Slow and steady-- it's what I do.

AND the trashtalk CONTINUES!
I'm so fed up... so, so, SO fed up.
I HATE perpetuating stereotypes and being trite... but sweet baby elephants (I once again gave up cussing for Lent. Sorry guys!), I'm dealing with some incredibly stubborn haters.
Here I was stupid and naive, thinking that maybe with time, the garbage would end.
I'm sure after a couple of months of seeing me NOT rebound, they'll believe me when I say I did things LEGITIMATELY, and not with drugs or surgery...
But instead, the hate has grown more vicious... and from THE SAME BROADS!
They say it with SUCH CONVICTION, people believe them... and I'm left SPEECHLESS.
How can... how can anyone propagate lies like that... so shamelessly?! WHAT DID I DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT TREATMENT?! I'm a MOUSE! I mind my own business! I sleep, eat, hit the gym, shower, shop, draw, paint, write, watch some cooking shows... and sleep some more! I hardly see ANYONE, let alone speak to anyone. COME ON!

I try to be calm... and very rational. But it's so strange to see that even after I come out and "clear up" the situation, I still hear the SAME lies.
If pills really CAN build muscle... then... why in the hell have YOU not tried them? I mean, wouldn't you rather have muscles than that amorphous blob you call a body? Why are people still freakin' fat if such a damn magic pill exists?!

I know celebrities get hate on a regular basis... most public figures deal with this garbage. I'm baffled and bewildered because I'm such a private NORMAL person, and I've always been that way... the reason why anyone would want to talk about me confuses me. I'm practically invisible.
I've seen girls hate on each other due to jealousy... but I had never been on the receiving end (well, maybe they hated on me once or twice for my financial situation... I've heard plenty of people deprecate my travels as well as my vehicles. "Why does SHE get to do that?" I dunno, homie... because... I won some sort of lottery by being born to the parents I was born to. They love me. I'm sorry you didn't run such luck? You can always hitch a ride with me, if that's what you'd like. You can even travel with me, as long as you pay for your ticket. I'll pay for your meals, if that'll make you happy. I've done it before), since I've never been a "threat." I don't flirt... I don't date... I DON'T TALK! I just mind my business and carry on living... ALONE. Come on now. Why mess with me?

Friends have suggested I take it as a compliment... and I try... but it's just not me. I don't possess that trait.
I just live confused and then angry. And uncomfortable.
What do I do when angry, confused, and uncomfortable? I return the favor (you know, after I'm done crying from the frustration). I give the people what they want.
It's only fair. I'm considerate like that.
Because I'm a sweet, lovely girl.

Like I said, I'm a pro at slow-roasting...
I live to shark-- I work MAGIC in that department.

You want to hate me? Oh girl, why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have saved you the trouble of trying to be clever with your "sarcastic" "witty" and "indirect" remarks.
Sit back, relax, and watch me burn you. It'll be fun. And DELIBERATE.
Promise :)

Step one: I call you out.
Let's make this badboy PUBLIC. Let's get it out in the open, shall we? I'm feeling a little suffocated.

Holy cow... my tits look huge now that I see this on my laptop....
Too bad everyone already saw them on IG.
Welp... there they are, ladies and gents... my boobs.

Pill popping and plastic surgery? I'll show you whatever body part you want to see... but only if I can do the same to you. Most you'll see on me are my tiger stripes I very idiotically acquired from allowing myself to get so large. However, I have never been under the knife... I haven't even had my wisdom teeth extracted... so... good luck finding any of those scars. Can YOU say the same?
Let's also play a game: punch me ONCE, as hard as you'd like, right in my abdomen (never the face. My big nose is sensitive. Hitting me in the face only means you're ready to kiss a sidewalk)... but you must agree I get to do the same to you. It'll only hurt if your core isn't too strong... but considering you've ONLY hit the gym for YOUR weight-loss, I don't think you'll have a problem. Don't worry about me, though I've NEVER checked in at the gym like you have, I promise that place has been my shrine for two years. My core is a-ok.

Let the games begin.

(Hours after posting that photo on IG on Friday, I inadvertently became the personal trainer to three of my friends. I was answering nutrition questions as well as lifting questions. If only my haters would be as trusting. I'd answer their questions, TRUTHFULLY, if they'd just bother to ask me personally... instead of assuming things to pass off as facts. Who knows, maybe we'd even become close friends... gym buddies, minimum. I LOVE helping people out. I wish these jerks would understand that)

Haters Gon' Hate? Fuck that.

Know how I know I'm Dad's favorite?
When D got in that ugly wreck a few months ago, he refused to pay for the repair... he even refused to take the car to a shop.
What does he do with me?
He gets the mechanic at our place to use his thingamajigs (that's as good as it gets with me. I know nothing about car jargon. I turn to Ariel and refer to everything as a "thingamajig" and "thingamabob." It works. I know how to change a flat tire, having done it three times, but do I know what tools I used? Fuck no) to fix my bumpers. Pops wouldn't even let me drive Bambi until it was inspected.
My little babe is as good as new.

And that's how I know I'm his favorite. My little Popster.

Know whose favorite I am NOT?
My substitute kickboxing instructor.
I'm not being paranoid, this shit is confirmed.

Before class, I did the usual thing and chatted up my old-lady friends. One I'm particularly tight with because we talk basketball each season.
This lady has a younger sister who is very close to the substitute teacher because they both have the same aggressive, bitter nature (kind of like me, but not really like me... if that makes sense. I'm hardened because I'm a sweet girl who was hurt at a very young age. They're older women who were CLEARLY hurt by a boyfriend, when they were in their mid-twenties, and have just never recovered. HUGE difference).
As we sat in our corner, talking March Madness, the younger sister brings up the substitute teacher... kind of laughing.
MyOldLadyFriend: You told her to go hard on me, didn't you?!
OldLadyFriend'sYoungerSis: ... maybe.
MyOldLadyFriend: I already know she doesn't like me. You made sure to tell me. Which reminds me, guess what she thinks of YOU.

The old lady looks directly at me.

Me: The sub? Of me?
MyOldLadyFriend: She thinks... ::nervous laugh:: you're a little bitch.
?!?!
Me:... me?!
MOLF: Yeah. She doesn't like anyone from *RealKickboxingTrainer*, says we're annoying and vain. The other day she was complaining to my sister about it. Then she brought you up. Straight up said "I want to make that bitch hurt."

I couldn't make a noise. My eyes were just huge in disbelief.
Me: But I didn't do anything!
MOLF: It bugs her how... I guess she has caught you yawning a few times... says you act bored and it pisses her off.
Me: I have late nights and early mornings!
MOLF: Well, be ready. You already know her intentions.

Now, I'm a pushover and a sweetheart and blah blah blah. I don't like conflict. I cry a lot. I'm a pacifist (even if deep inside I'm burning up and cussing up a storm. I'll stay quiet because I HATE rocking the boat).
But I'm my mother's child.
I'm vindictive. I'm stubborn. I LOVE to prove people wrong. I. AM. COMPETITIVE.

Make ME hurt? BIIIITCH, you don't even know me. Fuck you. BRING IT, you fucking hater. 

What did I do?
Well, I definitely felt offended and sad at first. It never feels good to be told someone dislikes you for no apparent reason.
My face just fucking looks like this, ok?! I'm timid. Naturally quiet and shy... not stuck up and vain.
After pouting a little, and taking a few deep breaths, I took all her commands and made it my fucking mission to do them like a pro.
I channeled the rage and imagined it was her bitch ass directly in front of me that I was kicking, punching, kneeing, and (my absolute favorite) elbowing.
When the plyos came around, I made sure not to bitch out... even on the stupid burpees that hurt the shit out of my weak wrists (fuck you, burpees).

Basically, I owned that kickboxing class yesterday.
...
Then I woke up this morning-- completely immobilized.

Parts of my body I had never felt before are crying in pain (my gluteus medius/minimus are wishing death upon me. That pain is... nasty. It's so awkward... a totally foreign feeling).
I nearly passed on the gym... but, again, my stubbornness and pride got the best of me.
That bitch made me hurt? FUCKTHAT! I'm adding another ten pounds to this squat, and these motherfucking lunges are gonna be weighted!

I'm probably going to regret this... but hey, good thing it's the weekend, right? Stupid hater bitch doesn't see me at the gym until Monday.
I'll gain some mobility by then... hopefully...

I'll make sure to smile and skip my way past her.
Bitch.

Not so sweet revenge

Ok, now that the dust has settled and I've had over four hours of sleep, I get to elaborate on the happenings of last night.

MGH is Fucked. Up.

Well, WAS... I'm sure he's doing better now. 

After coming home from visiting the newly-widowed friend/cousin, I came home and let MGH know I was home and he could drop by whenever he wanted.

He showed up with his friend who brought him to town (a really cute kid, btw. Who is actually really smart. Even when intoxicated, his vocabulary does not take a beating. "I personally hated Tao... very presumptuous" Wait... did he just say "presumptuous?" Holy shit, son, I think I love you!).

They had no plan as to what they were going to do, so we just suggested we take it to the strip and go from there.

The friend, whose name is--surprise, surprise-- Jose (yet I found myself calling him "Pedro" the whole night... and I was sober) remembered O'Sheas and the beer pong... so we went.

Of course, we couldn't hit up the place without getting some yardlongs, so we did that first.

The boys played fours games, four games they won. By the fourth, however, MGH was fucked. up. He couldn't even stand straight.

Getting him back to the car was a fucking hassle. He kept approaching EVERY SINGLE GIRL on the strip... kept trying to hook up.

God, I'd hate to be Heather.

He'd also call black people "Nigger" each time we'd walk past one. I was fearing for my life on that one.

It took us about an hour to get him from O'Sheas and in the damn car. 

I was FURIOUS. 

Extremely uncooperative, annoying drunks are the fucking bane of my existence... especially when they start digging into MY time.

Once IN the car, I kept fighting with him over the seatbelt. I'd try to keep it on him, and once that annoyed HIM, he went ahead and kept undoing MINE.

GOD DAMN IT! I HAAAAATE DRUNK PEOPLE!

After the seatbelt struggle, he passed out on the car door, with the window down.

He was sweating profusely.

When he'd wake up from his blackouts, he'd cry.

What. The. Fuck?

***

MGH spent his more-lucid beer-pong moments walking over to me and squeezing my biceps... or sitting on my lap.

His line of the night was:

I don't want to sound disrespectful... or like... offend you... but... you look... you look so... fit... like, really, REALLY fit... like... you used to be like this (puts his arms on the side of me as if he's hugging a larger person) and now you're... (squeezes my arms together). I don't want to offend you... but you look... really, really good. You've changed a lot. A LOT!

I had to assure him repeatedly that he wasn't offending me. I also had to thank him, because that seemed to shut him up for longer periods of time.

In the parking lot, he apologized for pissing me off.

Me: What would Heather think of you flirting and touching such fucking ugly girls?

MGH: I'm single.

Me: Right now you are, because she's back home and you're here.

MGH: NO. I'm. Single. Right Jose? Tell them!

Jose: Yeah. He's single.

Me: When did this happen?

Jose: Like... four days ago?

Me: What? Why?

MGH: She's just... it's girl stuff. She left me. She dumped me.

Jose: I don't understand why you were with that girl. I fucking HATE Heather. She's so fucking mean to you. I'm glad it's over.

MGH: Yeah. Fucking girl stuff. Her excuses were fucking girl stuff. And she left me. I'm single. I've been single for days.

The cat was out of the bag.

Everything was making sense-- his flirting with every fucking girl in our path, his constant hugging of me... the physical contact he insisted on having with me. His Vegas trip.

It was... pathetically sad.

I felt terrible for him... but there's no way in hell I'd ever... "help" cheer him up.

Our time is gone.

Instead of feeling nothing for him, as has been the case the last few times I've seen him, this time I was feeling repulsed. Not that he was making me feel sick... but I just didn't want to be in contact. I didn't want that type of attention from him.

This will never work, son. Let it go. 

I also felt... well... a little angry. It's that damn resentful trait of mine.

I say we're cool... and we are, for the most part. But the back of my mind will NEVER forgive a person who was so... vain... and didn't give me a chance based solely on my appearance. 

They didn't care how kind I was, how cool I was, or how funny I was... how willing to do anything for them I might have been... how I damn near worshipped them. They threw it all aside because I didn't match their mold for physical attractiveness... and that is something I NEVER forget. It'll eat away at me for life.

Ah, yes, So-and-So... wasted three years of my life trying to convince him I was a good catch... that he wouldn't regret choosing me... but he kicked me to the curb because I was fat. Screw my good deeds, my kindness... how awesome I made him feel... he thought that was useless and went for the shallow bullshit in a girl. Ah. What a shame. Bummer dude. Good luck with that, 'cause I'm sure you'll be hot for life.

I promise you, no matter how much I ever liked you, or how desperate I may have been for your attention... the moment you discard me, is the moment you discard me FOR GOOD. I'll be your friend... but I will NEVER, EVER... EVER take you back in the "romantic" sense. EVER. I won't even let you know what my hand in yours feels like. 

My tears are that valuable to me. Your disdain is that meaningful to me.

Lick my ass all you want, but my resentment and anger will never allow me to let you back into my heart. 

That, and I'm vindictive. If anything drives me in this life, it's spite. I want to see you hurt. I want to prove you wrong. Call it cruel... call it vicious... I don't care. Life made me that way... and I'm down to give anyone a dose of that medicine the moment they hurt me.

***

As I sat in the backseat next to MGH, watching him drool and wipe away giant tears from his eyes... I didn't feel like "justice" had been served. A year and a half ago, I would cry myself to sleep, swearing this new bitch of his would hurt him... and that I'd enjoy every single fucking minute of his pain.

But I sat next to him, making sure he was safe and comfortable... rubbing his back like you do a newborn, constantly reassuring him life would be ok. 

And that he was a great guy.

My heart would drop that much deeper into my stomach the moment I'd see another one of his giant tear drops fall into the palm of his opened hand.
This isn't fun anymore.

Nada es oculto

I got a name.
And information.
And photos.

Adriana--the suckerpuncher-- to the left
and her equally classy friend, who happened to be the one who pulled D's hair, to the right.
This is THE DAY OF the incident.

When I want to get you, trust me, I'm going to get you.
I'm from Durango-- the world is now aware of what the people from there are known for.
I was born and raised in the ghetto.
I don't play.

HOWEVER, a bit of information changed my thirst for revenge.
What was that?
My cousin's behavior.

Also, I could go all thug on this girl... revert to middle school and wait for her outside of her house as she gets home from work... then get to work with a bat. Break all of her possessions. Etcetera, etcetera.
But:
1. It's not like she KILLED my sister.
She sucker-punched D in the face, like your stereotypical catty-ass Latina who swats at anyone better looking than her. It's not news to anyone who has a remotely attractive family member/friend. It's common knowledge that ONE DAY, that pretty girl in your group is going to get fucked up in a fight.
D isn't THAT fucked up, either. Her nose is no longer swollen, and there's barely a mark now. You'd have to know she was punched in the face to even look for a trace.
D only has a disgusting ball on her forearm from where the stupid bitch in the orange mangled her around. It's a huge, bundled-up bruise.

2. I find my cousin's reaction much more repulsive.
There were FOUR of my cousins standing around the moment this fight went down. FOUR. What is the likelihood of that happening in this city, at a concert?
Two of them cut all ties to the bitch-- that would be 30thBdayBoy and my other cousin who shared his 30-something birthday with him back in March. Those two walked out of the concert the moment the fight ended. They wanted NO part in it, Hoodrat died to them at that moment.
But two other cousins... they stayed.
Now, one of them I'm not mad at. I'm only mad he didn't want to give me a name when I asked him. He admitted to knowing the girl, and I was only pissed at him for not telling me who it was.
But the fourth... that guy.
He's the one who claims to be my "Brother." He's my brother's BFF... which, coincidentally, my brother started distancing himself from this last time he came to town.
He swore up and down that he did not know this girl.
He even gave me a response on Twitter that infuriated me, because I could just imagine how he would have yelled it at me in person (which would have led to me slicing my hand through his fucking teeth).
Me: I would appreciate knowing that animal's name... please :)
Him: idk but just drop it! If anything ask *30thBdayBoy*
Bitch, WHAAAAT?
Luckily, I read that at five in the morning, when I was too tired to respond with something much less sarcastic.
Anyway, a little later in the afternoon, he called my sister and claimed to not know this girl.

OK.

Today, Twiggy called.
She found the girl.
Who is she friends with? My "brother" and that one cousin who didn't want to give me a name.
My "brother" bitched out like that.
Ha.
Figures he'd choose pussy over family.

So... instead of beating this bitch's ass... or at least "randomly" bumping into her somewhere to sucker-punch the shit out of her, I just got her 86'd from Tao Group properties.
'cause I'm vindictive like that.
She's 21. It's gonna hurt her... though, she IS a hoodrat, so she probably goes to the seedy shit in North Las Vegas.

More importantly, this taught me a hard lesson in loyalty.
My "brother" is all motherfucking talk. Constantly spewing at the mouth about all this love and how I'm the sister he never had and blah-blah-blah.
Bullllllllshiiiiiit, buddy. Bullshit.
But it's cool. All he lost was MY loyalty... and once that's gone, it's gone for good.
Your word is your bond, once you fuck that up... all integrity I once gave you credit of possessing evaporates. Fizzles. Buh bye!


This chapter is officially over, now just an opportunity to bring it up whenever Sister thinks she's being a badass.
Hey, take it easy there, Tupac! Remember the time you got punked by an ugly bitch at that rap-olympics thingamajig?
She's not going to live this one down.

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. 

FB war

Since I missed a post over the weekend, here's my recovery post:

Passive-aggressiveness. I'm kind of good at it... really good.
However, I understand how obnoxious it can be, so I've consciously made the effort to just be upfront with my problems with others (or just get over it and shut the fuck up. This one works a lot better, although it's probably not the best for my mental health)... a process that has taken me 26 years.

But I have these two friends... they're... somethin' else.
I use the term "friends" loosely, since I handle them like I handle liquor: once in a while I'll have a drink or two because it's fun and it makes me more outgoing... but if I have too much, it just turns into a giant mess and I have to deal with a fucked up hangover.
With these girls (they're sisters, so naturally Sis and I gravitated toward them), I hang out with them maybe once every six months. They have very strong personalities, so much so, that when we first met at a family party (we were all elementary schoolers), we got in a physical fight over who was hogging the foosball table (we were, but only because we had FOUR people playing. They only had two. Instead of nicely asking if they could be rotated in, they insisted on ALL four of us to get out). They will speak their mind, to the point where they're rude.
Why do I hang out with them? Because I do laugh with the bluntness of these girls. They don't let others belittle them and shit like that. It's entertaining to watch. Of course, too much of this makes me depressed. I'll get that moral-hangover and think about the poor girl they've been ragging on for the last hour and how that poor girl must feel (because the girl obviously hears all of the berating from these two girls). Sure, being in the presence of such strong personalities CAN do me SOME good, since I'm so reserved and quiet... but I can't be seen with them for too long because I don't want others to think I'm of the same catty nature.

Anyway, with Facebook, these girls have grown fond of passive-aggressiveness. They continuously post status updates mocking their own friends, but without straight up calling them out. They'll also post on each others walls, "acting" like a certain friend.
Sister and I have been watching this behavior for a while... since we've identified three friends they've made fun of. Why they so it, I do not know... but it does piss me off. Why publicly make fun of someone when you live together? Yeah, Sis and I make fun of others sometimes, but we do it in person... never on-line where other people can read it and be scandalized by it.

Well, looks like their next victim is my sister.
How the saying in Spanish goes: throw rocks at me and I'll eventually catch one.
Well, we caught them.

Backstory on my sister:
She has always been the pretty girl. I've said that about a million times. When she came back from living abroad in '08, she gained a ton of weight. She finally went on a crazy diet back in... January? and turns out she lost all the weight. I'm pretty sure I talked about this before.
Anyway, turns out the diet only taught her to eat healthy. It seemed drastic at the time, and even I thought she'd only have a massive bounce-back, but now she eats like a little health nut, she hits the gym daily, and she takes health supplements and all that.
My sister once again looks good, actually, better than ever. She has never been so thin, so muscular, and so happy. She went from a size 15, to a 6 and shrinking.
I'm proud of her.

OK, so my sister occasionally checks-in on FB when she's at the gym. She does this to try and convince her friends to join her. It often works.
Sister also posts photos of her food... but only when it looks really good.
Also, when people see photos of her, they compliment her and ask her secret. She'll very nicely accept the praise, and let them know that she got to her weight by eating right and hitting the gym.

All right, now for these girl's reactions:
Older girl's status on Friday:
Things that extremely annoying... The show "I didnt know I was pregnant" the show "16 and pregnant" fat people checking in at the gym everyday, makes me 1 wonder if the gym has an In N Out inside and 2 makes me feel great about myself for not working out!
Then a later post:

with this caption:
Ohhh Cosmo, this the reason why you're my favorite magazine, next to Glamour- we think alike!!
and these comments:
OlderSister: This is about ppl on a diet who post what they eat and are talking about their diet in FB all the time!
YoungerSister: I don't keep a food diary! Or talk about working out or being on a diet haha I post delicious food!

Shit like that. Shit that made it CLEAR they were mocking my sister.
Since we're talking about my sister here, she struck back. She's the queen of snark (but when we unite power, watch your back, sucka!).
Sis went to LA today on a business trip with Dad (I snaked my way out of it), but before she left, I reminded her to check in at King Taco.
She did just that,  once she reached LA, using this as a comment on her check in: Cuz you just want to know what I'm eating :)
Than she also posted a photo of her food:

With the caption: Mmmmm sope de asada! [insert facebook food diary intake for the day] how's that ;)

'Cause when we talk shit, we do it with a smile on our face, and our hands clenched into fists.
We blatantly talk shit 'cause we can back it up.

This shit is only going to continue for a couple more... weeks.

Girls are such a pain in the ass.
Oh, and so we don't end on a sour note, the catty YoungerSister provided me with the DD of the day:

CattyYoungerSister updated her status to this:
What if one day u put on some eye drops, and u come to realize that it was SUPER GLUE ?!!! :O just a random thought... Hahaha

If I'm not mistaken, Darcy did this as a kid. I know this because he wrote about it a while back. The story stayed in my head because... I mean... that shit MUST hurt. How can you forget something like that?
Anyway, all of her friends were freaking out over how perverse and implausible this was and so I, like the real jackass who likes to kill everything, informed her that it was possible and that it does happen, since it happened to my friend.
Her: Omg no way ?!!!! Wow! That must be insaaaane! So is she ok now? Any baaad damages to her eye?
Me: he's a hottie. he did it when he was a kid, i don't think he knew how to read. his eye is normal, from what I can tell.

Ta-Da! Darcy omnipresent as usual. Oooooo!
How's the cow thing coming along, guys? I had a point, right? You're welcome. 

AWKWARD! Part II

So, remember Obnoxious Guy from this story and this story?
Well, turns out the mystery behind his "AWKWARD!" outburst can now be explained.

The day of the wedding, OG was walking with my cousin when I *tried* being cordial/polite.
I did notice they spent the night canoodling at the table next to me (to make shit more "AWKWARD!"), and thought "Oh, they haven't seen each other in a couple of years... maybe they're just catching up."
Plus, no one else was giving OG the time of day... not even when he was cutting people in line for the buffet-style dinner (sweet baby Jesus, if I ever go to another wedding with that shit, I'm walking out. FUCK. THAT. SHIT).

Anyway... obviously I'm FB friends with the girl he was canoodling with (she's the cousin with all the bad tattoos... the one who LOVES gossip), since we're related and all (but I'm not friends with OG... I will transversely stab my trachea with a screwdriver before I befriend that moron).
WELL, this cousin recently went to Hawaii... so of course, I was interested in the photos.
I went through all 200.
Everything was fine and dandy, with me commenting the photos I liked and all that shit... an overall pleasant experience, until I reached the very last photo:

uh-oh... now you know his name starts with an I... the same name as a certain "terrible" of history.

And I saw OG was tagged.
No way....
I went to her "info" part... and sure enough... they are officially an item on FB.

You precious little bastard! You think I liked you, and that's why our exchange at the wedding was "AWKWARD!"? That's almost cute! HAHAHAHAHA!

First off, YOU were the one trying to hook up with my sister, then me... then finally, two years later, you managed to nab my much more love-starved cousin. Give me a break, bro! HAHAHA!

Second:

Quite "terrible" if you ask me.

Really?!
I thought that facial hair style was only appropriate on a swashbuckling pirate... or musketeer... or a pizzeria baker.
And while I'm all for guys grooming their eyebrows... you take that shit to another level. Your eyebrows are far more groomed than my own, I doubt I can keep up.
And pasty white... well... I'm not really... I don't... it doesn't... look, I once read Wuthering Heights...

Third:
I probably would date a pirate, musketeer, pizzeria baker, or Powder-look-alike... as long as he showed some sign of intelligence... or wit... or even sarcasm, for fucks sake! You have the personality of a goldfish. You get lost in your own reflection, Sexy. I can't handle that... because I get the urge to punch you back to reality... and who likes an angry AnoMALIE?

Last:
If by me alluding to you being gay gave you the impression that I actually wanted you... I apologize. I always thought guys hated that shit... even hating any girl who ever dropped such hints in their presence... but apparently I was wrong. I'm so sorry. I can see where the miscommunication could have occurred... with reverse psychology and all that shit.
I just assumed the six feet of distance I maintained between our bodies would aid in the point I was trying to make: I would rather contract malaria than get my lips anywhere near yours. I would rather touch a hot stove than accidentally bump my hand into yours.
I guess I didn't try hard enough to get my point across... and I totally deserved that wanna-be dis at my cousin's wedding in front of all the guys at the bar. Well played.

But with some effort, I will survive, Casanova.
Yes... I am a little upset over you no longer being available... and the fact that I'm going to have to continue seeing you at family gatherings-- it's going to tug at my heart, and tears will forever sting my eyes (I wanted you to be the father of my babies. I've been saving my cookie-box just for you!)-- but I will be ok.

I'll just try and avoid reading the continuous status updates, similar to this one (courtesy of your now girlfriend) to avoid any further pain:

Hmm I wanna go buy some cute boots and a lil somethin somethin for someone special! ;)

(I'll spare you the photograph)

Why lie? I'm going to mourn this shit more than the MGH-AnoMALIE disintegration.... I mean, you DO have better teeth and all.
And you will absolutely dethrone Darcy from his spot in my heart... because... he could never gossip in Spanish about Mexican novelas quite like you. I will now burn the candle for you, and only you, my Alabaster Re... Rey.

WHY, OBNOXIOUS GUY?! WHY?!

Excuse me, I'm gonna go cut myself now.

Suck my balls, OG.

Still there

"Did they ask about us?" - Pacemaker
Ummm... no. Where they supposed to?

I've tried... really, really hard to recover from the drama of '08.
I thought two years would be enough, but this summer proved me wrong.

It was the first summer I met up with Alo and her sister after the drama. I was cool with Alo, no resentment present there... but her sister... I couldn't be natural around her. No matter how much I tried convincing myself to speak up a bit more, and be my usual jokester self, I just couldn't.
Chill, AnoMALIE, she was a 16 year old idiot kid... she didn't know what she was doing.
Then my resentful side would chime in.
Fuck that, I don't care! Now I know what she's capable of. She has known me her entire life, and she chose sides... and it was with the two girls she had barely known for two weeks. Where are those two bitches now? NOT HERE! Are they so fantastic now?

While I was still bitter about the situation, and I was having a hard time even speaking to the 18-year-old instigator of that epic '08 fight, I was growing even angrier with Pacemaker.
In the entire fight, she was the only one who came out unscathed... the only one who had NO reason to lash out... but she chose to turn the situation acrimonious, instead of helping to solve it and cool down tempers.
She wanted so badly to be popular, to be liked by Alo and her sister, that she opted for destroying my sister and I in the eyes of not only Alo and her sister, but that entire family.

I'm 25, I should be an adult...
but I just can't get over being double-crossed. I can't act like I'm ok with the fact that Alo and her entire family chose to believe the newcomers-- girls who took their daughters to the outskirts of town to get drunk and high... yet I'm the bad influence.

Did they ask about you... ha.
Get over yourself, buddy.

I'll pass

I was supposed to be in San Francisco by now.
This weekend was going to be epic: six girls, three boys in the city, club hopping with a local DJ who knows the Golden State Warriors, a suite in the city... and getting trashed.
And damn MGH was finally going to be legal to party with the crew.
Then he went off and fucked it all up, getting serious with a girl (that wasn't me. Because we all know I'm fucking awesome and I don't make pussies out of my boyfriends as is custom).

I've tried, so damn hard, to remain friends with MGH, but it's too difficult.
Often times, I have to fight the urge to talk to him. Skype, MSN messenger, AIM, and FBchat are off-limits, because I don't want to bump into him.
This lead me to decide against San Francisco for this weekend, even if I did promise to go, back in February.

I don't want to stay at MGH's house and make nice with his new girl. I don't want to hear him talk about her, and I don't want to hear his family talk about her either.
She's so sweet! She's so funny!
Umm.. no... no she's not. She's an idiot. She might be "sweet" but she borderlines on imbecilic. And as for her sense of humor... it's obnoxious.
"You guys are jerks!"
You consider that the next Tina Fey?

However, nothing bugs me more, than her pea-sized brain. My eyes bleed each time I see her fuck up the words "your" and "you're," and don't get me started on the "there, their, and they're" (My favorite, no, more like, the thing I hate most, is when she comments on his page: "your amazing!" Bitch... come on! YOU + ARE, make it a contraction, you get YOU'RE. P.S. That's the best you can do? Really? You say that to a friend after they sign up for a marathon, when your mom cooks you your favorite meal... when your puppy learns to sit... when a kindergartener learns to color inside the lines... etc).

I could sit here and hate on the girl for days, but where will that get me?
She won, I lost. I wasted 3 years of my life trying to get what she acquired in a matter of a week: MGH. It's easy for me to hate.

So, I'd like to take this moment to thank MGH, for getting himself an illiterate, obnoxious girlfriend with the figure of an uncooked Chinese noodle, the brain of a goldfish, flowing "strawberry blond" Cocker Spaniel locks, and the gums of a 90-year-old chain smoking grandma (he could have at least chosen a pretty girl. I'd probably high five him if his new chick had some sort of killer attribute... but this, man, it makes it difficult not to be bitter. My only guess is that she gives some amazing head).
Thanks for fucking up my weekend, prick.

Point taken. Thanks.

"Why would you want to be with someone that doesn't love you as much as you love them?"

I ended things.
Well, it sort of just happened that way.
He was all happy-go-lucky today, asking me to get on-line. He had been all up in my face about it for two days.
I finally did today.
I let him know it wasn't ok to drag me like this. I told him I wasn't up for speaking to him, because it hurt me to even cross a word with him.
He acted like I was the crazy, over-emotional one.

I brought up the fact that he didn't write to me or anything on my birthday... that he was the only one who didn't, and that it really hurt me.
"Yes I did! I wished you a happy birthday!"
"No dude... you didn't. You ignored me for two weeks."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Promise."

I fucking HATE that word... "Sorry." That fucking word can go to hell.
It is so easy to ignore, hurt, betray... what have you... and at the end of it all just say that piece of shit word and have people think everything will be ok... that the person on the recieving end will ignore the pain and be happy again. Like that fucking shit is the magical fix to everything.
It isn't.
Not in my case.

It's not that I hold grudges...
but...
for so long, nearly everyone has expected me to "forgive" all of these fucked up transgressions with the uttering of that simple, stupid word.
Erase all of those nights spent crying... waking up with pink eyelids... contemplating STUPID ideas... walking anywhere with my head down feeling unworthy... all these goddamn traumas... and "Sorry" is supposed to be the immediate cure-it-all? Really? Does that shit work for people? I wanna meet those people... they're saints.

I'm just... I'm going back to school. I'm going to keep busy... and I'm going to forget.

Please keep me busy.
And off goddamn Facebook.


(oh boy, if you guessed I'm going to get vindictive about this... you guessed right. He will be sorry... and I will ignore. He will miss the fucking hell out of me. Trust me.)