even if naturally I'm chill... and kind until the person provides me with a reason NOT to be.
I could easily have taken a hostile stance... sat there and hated on everything from her choice in clothing, hairstyle, lifestyle... what else do broads hate on each other on? The way we speak? The way we apply makeup? Oh yeah, the way we SMILE?
Or I could have completely ignored her... I don't know this bitch. I don't have to talk to her! I find MANY girls apply this trick to me.
OR I could have just gone psycho... just found any dumb excuse to start brawling... girls are known to do that too.
I could have also just sat there and busted out crying... very AnoMALIE-esque.
But NO. I'm AnoMALIE. I'm FRIENDLY. And I'm nice. And I'm kind. And I will do anything in my power to make others feel comfortable, especially friends. I will do everything in my power to make someone happy, ESPECIALLY a friend... because that's how I wish others would treat me.
The way I see things, in order for Darcy to like a girl enough to bring her around to meet his friends and family, she has to be dope. She has to be cool. She has to be worth it.
That's too long of a haul to bring a mean bitch.
And so... I embraced her like I would a long lost friend... not literally... I think I shook her hand, if I'm not mistaken... but I treated her like I treat... Darcy.
With all the pain in my heart--because it's so much easier to just hate someone without knowing them, especially a girl chosen over you-- I allowed myself to see the vault of chill vibes she was bringing... and it was worth it.
I'm sure this would have never happened with a Latina... because we can sense another woman interested in our dude from a mile away... like some fucking sharks sensing blood from an injured animal, we maul that bitch... homegirl would have ripped me to shreds.
But no, "BabyBennet" was far cooler than I could have imagined. She was funny, smart, humble, nice, and down to try anything. She was not needy... or snarky... or possessive... she was chill.
She gained my respect and friendship.
She's amazing. And you look happy. Good job. That makes me happy. Honestly.
WHY?!
No.
::Sigh::
The heart wants what the heart wants.
Emotional break down, or acceptance... or a combination?
I'm not trying to be a martyr, it's just the way I am-- I try to reason shit out and often, sympathize.
I'm not brown-nosing, I find no use in falsely flattering anyone. When I compliment, I mean it... wholeheartedly... there's no hidden intent behind it.
When I don't give a shit, I don't even bother. No, I won't just be quiet-- I often care when I'm quiet-- but I WILL pick up and leave... just so I don't have to deal.
This entry was bound to happen, I mean, I've known since December.
Darcy and his girl.
Darcy has a girl, and once again, it isn't me.
Raised your hand if you're surprised. Ha.
Trust me, I've cried this one out numerous times by now.
I could get into the cruel specifics behind the tears... but that just makes me angry now.
Just know that for the last six months, a particular asshole has been making me cry thanks to his insensitive, inconsiderate comments. Trying to make me "snap out of it" or whatever.
When I learned that Darcy would be returning home for a break, I was happy... then of course, that certain idiot very abruptly and crudely informed me Darcy would be returning with his girl... a wife, to be exact. Boy... did I cry!
My trip abroad helped clear my mind... for the most part, since there will always be something to remind me of Darcy... every day... but at least I was smiling and laughing and exploring.
And then I returned to face the harsh reality.
The two weeks leading to Darcy's return were spent crying. Every single day. Crying and dreading the moment I'd have to see... both of them. Crying and dreading and lamenting... and trying to carry on like a normal person.
Cry it all out now... so when you have to face them, you'll be normal... get it all out now.
This, of course, is something I could have completely avoided in the eyes of many people... it's not like I was being forced to see them. It was entirely my choice to be exposed to this truth... this fact.
But you see... he's my friend. We are friends. It's not his fault he can't like me in the sense I wish he did. And I hadn't seen him in a year. And he's my friend. I appreciate him.
And then I met her.
I had to laugh to myself... at the coincidences in life-- her name happens to be the same name as one of the Bennet sister's on Pride and Prejudice. Of course Life would work out this way. Silly Life.
Often I hear girls hate on their "rivals"-- it's one of the reasons I tend to avoid girls. The cattiness is despicable, but so fucking contagious. I'm not immune to cattiness, even if naturally I'm chill... and kind until the person provides me with a reason NOT to be.
I could easily have taken a hostile stance... sat there and hated on everything from her choice in clothing, hairstyle, lifestyle... what else do broads hate on each other on? The way we speak? The way we apply makeup? Oh yeah, the way we SMILE?
Or I could have completely ignored her... I don't know this bitch. I don't have to talk to her! I find MANY girls apply this trick to me.
OR I could have just gone psycho... just found any dumb excuse to start brawling... girls are known to do that too.
I could have also just sat there and busted out crying... very AnoMALIE-esque.
But NO. I'm AnoMALIE. I'm FRIENDLY. And I'm nice. And I'm kind. And I will do anything in my power to make others feel comfortable, especially friends. I will do everything in my power to make someone happy, ESPECIALLY a friend... because that's how I wish others would treat me.
The way I see things, in order for Darcy to like a girl enough to bring her around to meet his friends and family, she has to be dope. She has to be cool. She has to be worth it.
That's too long of a haul to bring a mean bitch.
And so... I embraced her like I would a long lost friend... not literally... I think I shook her hand, if I'm not mistaken... but I treated her like I treat... Darcy.
With all the pain in my heart--because it's so much easier to just hate someone without knowing them, especially a girl chosen over you-- I allowed myself to see the vault of chill vibes she was bringing... and it was worth it.
I'm sure this would have never happened with a Latina... because we can sense another woman interested in our dude from a mile away... like some fucking sharks sensing blood from an injured animal, we maul that bitch... homegirl would have ripped me to shreds.
But no, "BabyBennet" was far cooler than I could have imagined. She was funny, smart, humble, nice, and down to try anything. She was not needy... or snarky... or possessive... she was chill.
She gained my respect and friendship.
She's amazing. And you look happy. Good job. That makes me happy. Honestly.
Monday, June 10, 2013
No, Silly.
No worries, you aren't missing much by not seeing (his current city), Berlin is by far the more interesting place.
Oh, silly boy, if you only knew...
Not missing much? Only what has mattered most to me for the last nine years.
I don't care where it is-- next door, across the ocean, a landfill, or the moon... wherever you are is what matters-- what I find interesting... the most interesting of interesting places. Anywhere else I may be, or anything else I may see, is secondary-- inconsequential.
In not seeing you, I'm missing much... I'm missing it all.
So... clearly I was upset two weeks ago... fucking devastated, heartbroken, pissed, sad, frustrated... all of that messed up shit.
So many things were running through my mind, that I finally couldn't keep my composure and I lost it in front of my sister and JC.
Now that I have time to look back and examine it all with a clear mind (because yes, my mind cleared and I cheered the fuck up the moment I stepped foot in Paris. I had to think of other shit, like "Goddamn it! NO ENGLISH, AnoMALIE! You are to speak ONLY FRENCH! Sound natural, sound natural, sound natural. 'Allo, la bas, si vous plait. Merci! Oui, c'est ma deuxième fois de visite a la cite'" and not about missing out on seeing and hanging out in a foreign country with the boy I've always swooned for-- for nearly a decade of my life), things are making sense.
Tuesday morning, as I made breakfast and fought any negative thoughts that tried creeping back into my head to make me cry about my incompetence, JC walked into the kitchen and checked up on my wellbeing.
JC: Oh, well, it's good to see you're in spirits to finally eat.
Me: Eh. Long day ahead. Hard to believe I'll be in Paris in a few hours.
JC: Oh look, you're talking again.
Me: Eh.
JC: You fucking irritated me last night. Luckily you're making us breakfast, so I forgive you.
Me: Forgive ME? I didn't know I needed it, but thanks...
JC: YOU'RE IN GERMANY! No room to be all fucking (copies me looking miserable, sulking) mopey and stupid. Shit fucking pissed me off.
Me: JC, I missed out on hanging out with the one guy I've ever liked... He lives way the fuck out here... and I KNOW he will never be for me... but ANY opportunity to even SEE him is important to me. Missing such a thing... because I'm such a fucking retard... broke my heart.
JC: It's not so serious.
Me: JC... he's the one I toasted to. YOU moved out here for the girl YOU toasted to that night. Shut the fuck up.
This is where I think JC and I are too alike.
He moved out to Berlin because he fell hard for a girl he met one night, and spent only ONE DAY getting to know.
It took him a few years to actually make his way out to Berlin, and in those years, he happened to meet Em. They became serious, because Em is the more tangible option... but BerlinGirl is still his ONE.
She's the one he will always admire and for whom his heart will wildly flutter... but she's also the one he knows will never be able to... be.
He gets to see her, hear her, smell her, touch her at the moment, but he too is victim of that invisible wall. Unspoken words... no, can't happen. Wont happen.
I saw the way he looked at her at the Champs League Finale party. He doesn't look at Em that way. The way he spoke to her... he doesn't speak like that to Em.
He sat right next to BerlinGirl, and leaned over even closer... this... sheepish look on his face... but that was it. It's like admiring a highly-guarded treasure: you can look, but the moment you touch you drop dead.
Maybe his irritation with me rose from seeing how I-- in a very similar situation to his-- choose to fade with my sadness, rather than move on and look for someone else.
It's not that I don't want to... it's just that I can't.
I'm destined to watch everyone find their "rib" as I quietly sit on my bench... acting unaffected... but wishing to really just be invisible.
Oh, silly boy, if you only knew...
Not missing much? Only what has mattered most to me for the last nine years.
I don't care where it is-- next door, across the ocean, a landfill, or the moon... wherever you are is what matters-- what I find interesting... the most interesting of interesting places. Anywhere else I may be, or anything else I may see, is secondary-- inconsequential.
In not seeing you, I'm missing much... I'm missing it all.
So... clearly I was upset two weeks ago... fucking devastated, heartbroken, pissed, sad, frustrated... all of that messed up shit.
So many things were running through my mind, that I finally couldn't keep my composure and I lost it in front of my sister and JC.
Now that I have time to look back and examine it all with a clear mind (because yes, my mind cleared and I cheered the fuck up the moment I stepped foot in Paris. I had to think of other shit, like "Goddamn it! NO ENGLISH, AnoMALIE! You are to speak ONLY FRENCH! Sound natural, sound natural, sound natural. 'Allo, la bas, si vous plait. Merci! Oui, c'est ma deuxième fois de visite a la cite'" and not about missing out on seeing and hanging out in a foreign country with the boy I've always swooned for-- for nearly a decade of my life), things are making sense.
Tuesday morning, as I made breakfast and fought any negative thoughts that tried creeping back into my head to make me cry about my incompetence, JC walked into the kitchen and checked up on my wellbeing.
JC: Oh, well, it's good to see you're in spirits to finally eat.
Me: Eh. Long day ahead. Hard to believe I'll be in Paris in a few hours.
JC: Oh look, you're talking again.
Me: Eh.
JC: You fucking irritated me last night. Luckily you're making us breakfast, so I forgive you.
Me: Forgive ME? I didn't know I needed it, but thanks...
JC: YOU'RE IN GERMANY! No room to be all fucking (copies me looking miserable, sulking) mopey and stupid. Shit fucking pissed me off.
Me: JC, I missed out on hanging out with the one guy I've ever liked... He lives way the fuck out here... and I KNOW he will never be for me... but ANY opportunity to even SEE him is important to me. Missing such a thing... because I'm such a fucking retard... broke my heart.
JC: It's not so serious.
Me: JC... he's the one I toasted to. YOU moved out here for the girl YOU toasted to that night. Shut the fuck up.
This is where I think JC and I are too alike.
He moved out to Berlin because he fell hard for a girl he met one night, and spent only ONE DAY getting to know.
It took him a few years to actually make his way out to Berlin, and in those years, he happened to meet Em. They became serious, because Em is the more tangible option... but BerlinGirl is still his ONE.
She's the one he will always admire and for whom his heart will wildly flutter... but she's also the one he knows will never be able to... be.
He gets to see her, hear her, smell her, touch her at the moment, but he too is victim of that invisible wall. Unspoken words... no, can't happen. Wont happen.
I saw the way he looked at her at the Champs League Finale party. He doesn't look at Em that way. The way he spoke to her... he doesn't speak like that to Em.
He sat right next to BerlinGirl, and leaned over even closer... this... sheepish look on his face... but that was it. It's like admiring a highly-guarded treasure: you can look, but the moment you touch you drop dead.
Maybe his irritation with me rose from seeing how I-- in a very similar situation to his-- choose to fade with my sadness, rather than move on and look for someone else.
It's not that I don't want to... it's just that I can't.
I'm destined to watch everyone find their "rib" as I quietly sit on my bench... acting unaffected... but wishing to really just be invisible.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Caliber
Astrology claims Aries are assholes... pushy, self-centered assholes.
He had these dark, sarcastic, witty comments. Instead of repelling me... they'd crack me up. They drew me closer to him.
Not gonna lie, I was intimidated by him. I often felt like a complete fucking idiot next to him... and I was scared he'd judge me as another dumbshit girl with nothing but vapid shit to say, so I'd be a total mute.
He and his friends would joke about what a misogynist he was... and instead of me speaking up and protesting, I'd just giggle.
I didn't think he was an asshole, I just thought he had a slightly rough exterior. I thought he was detached.
Then I started noticing the little things.
I noticed when he'd speak to me whenever we'd bump into each other, his eyes would light up and his smile would be... really adorable.
I now know he did this because of the recognition. He didn't hate me, so he wouldn't roll his eyes or try to avoid me... he was just being a NICE GUY-- a nice dude greeting a nice girl.
He was just being nice, but this made me fall hard, and irreversibly for him.
Over the years, he just continued to do little things... which showed me he actually had a heart, a quite solid one... and it did nothing to end my crush on him.
I mistakenly thought it was serendipity, but it was really just coincidence.
Then came the horrible day of the rejection letters.
I always talk about this, but it seriously marked a change in my life-- this rejection from every single school.
I was devastated. I was tired. I had been sobbing so hard, my cries could be heard throughout the house. I was a mess, a wreck... I was destroyed.
In the midst of my crying, and sobbing, and confusion... all went silent. Everything stopped... even my heart beat at a slower pace.
Wait.. did he... this says... he just...
Darcy tried... he expressed... he felt bad for me. He randomly spoke up and tried consoling me... just fucking randomly, hours after reading the most difficult news in my life.
The world seriously went silent for me. I sat in awe of what had just happened.
Of course I went back to sobbing violently, but for about five minutes, I sat in complete silence, thinking
Well, FUCK! He... he has a heart.
Darcy doesn't like me. He never has.
Well, let me clarify, he doesn't like me like that.
He has always been a friend... a good person to me... I'm the one who misinterpreted everything. I'm the one who allowed her imagination to run wild. I created "possibilities" out of random acts of kindness... something I criticize and hate when others do that with me. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he just gave me a metaphorical pat in the head.
Oh, you silly, sad girl.
He taught me a hard lesson in compassion. An "Asshole" Aries gave a "Peaceful" Pisces a lesson in kindness.
Darcy, a self-centered asshole? Nah. Not at all.
He may have been born on a day like today and therefore be considered an Aries... he may appear to be egotistical, conceited, intimidating, distant, cold, or caustic, but he's really sweet, caring, kind, accepting, concerned... all of those pretty, warm adjectives. Much more so than I am.
Not only is he wildly intelligent AND bewitchingly handsome... but he's a good guy... a great guy.
I'm lucky to have met him, so I can at least know such humans do exist... even if there's no chance for me to ever get him, as miserable as the realization might make me sometimes.
I hope he finds someone who inspires as much awe in him, as he inspires in me... a guy of that caliber certainly deserves it.
He had these dark, sarcastic, witty comments. Instead of repelling me... they'd crack me up. They drew me closer to him.
Not gonna lie, I was intimidated by him. I often felt like a complete fucking idiot next to him... and I was scared he'd judge me as another dumbshit girl with nothing but vapid shit to say, so I'd be a total mute.
He and his friends would joke about what a misogynist he was... and instead of me speaking up and protesting, I'd just giggle.
I didn't think he was an asshole, I just thought he had a slightly rough exterior. I thought he was detached.
Then I started noticing the little things.
I noticed when he'd speak to me whenever we'd bump into each other, his eyes would light up and his smile would be... really adorable.
I now know he did this because of the recognition. He didn't hate me, so he wouldn't roll his eyes or try to avoid me... he was just being a NICE GUY-- a nice dude greeting a nice girl.
He was just being nice, but this made me fall hard, and irreversibly for him.
Over the years, he just continued to do little things... which showed me he actually had a heart, a quite solid one... and it did nothing to end my crush on him.
I mistakenly thought it was serendipity, but it was really just coincidence.
Then came the horrible day of the rejection letters.
I always talk about this, but it seriously marked a change in my life-- this rejection from every single school.
I was devastated. I was tired. I had been sobbing so hard, my cries could be heard throughout the house. I was a mess, a wreck... I was destroyed.
In the midst of my crying, and sobbing, and confusion... all went silent. Everything stopped... even my heart beat at a slower pace.
Wait.. did he... this says... he just...
Darcy tried... he expressed... he felt bad for me. He randomly spoke up and tried consoling me... just fucking randomly, hours after reading the most difficult news in my life.
The world seriously went silent for me. I sat in awe of what had just happened.
Of course I went back to sobbing violently, but for about five minutes, I sat in complete silence, thinking
Well, FUCK! He... he has a heart.
Darcy doesn't like me. He never has.
Well, let me clarify, he doesn't like me like that.
He has always been a friend... a good person to me... I'm the one who misinterpreted everything. I'm the one who allowed her imagination to run wild. I created "possibilities" out of random acts of kindness... something I criticize and hate when others do that with me. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he just gave me a metaphorical pat in the head.
Oh, you silly, sad girl.
He taught me a hard lesson in compassion. An "Asshole" Aries gave a "Peaceful" Pisces a lesson in kindness.
Darcy, a self-centered asshole? Nah. Not at all.
He may have been born on a day like today and therefore be considered an Aries... he may appear to be egotistical, conceited, intimidating, distant, cold, or caustic, but he's really sweet, caring, kind, accepting, concerned... all of those pretty, warm adjectives. Much more so than I am.
Not only is he wildly intelligent AND bewitchingly handsome... but he's a good guy... a great guy.
I'm lucky to have met him, so I can at least know such humans do exist... even if there's no chance for me to ever get him, as miserable as the realization might make me sometimes.
I hope he finds someone who inspires as much awe in him, as he inspires in me... a guy of that caliber certainly deserves it.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Truck
Alrighty. I have time to upload photos and crack the fuck up.
I am, however, going to refrain from posting as many as I had originally thought... because they are SO FUCKING bad.
Here we go.
Let's take it back to good ol' '05. The summer of '05. The summer where there was a wedding on my dad's side of the family, and everyone was part of the bridal party, everyone but me. I wasn't asked because I'd kill the vibe, because I "wasn't pretty enough. Only hot girls allowed as bridesmaids."
Everyone was told I had turned down the offer to be in it because I'm so shy and whatnot... though the GROOM personally told me that about "only hot girls allowed in my wedding." Instead of objecting and telling everyone the true story, I stuck to only telling my mom and sister. To this day, my dad and my brother both think I'm a crazy, antisocial idiot.
Anyway, the photos:
That right there is the family-- my siblings and my cousins. The circle.
The look they're tossing me breaks my heart, still... actually, the entire photo does... even the angle, and especially the distance at which I took it.
Me? Ostracized? Says who?
It was impossible not to feel like the biggest fucking loser on the face o the universe this day.
Now, was my cousin (the groom) correct in leaving me out of the party? Well... as embarrassing as this may be, I'll let you be the judge. This is what I looked like that summer:
My stomach hurts looking at this. I feel... as though I'm... I don't know what to say. It's hard to look at this for more than a second. It hurts. It breaks my heart.
To tell you the truth, I don't know how they managed to convince me to get in the photo.
By the way, that kid in the suit is my rockstar godson... this was around the time they'd call him derogatory terms due to his lanky figure...
My, how the world turns.
This was also the summer after meeting Darcy. This was the summer following my two semesters of creative writing.
So... seeing the '05 photos was this horrifying moment where the lightbulb went off. That... eureka moment. The epiphany.
There is NO WAY in fucking hell he could have ever liked me. No way. In fucking. Hell.
Jesus. I feel so embarrassed to think... like... dude... I was a fucking truck. He was this super slender guy-- some might venture to call LANKY, but I avoid it, especially after Godson showed me how hurtful that adjective can be-- and I was this fucking truck totally after his bones. Sweet baby jesus... the embarrassment nearly makes me vomit.
He never LIKED me... NOT like THAT. I just... fixated and felt this absolutely one-sided attraction to the guy.
He didn't see you like an attractive girl... he saw you like A FRIEND, you fucking moron. He probably pitied your fat ass, you deluded dumbshit!
I can't fucking complain about this enough... it's horrible. I'm remarkably irritated with myself... for being such a stubborn, blind, annoying idiot.
Poor guy. Poor, poor Darcy.
I do find solace in knowing I never spilled my fucking idiotic heart out to the guy... poor guy... just imagine the awkwardness if I HAD... no manches.
And STILL, he was so incredibly cool to me... it's shit like that which makes me fiercely loyal to someone. Knowing someone who could have totally kicked my fat ass to the curb-- like my good ol' family-- instead put up with my obnoxious fawning (though, can it be considered that if my admiration was sincere?) and was kind to me... it melts me... and makes it a breeze for me to have their back for as long as they want me around.
So, as far as Darcy goes-- dude can totally forget I exist... he can avoid me like the plague, but for as long as I'll have use of memory, I'll have nothing but nice things to say about him... and gratitude towards him. I like him as a person even more now... is that weird?
This doesn't just pertain to Darcy, but like I said before, I mean it for all my friends I acquired through those rough years... Darcy just gets a special mention because I had/have this massive, eternal little flame in my heart for him, and instead of him being a cunt to me (like I have been on numerous occasions with guys who have, for some psychotic reason, owned up to crushing on me), he just lets me be. That's a good dude-- take it from me, a girl who has been humiliated every turn she takes.
The subject of Darcy probably hijacked the post because tomorrow marks another anniversary of him being placed on this planet.
I'm tired, I'm fighting a cold, and I'm embarrassed... it wasn't too difficult for the subject of Darcy to pop into my head and all over my blog.
... my god... how I must have pestered him. EMBARRASSING.
Excuse me, now, I have to crawl into bed and try to burn these images out of my mind as I drift to la-la land.
Does this entry make sense? No idea... my guess is NO.
I am, however, going to refrain from posting as many as I had originally thought... because they are SO FUCKING bad.
Here we go.
Let's take it back to good ol' '05. The summer of '05. The summer where there was a wedding on my dad's side of the family, and everyone was part of the bridal party, everyone but me. I wasn't asked because I'd kill the vibe, because I "wasn't pretty enough. Only hot girls allowed as bridesmaids."
Everyone was told I had turned down the offer to be in it because I'm so shy and whatnot... though the GROOM personally told me that about "only hot girls allowed in my wedding." Instead of objecting and telling everyone the true story, I stuck to only telling my mom and sister. To this day, my dad and my brother both think I'm a crazy, antisocial idiot.
Anyway, the photos:
The look they're tossing me breaks my heart, still... actually, the entire photo does... even the angle, and especially the distance at which I took it.
Me? Ostracized? Says who?
It was impossible not to feel like the biggest fucking loser on the face o the universe this day.
Now, was my cousin (the groom) correct in leaving me out of the party? Well... as embarrassing as this may be, I'll let you be the judge. This is what I looked like that summer:
 |
| I'm the orange wastebasket in the middle. I was going to say "dumbass" but it looks like my brother has reserved that noun. |
To tell you the truth, I don't know how they managed to convince me to get in the photo.
By the way, that kid in the suit is my rockstar godson... this was around the time they'd call him derogatory terms due to his lanky figure...
My, how the world turns.
 |
| ... .... I don't even want to talk about this. I'm just going to take a seat over here and cry for a couple of minutes... |
So... seeing the '05 photos was this horrifying moment where the lightbulb went off. That... eureka moment. The epiphany.
There is NO WAY in fucking hell he could have ever liked me. No way. In fucking. Hell.
Jesus. I feel so embarrassed to think... like... dude... I was a fucking truck. He was this super slender guy-- some might venture to call LANKY, but I avoid it, especially after Godson showed me how hurtful that adjective can be-- and I was this fucking truck totally after his bones. Sweet baby jesus... the embarrassment nearly makes me vomit.
He never LIKED me... NOT like THAT. I just... fixated and felt this absolutely one-sided attraction to the guy.
He didn't see you like an attractive girl... he saw you like A FRIEND, you fucking moron. He probably pitied your fat ass, you deluded dumbshit!
I can't fucking complain about this enough... it's horrible. I'm remarkably irritated with myself... for being such a stubborn, blind, annoying idiot.
Poor guy. Poor, poor Darcy.
I do find solace in knowing I never spilled my fucking idiotic heart out to the guy... poor guy... just imagine the awkwardness if I HAD... no manches.
And STILL, he was so incredibly cool to me... it's shit like that which makes me fiercely loyal to someone. Knowing someone who could have totally kicked my fat ass to the curb-- like my good ol' family-- instead put up with my obnoxious fawning (though, can it be considered that if my admiration was sincere?) and was kind to me... it melts me... and makes it a breeze for me to have their back for as long as they want me around.
So, as far as Darcy goes-- dude can totally forget I exist... he can avoid me like the plague, but for as long as I'll have use of memory, I'll have nothing but nice things to say about him... and gratitude towards him. I like him as a person even more now... is that weird?
This doesn't just pertain to Darcy, but like I said before, I mean it for all my friends I acquired through those rough years... Darcy just gets a special mention because I had/have this massive, eternal little flame in my heart for him, and instead of him being a cunt to me (like I have been on numerous occasions with guys who have, for some psychotic reason, owned up to crushing on me), he just lets me be. That's a good dude-- take it from me, a girl who has been humiliated every turn she takes.
The subject of Darcy probably hijacked the post because tomorrow marks another anniversary of him being placed on this planet.
I'm tired, I'm fighting a cold, and I'm embarrassed... it wasn't too difficult for the subject of Darcy to pop into my head and all over my blog.
... my god... how I must have pestered him. EMBARRASSING.
Excuse me, now, I have to crawl into bed and try to burn these images out of my mind as I drift to la-la land.
Does this entry make sense? No idea... my guess is NO.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Ragarde
I'm once again at a loss for words. I don't know where to begin or how to begin.
Shit's just weird.
Weird shit happens.
I try and ignore things... ignore the sequence of events... blame it all on coincidence... but it's just fucking impossible not to trip when things get too fucking weird.
I've been busy this weekend doing some hardcore third-world shit.
I've been hooked on cocoa nibs for years, but things reached a new level once Dad brought the actual raw cacao from Nicaragua... a couple of kilos, actually.
It took us a while, but we learned the trick to preparing cacao nibs: roast the cacao bean, let it cool, peel away, grind, add to food and drinks (and fall in love)!
We did small batches a few months ago, on our first try, and stopped because it was so damn time-consuming.
Our Nicaraguan friends told us we should finish up the roasting and peeling of the remaining cacao before summer, when the beans run the risk of melting in this extreme heat. This shit is too delicious to allow for this travesty to occur, SO, Mom and I dedicated these last few nights to peeling the rest of the beans.
This shit is TIRING. It also hurts like a motherfucker, since the skin of the bean injures the fuck out of your hyponychium after a couple of hours. It's what I imagine the fucking Olmecs did as a torture tactic on their prisoners.
Anyway, I've hit the hay pretty hard these last few days thanks to this nice finisher.
I have not really given a shit about anything. I just leave the kitchen and enter my bedroom, turn on my television for my light source (and background noise... I need it in order to get sleepy. This goes back to my childhood days in the ghetto), wash my face, brush my teeth, turn off the TV, and go to sleep.
Yesterday, I was extra tired, although in an extremely good mood after a very pleasant day and evening, and a hilarious night of conversation with Mom as we did the cacao peeling.
After saying goodnight to the little lady, I left for my room and did the usual television thing and pre-bed ritual. When I returned to my room and looked up at my television, I froze.
I initially turned off my TV after finishing up with my usual Saturday-afternoon ritual: watching the cooking shows on PBS-- they end at 5PM. I had not been in my room since then.
Upon once again turning on my TV, a little before 1AM, I noticed the TV was still on PBS but didn't care to change the channel-- all I really wanted was some background noise while I washed my face.
Why did I freeze after walking into my room and looking at the TV after washing my face? Because right there, on my TV, on the science program, ON PBS... was Darcy's face.
Goddamnit. You have to be fucking kidding me right now. How the fuck... what the FUCK?!
I wasn't hallucinating. It was really the guy on television (I even rewound the program to make sure I wasn't just imagining shit)... and of course I watched the rest of the show.
Shit like this frustrates me. I don't get it. It makes me laugh... but just... it... frustrates me. Exasperates me. Makes me wave an angry fist at the Universe because it's thinking this shit is so fucking amusing/funny.
Is this fucking normal? Does everyone encounter this shit? I know people go through that thing where you "see" your crush all over the place, in things that continuously remind you of the person... but I LITERALLY see the guy... and he's "real," not a celebrity, not a famous athlete, he's a regular hometown boy... all over the place. He was on my motherfucking television at one in the morning, for crying out loud!
It gets to the point where I feel a pain in my stomach... like someone just violently kneed me. I don't cry only because I'm over doing that shit... but I do always let out a light "Oh no..." as I feel a frown make its way across my face. I lose my hearing for a few seconds, and my face turns warm.
It's the universe digging its nail a little deeper into my empty chest cavity.
The jokes no longer funny, just hurtful.
I take a deep breath, smile after releasing a single giggle, and quietly sit on my bed.
I proceed to do what the universe has worked so diligently at beating into my head: in quiet resignation, I observe and admire what I know was never meant for me.
Je le regarde, le regarde, le regarde.
"Just another girl... Nothing more, nothing less."
Shit's just weird.
Weird shit happens.
I try and ignore things... ignore the sequence of events... blame it all on coincidence... but it's just fucking impossible not to trip when things get too fucking weird.
I've been busy this weekend doing some hardcore third-world shit.
I've been hooked on cocoa nibs for years, but things reached a new level once Dad brought the actual raw cacao from Nicaragua... a couple of kilos, actually.
It took us a while, but we learned the trick to preparing cacao nibs: roast the cacao bean, let it cool, peel away, grind, add to food and drinks (and fall in love)!
We did small batches a few months ago, on our first try, and stopped because it was so damn time-consuming.
Our Nicaraguan friends told us we should finish up the roasting and peeling of the remaining cacao before summer, when the beans run the risk of melting in this extreme heat. This shit is too delicious to allow for this travesty to occur, SO, Mom and I dedicated these last few nights to peeling the rest of the beans.
This shit is TIRING. It also hurts like a motherfucker, since the skin of the bean injures the fuck out of your hyponychium after a couple of hours. It's what I imagine the fucking Olmecs did as a torture tactic on their prisoners.
Anyway, I've hit the hay pretty hard these last few days thanks to this nice finisher.
I have not really given a shit about anything. I just leave the kitchen and enter my bedroom, turn on my television for my light source (and background noise... I need it in order to get sleepy. This goes back to my childhood days in the ghetto), wash my face, brush my teeth, turn off the TV, and go to sleep.
Yesterday, I was extra tired, although in an extremely good mood after a very pleasant day and evening, and a hilarious night of conversation with Mom as we did the cacao peeling.
After saying goodnight to the little lady, I left for my room and did the usual television thing and pre-bed ritual. When I returned to my room and looked up at my television, I froze.
I initially turned off my TV after finishing up with my usual Saturday-afternoon ritual: watching the cooking shows on PBS-- they end at 5PM. I had not been in my room since then.
Upon once again turning on my TV, a little before 1AM, I noticed the TV was still on PBS but didn't care to change the channel-- all I really wanted was some background noise while I washed my face.
Why did I freeze after walking into my room and looking at the TV after washing my face? Because right there, on my TV, on the science program, ON PBS... was Darcy's face.
Goddamnit. You have to be fucking kidding me right now. How the fuck... what the FUCK?!
I wasn't hallucinating. It was really the guy on television (I even rewound the program to make sure I wasn't just imagining shit)... and of course I watched the rest of the show.
Shit like this frustrates me. I don't get it. It makes me laugh... but just... it... frustrates me. Exasperates me. Makes me wave an angry fist at the Universe because it's thinking this shit is so fucking amusing/funny.
Is this fucking normal? Does everyone encounter this shit? I know people go through that thing where you "see" your crush all over the place, in things that continuously remind you of the person... but I LITERALLY see the guy... and he's "real," not a celebrity, not a famous athlete, he's a regular hometown boy... all over the place. He was on my motherfucking television at one in the morning, for crying out loud!
It gets to the point where I feel a pain in my stomach... like someone just violently kneed me. I don't cry only because I'm over doing that shit... but I do always let out a light "Oh no..." as I feel a frown make its way across my face. I lose my hearing for a few seconds, and my face turns warm.
It's the universe digging its nail a little deeper into my empty chest cavity.
The jokes no longer funny, just hurtful.
I take a deep breath, smile after releasing a single giggle, and quietly sit on my bed.
I proceed to do what the universe has worked so diligently at beating into my head: in quiet resignation, I observe and admire what I know was never meant for me.
Je le regarde, le regarde, le regarde.
"Just another girl... Nothing more, nothing less."
Friday, November 30, 2012
WWDD
I'm guilty of watching those hidden camera shows... those "What would you do?" specials.
I get pretty worked up and upset with the majority of the scenarios, mainly because I see people ignore others in need.
I become especially upset because numerous times throughout my life, I've been in need of someone--anyone-- to rescue me, and probably only twice was helped out. Each time someone stands up for me or brings aid to me, I get emotional and typically cry.
Whenever I see anyone in need, I jump... especially if it's a physical thing. I'm ridiculously protective of the helpless-- I will stomp on motherfuckers if I have to. This fucking behavior will probably get me shot one day, but this type of shit just strikes a nerve in me.
I don't hold it against people who ignore those in need of help... it just makes me sad-- they disappoint me. I DO, however, admire the shit out of those who jump into action.
Today I learned Darcy is one of those people, like me. He helped someone who was getting beat up, even if in the process he too got socked in the face.
Give me a minute, I need to sigh real quick.
I told you guys he's an awesome person. He's amazing.
It's one thing that he doesn't reciprocate my fandom, overall admiration, crush/like/feelings/IdioticBehaviorIContinouslyExhibitLikeSomeTwelveYearOld, but another that he's a downright heartless, asshole-jerkface.
I mean, I like the dude for a reason, right? And I tell y'all I can't find anyone else like him regardless of how hard I try, here's a clear example of his awesome, mortherfucking endearing tendencies in action-- literally.
Ah, he's dope, SO dope.
I think I just had a similar reaction as I do with Ryan Gosling's "Hey Girl" Memes.
Sorry guys, I'll go back to being a moody 27 year old now.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Dream, dream, dream.
The thing I hate about being a dreamer:
-Is how no matter how threateningly I tell my conscious NOT to think of you, I still do.
-Is how no matter how often I go somewhere, I'll still "see" you there. Anything can, and will, be contrived to something related to you.
- Is that I convince myself that... things can work out... that maybe, at some time, you thought I even had a chance... maybe I just missed the train?
-Is that no matter how many flaws I try to find in you... I can't. I... can't.
Worst thing about being a dreamer?
In my mind, you will always... always be the best person I ever encountered... regardless of how many new people I meet... and regardless of how many cities, and countries I visit.
Eres lo mas hermoso, mas intrigante... atractivo, que mis ojos hayan visto, mis oídos hayan escuchado, y mi mente haya soñado.
Algo que nunca tuve, y jamas tendré.
-Is how no matter how threateningly I tell my conscious NOT to think of you, I still do.
-Is how no matter how often I go somewhere, I'll still "see" you there. Anything can, and will, be contrived to something related to you.
- Is that I convince myself that... things can work out... that maybe, at some time, you thought I even had a chance... maybe I just missed the train?
-Is that no matter how many flaws I try to find in you... I can't. I... can't.
Worst thing about being a dreamer?
In my mind, you will always... always be the best person I ever encountered... regardless of how many new people I meet... and regardless of how many cities, and countries I visit.
Eres lo mas hermoso, mas intrigante... atractivo, que mis ojos hayan visto, mis oídos hayan escuchado, y mi mente haya soñado.
Algo que nunca tuve, y jamas tendré.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Physics of things
This is what I look like when nothing is bothering or upsetting me, when I'm at a good place, when there is nothing else in the universe that I'd rather be doing.
This is me genuinely happy.
Tyson was still alive...
And I was having an incredibly... awesome day.
My eyes give me away. Always.
Don't think that'll ever happen again.
Happiness is quite possibly my most elusive and terribly fleeting emotion.
This is me genuinely happy.
Tyson was still alive...
And I was having an incredibly... awesome day.
My eyes give me away. Always.
Don't think that'll ever happen again.
Happiness is quite possibly my most elusive and terribly fleeting emotion.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Loners
"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them."Read that today and found myself instinctively uttering "Ay gueyyy!"
Fuck, that's true... fuck.
I can't say it's 100 percent correct because, like I've said, I get vicious when not given "alone time." I REQUIRE alone time... or else heads start to roll.
But... this quote does apply to me... often.
I'm trying to let more people in... but it's a scary... because it reinforces the fact that no one is capable of eliciting the same... sensations in me as Darcy-- I'm talking initial impressions here... they can't even match that.
D: Why are you so stuck on him?
Me: I don't even know... it's just... there. I gravitate towards him. No one has ever had this effect on me. At all.
D: Does he know?
Me: That I dig him more than anything in the universe? I don't think so... I don't even talk in his presence. My dumbass freezes up like... a fucking idiot. I'm a mute. He knows I have a crush on him because I actually told him... but other than that it's like "Oh yeah, that girl." Do you know how many times he has called me by my real name? ONCE. Because his mom forced him to. ONCE. And I'm still stupid like this.
D: ... I don't know what to tell you. Maybe if he would have told you something... like... given you a reason to be this sprung... told you he had a crush on you too... told you to wait for him or something... Maybe I could help you out then... but... uh... that doesn't seem to be the case... so...
Me: Yeah. I think I'm this stubborn because... my stupid heart and head just... wish he would have told me something. I'd follow this dude to any part of the world if he'd asked me to... I'd wait for as many years as he'd ask, if he wanted me to. But... all I've gotten from him is a metaphorical pat to the top of my head... like when one forcefully compliments someone's annoying kid at a party. It kills me that he has never intentionally done anything to get me this sprung... but I still can't find a way to forget and move on. I can't forget. I don't want to forget. I'm just being this stubborn, fucking idiot girl, slowly digging her own, lonely grave... most likely pestering THE FUCK out of this poor guy to the point where he'll actually probably hate me.
D: I'm sorry. That sucks. There's vodka and rum in the kitchen... and red velvet cake.
My sister and I have never been too great at discussing this sort of shit... but we sure as hell know how to change subjects.
That red velvet cake was absolutely DISGUSTING.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Darkness
It was an unusually cool August morning, and the professor was running late. As we stood outside, waiting for the professor to show up for class, I remember looking over to the cinderblocks... and noticing him for the first time. He was sitting on the small cinderblock fence.
His hair-- I noticed his hair first-- black, long, and curly.
Damn... that is some fucking awesome hair...
He was spaced out, so instead of averting my eyes to the floor--as is my custom-- I ventured to look at his face.
I recognized him.
Oh fuck, this dude is in my next class... and sits across from me... how weird.
No idea if he could sense me staring, but once he looked over, I did that awkward thing where one sort of smiles then nervously looks away.
***
This time of the year is when, no matter how hard I fight it, his memory is ever-present... in nearly every fucking thing I do or see or hear. His quirky... dark... mysteriously alluring memory takes my mind hostage.It fucks me up.
The other day I caught a bit of the Nightmare Before Christmas... and I couldn't finish it because I found myself getting choked up... and angry.
This is bullshit... such bullshit.
I can't tell you how many times I wonder if I pop up in his head... even if it's for something negative.
That chick over there is making things so awkward... kind of like AnoMALIE... that bitch...
Even then, I'd feel... it'd be cool.
But I know I'm just kidding myself. Guys aren't like that. They don't long for a chick like that... maybe if she were a famous model or actress... but not a normal, average (in my case, below-average) girl.
Plus, I'm very forgettable... I do a fantastic job at being a wallflower.
Quiet, shy, good girls never get the attention of boys... quiet, shy, good girls are boring.
Sally often comes apart at the seams... and then has the job of sewing herself back together again...
...and she admires Jack... and... she sings that song...
Jesus Christ... I was eight years old when they made this movie and yet... it's me... it pretty much described my future... only mine doesn't have that happy resolution... fuck...
***
And that's how it all started-- that's how the boy I hardly spoke to, captured my quiet, yet completely undivided attention.
Así, un muchacho que nunca me peló, y mucho menos busco mi atención, abarco mis pensamientos, y se enterró en mi corazón.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Fandom
My godson is currently enjoying time in the sunny climate of Cozumel.
Saturday he gets to participate in a contest, for modeling... and if he wins, he'll go international.
My boy looks motherfucking awesome:
I don't care if we share a gene pool, actually, I'm walking around like the proud hen of the coop.
Thaaaaaat's my boy!!!
There is a drawback, however.
He's now enjoying a much broader spectrum of "fans," and these people are fucking crazy.
Today alone, I had to reject seven photo tags of strangers on MY photos... and I've shuffled through some very psycho/annoying comments on my photos where my boy appears.
This makes me feel stupid... not entirely sure why... maybe the thought of MY own fandom of famous dudes makes me blush. I've certainly gone around saying embarrassing bullshit about a bunch of guys... like Ryan Gosling... guys I KNOW are definitely out of my reach... but I still go off and act retarded.
My kid is the epitome of sweetness.
Where I'd go and tell a fan to go fuck himself and leave me alone, he graciously takes the compliment and returns kind words... he's dope.
His first night back in Hometown this September, we sat outside, under the moonlight, swigging tequila while all the other adults chatted indoors.
I brought up MGH because we were talking about my deteriorating friendship with his family. Godson quickly interrupted me.
Godson: You still like him! No, no, you don't fucking fool me. You still love MGH, or else why would you mention him?
Me: No, no! I mention him because I'm telling you a fucking story!
Godson: Yeah, right!
Me: No! I don't love MGH! I... I've always liked someone else. You know this... I said his name that night when I got super trashed in December at JC's house... when everyone thought I'd say MGH.
Godson: Does HE know?
Me: Well, this is the thing... like... I've known him for like... eight years and... he like... lives in Europe...
Godson: You DO know this guy in real life though, right?
Me: OBVIOUSLY! What kind of loser do you think I am?! I mean, we went to school together and shit, that's how I know him.
Godson: In that case: Fuck that! Forget it. MOVE ON, GODMOM!
Me: ... yeah... I know...
He's also very blunt and smart... too bad I'm not.
Saturday he gets to participate in a contest, for modeling... and if he wins, he'll go international.
My boy looks motherfucking awesome:
 |
| See, clearly related. He got the eyebrow thing from yourstruly. |
I don't care if we share a gene pool, actually, I'm walking around like the proud hen of the coop.
Thaaaaaat's my boy!!!
There is a drawback, however.
He's now enjoying a much broader spectrum of "fans," and these people are fucking crazy.
Today alone, I had to reject seven photo tags of strangers on MY photos... and I've shuffled through some very psycho/annoying comments on my photos where my boy appears.
This makes me feel stupid... not entirely sure why... maybe the thought of MY own fandom of famous dudes makes me blush. I've certainly gone around saying embarrassing bullshit about a bunch of guys... like Ryan Gosling... guys I KNOW are definitely out of my reach... but I still go off and act retarded.
My kid is the epitome of sweetness.
Where I'd go and tell a fan to go fuck himself and leave me alone, he graciously takes the compliment and returns kind words... he's dope.
His first night back in Hometown this September, we sat outside, under the moonlight, swigging tequila while all the other adults chatted indoors.
I brought up MGH because we were talking about my deteriorating friendship with his family. Godson quickly interrupted me.
Godson: You still like him! No, no, you don't fucking fool me. You still love MGH, or else why would you mention him?
Me: No, no! I mention him because I'm telling you a fucking story!
Godson: Yeah, right!
Me: No! I don't love MGH! I... I've always liked someone else. You know this... I said his name that night when I got super trashed in December at JC's house... when everyone thought I'd say MGH.
Godson: Does HE know?
Me: Well, this is the thing... like... I've known him for like... eight years and... he like... lives in Europe...
Godson: You DO know this guy in real life though, right?
Me: OBVIOUSLY! What kind of loser do you think I am?! I mean, we went to school together and shit, that's how I know him.
Godson: In that case: Fuck that! Forget it. MOVE ON, GODMOM!
Me: ... yeah... I know...
He's also very blunt and smart... too bad I'm not.