Take my hand

EVERYTHING in this life comes back to you. Absolutely everything.
Watch who you hurt today, because tomorrow they might be hurting you.

Today has been one of the longest in... a while.

Remember the boys who made my weekend a shit-fest? The elitist Mexican 21 year olds (hmmm... I might have failed to mention their age. But yeah, they're 1990 babies. Something that only added to my frustration because... I don't like younger little pricks clowning on me. I knew how to count, cut, paste, and wipe my own ass by the time they were born... motherfuckers better back the fuck up before they get smacked the fuck up, to quote the late great Tupac).
WELLLLLLLLLLL...
Jesus, God, The Universe... conspired to give me sweet, sweet revenge.

Ok, so maybe not revenge.... but it certainly offered me these kids' heads on a silver platter.

I could have taken the low road, and watched them squirm... or I could have taken the high road and taught them a good lesson, 7th Heaven-style.
Be a vindictive monster-- ANGRomalie-- and exact revenge on these motherfuckers... or... be AnoMALIE-- the real, genuine, sweet AnoMALIE?


If anything can be taken from my upbringing, it's the fact that I was raised to treat others the same way I'd like to be treated: with respect and dignity... and kindness... regardless of their background.
Be of service to my fellow man.
This is largely responsible for so many of my tears. I get so incredibly hurt when I meet people who don't treat me with the same respect as I do. It's probably the most hurtful thing anyone can do to me... hence the hate and violence I then proceed to display.
I always refuse to admit this, because it's painfully true... and I often find it to be a weakness: I'm nurturing AS FUCK. I'm nurturing to the point I'D like to be nurtured. I will hold your fucking hand until you feel safe to walk away... because that's exactly what would comfort me.

I received MGH's distressed phone call at noon, just as I was going out for a jog.
MGH: Hey. How are you?
Me: Hey, man! You back in San Francisco?
MGH: I'm in SFO right now...
Me: Cool. Didn't even text goodbye. That's cool.
MGH: It's been a long weekend... and it just got longer.
Me: What's up?
MGH: Well, back in the room, Fer and *Troll* gave me their passports to keep in my backpack... and when I got home... I realized... I still have their passports. They were supposed to leave this morning.
Me: Veeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrgaaaaaaaaaa!
MGH: What's worse is that they both have to be in school tomorrow. Fer has a presentation due... if he doesn't show up, he fails and has to repeat the whole year.
Me: You have got to be shitting me. That's terrible!
MGH: I feel like shit. I don't know what to do... we all don't know what to do... and I haven't slept since Wednesday. I'm fucked up and so confused right now.
Me: Holy shit. How about Fer and Troll?
MGH: They're panicking. Their entire family's panicking.

That was my chance right there.
Shrug it off with a maniacal laugh and say they deserved every bit of distress they were currently facing... or step up and help out these poor dudes to get them home safe?
Words can't describe how furious... how much I managed to LOATHE Troll in the course of four days. I'd think of him and my stomach would hurt. As a human being, I saw him as valuable as shit. Such a callous, shallow piece of shit.
However... I had to let my rage dissipate. I had to think... with the ruler of my being: my heart.
How would I like to be treated in this situation? I'm stranded in a foreign country... no passport, no phone, no family... no nothing... what do I do?!
Immediately, the nurturing good girl took charge.
I embraced these poor guys and put myself at their service... the same dudes who treated me like a call-girl/taxicab driver/maid/slave/piece of shit days earlier.
My heart couldn't let me throw these fuckers to the wolves, regardless of how shitty they had treated me or how badly they had made me cry. I just had to help.

The most surprised was obviously Little Orphan Annie's Troll Version. The moment I sprang to action, he screamed my name. The same fucking guy who called me "esa" was saying my real name every two seconds.
Yes, Troll, I WILL help you... and FOR FREE, with zero interest besides getting you home safely and in a timely fashion.
I helped them find MGH (because there was a period of three hours where no one couldn't reach him), a place to stay, and a ride (MEEEEEE!).

All this brouhaha... and what made it worth it? The look of relief in their giant, bewildered eyes when they saw me.
They may be 21, they may be on the verge of graduating from college, they may have more money in their bank account than they'll ever be able to spend... but the moment they realized they were passport/visa-less in a foreign country, completely alone, they turned into terrified five year olds lost in a department store.
It's ok, babes, hold my hand, I'll get you out.
And everything was worth it.
I even gave the damn Troll a blank-slate and agreed to befriend him.

Now I just have to get MGH (more on this guy later... after I get decent rest) home tomorrow morning and this weekend will finally go down in the books as "finished."


When I die, I'm definitely getting canonized and becoming the patron saint of the painfully shy, socially awkward, unattractive, potty-mouthed nerdy girls.

Gimme Some Sugar :)

Since I took the liberty to skip an unacceptable second post for this month, I've decided I'll write one up real quick to make up for it.
This just happened, and it amused me a bit, so I'll save it here for whenever I need a little giggle.

Yesterday, I was in Mom's vehicle for the first time in a few months.
She's has changed up her CD rotation, and much to my dismay, there's a particular artist on that rotation whom I dislike... a lot. Well, her singing, that is. She's a cool person, but her singing is not something I listen to willingly.
Anyway, thanks to that stupid CD being in Mom's vehicle, and her refusing to change it when I was riding with her, I got one of the fucking songs stuck in my head.
So, in my anguish, I tweeted out the following:
I'd rather have someone spit in my face than listen to Jenny Rivera music #turnthatshitoff
And I continued with my day.

About an hour ago, I was going to respond to one of my friend's replies to me, and saw a complete stranger tweeted this at me:
I wish I could gave u in front.of me so I will do it jsjaja lol
??... who... the fuck is this and what the hell are they talking about?
Then I saw what they were replying to... and it was that "controversial" tweet of mine regarding the terrible music.
Let's see this idiot and how she found me.
I could already imagine what she looked like: short, dark Mexican who's into rancheras, getting drunk at Mexican "bailes" and singing along to the music while their sloppyass-selves have their shirts halfway up their droopy chest, and the security guard is sweating as he tries to keep this troll from falling and getting trampled to death by her fellow drunken, sloppy, overworked Mexican housewives.

...OK. Angry much?
So I was a little interested in proving my point, and I went ahead and checked out her page.
I saw she had only tweeted twice, and she was only following one person (a San Diego radio station that plays--surprise, surprise-- Mexican music). No people were following her.
Her first tweet was a "real" tweet, her second was that one where she volunteers to spit in my face.

Originally, I was going to leave it alone... I was going to act like her tweet got lost in the Twitter Universe... because frankly, who gives a fuck what this one lonely person thinks? I'm sure in real life, if she were to ever ATTEMPT to spit in my face, I'd make her bite her tongue off as I'd kick her face against the pavement... Me, angry? Nah. I'm just telling it like it is. I'm as peaceful as they come, but don't touch me... unless you're prepared to get maimed.
But then I read her first tweet:
Ayer m sentia mal. Hoy m siento bien tener diabetis es triste. Cuidense y cuiden la salud d sus hijos.
(translates to "Yesterday I felt sick. I feel good today. Having diabetes is sad. Take care, and take care of your children's health." Of course, she writes like a dog, so grammatical and spelling error abound. But this is Twitter, where we're confined to fit our thoughts in 140 character... so I let that slide)

And that's where that vindictive, sarcastic cunt in me just couldn't stay silent, so I replied:
pero solo si tu saliva es igual de dulce que tu sangre... :)
(translation "but only if your spit is as sweet as your blood..." with my smiling emoticon that says "Yeah, I went there. Now let's laugh this off and forget about it." Low blow? Only if you're a pussy)

If you feel like clowning on me, make sure you don't give me material with which to rebuttal... 'cause I promise I'll try my best to make your blood boil at least a little bit ("blood boil"... which in this bitch's case, could possibly make syrup...).

So yeah... I even have STRANGERS for haters. How cool is that? At this rate, I'm gonna be headlining comedy tours in no time. 

Buk-anas

My sister has been trying her hardest to get me involved with her group of friends. The girls are her age, but the dudes are my age, maybe a year or two older.

I have mingled with the group... but I just can't stand it.

I can't really explain my resistance to befriending her friends (besides the fact that they're conceited, mean, and horrifically shallow... and not very smart... they are very witty though... but their snobbery erases any redeeming quality), so my sister came up with her own conclusion: I don't hang out with her group because I hate Mexicans.

Yeah, OK, I hate Mexicans, moron.

Sister: who's the last Mexican you hung out with?

Me: That was... fuck you, man! I'M the token Mexican of my group, OK? We don't need any more!

This got me thinking. It's true... I don't like Mexicans.

I'm a fucking Malinche!

Ok, it's not that bad. I just don't hang out with them, because... I don't really fit in:

Mexican on SO many levels.

While I don't mind waterfalling tequila once in a blue moon... during one of those days when I'm sad (like, say, I got a bad haircut and I now feel I look too butch for comfort or something like that) I DON'T get physical proof of that shit. 

Doesn't that just look classy?

I do love me some Scotch, but Buchanan's is definitely not my drink. It's all about Glen Taite, you tasteless whores! Of course, they don't understand that... so I end up being the snobby girl at the end of the table, chewing on saltine crackers like some hungry, angry horse... planning my exit route.

Now, not all Mexicans are tacky like that (those are the tackiest of the tacky, I must say. If you ever hear the term "naco" just envision these photos for the rest of your life, K?), the Mexicans my sister hangs out with are the arch rivals of "nacos," they're the "fresas."

I don't fit this grouping because fresas are snobs, plain and simple. They get joy out of belittling anyone, and that's just not my style (unless I'm drunk, of course. I turn into a jackass philosophy professor when under the influence. I can't even stand it).

SO... I just stick to my trustee gringos and asians when I'm in Vegas.. which oddly enough, are a lot like my Mexican friends who don't live here, but are neither nacos nor fresas. They're just silly and easy going (no, I'm NOT in here, although I wish I had the meanass abs of the one in the middle):

Yeah, they're Mexican, ain't that crazy?

So fuck that. I hang out with people, regardless of nationality... solely based on behavior.

Sweet, sweet music

Holy moly.

I'm so sore.
So freaking... sore.
And deaf.
And tired.

Was it all worth it?

Hell fucking yeah!

However, if I were asked

Yo, AnoMALIE, who would you rather hang out with, a bunch of fresas or nacos?

I will hands down scream back "Nacosssss!!"

I hate snobs... and Mexican snobs take it to a whole new level.
They're downright intolerable.
Their fake ass accent, their constant, purposely-made spelling errors (I swear, I see another bastard write with a K in place of a Q, I'm gonna shank a bitch!), their putting down of people from other MEXICAN STATES.
Motherfuckers... you're still Mexican, understand, anyone who makes fun of Mexicans is still making fun of YOU. You're included in that put down... even if you are from Mexico City... it's still in Mexico... and it's probably dirtier than any place in Durango because so much fucking criminality rules the g.damn streets there.
Shut the fuck up already and quit ruining my concert experience.

The worst part came when on the screens where people can text in their messages, someone put:
"Y arriba Durango!"
And the crowd booed.
I really wanted to spit in people's faces when I saw that.

While I adore the music I listen to... a lot of the people who supposedly "listen" are a bunch of fucks.
I hate them.
I don't know if people in the states will ever experience anything similar... because I don't really see such a pronounced "class" system in play here.

Anyway, on with the concert.
So, there were a ton of people... but we were in our group of seventeen 19-24 year olds... all from Durango (much to the dismay of the bastard fresas from Mexico city).
We befriended a couple of Chilangos while we made line (that went all throughout the casino... it was a nasty mess).
The dudes asked where we were from.
We said Vegas.
They said "No, I mean, your roots."

Oh... we're all from Durango.

What was their response?

Really? Damn, you guys are so light-skinned. Parecen Gringas.

Us: Umm... well, we were born in Vegas... all of us... our parents are from Durango... we just visit the place every summer... so technically, we are gringas.

So here we had a group of "fresas" surprised that we came from such a... "hick" state in Mexico... as if people from Durango are still running around with bows and arrows, warpaint on their faces, dark as hell from being in the sun all day. They act like people outside of Mexico City can't go out and get an education (I say that because it surprised the hell out of these guys when all the females in my group informed them we were all in college. Three of us in a science field. Were any of their "high class" asses in college? Nope. Not one. Hence why I think the class system with Mexicans is a bunch of bullshit).

Anyway, one guy in particular from this group I couldn't shake off all night.
I thought I was safe when he left my side to go get a drink... but no... he came back and stood directly in front of me, in front of the railing I was standing against.
He kept asking question... so many fucking questions.
It got to the point where I started giving him my family's genealogy... and we took it way back to when my family was still Spanish (three generations ago).

He constantly brought up the fact that he was surprised so many pretty girls came from the state of Durango, how he was surprised that we had light complexions (racism? I think so. He doesn't know I'm light because I don't see the sun), and how great it was to see we didn't all have the "naco accent people from that part have, no offense."
Frustrating.

You know what was more frustrating?? How he'd constantly hold my hand throughout the night.

People from Durango are nacos? Give me a break, fool! Can I have my hand back??

I'd be too into the musical act to get too rude on him... I'd just pull my hands back, without making any sort of eye contact, and I'd kick once in a while (I'd be damned if he was going to touch any other part of my body).
I ended up sneaking out during one of my favorite songs from the last band (Enanitos Verdes) without saying a word to him (after promising I'd give him my cell number--I made the fatal mistake of whipping out my cell phone during an interlude while in his presence-- after Enanitos were done).

However, I wasn't the one who had it worst out of the chicks... nope, not by a long shot.
Eveyone else got harassed worse than I did... except for the one girl who went with her boyfriend.
My little sister, for instance, had this one weirdo that was about 38 push his crotch into her butt as she was bent over on the railing trying to rest her feet.
That even pissed me off, making me scream "What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?!" while pushing on him (he was a few inches shorter than me, so I wasn't scared about pushing the jerk away).

Many more things along those lines occured from 7-1:30 AM, so it's unnecessary to get in to all the details.
There were also a lot of people we bumped into that we're semi-related to... but we tried our hardest to ignore (because really, do you want some person talking to you about "We don't see each other enough! We should really get together and do something!" while you're trying to scream your heart out to the first time Hombres G sings "Te Quiero" in Las Vegas in their 25 year career? Hell no. Hell fucking no! Shut the fuck up, and let me enjoy this!).

Anyway... I'd definitely do this again.
For sure.