Jittery Broad

So, after much planning (that was not done by me), I'm finally heading out to Peru Wednesday night.

I'm fucking shitting bricks right about now.
This trip has been in the works since November... when May seemed like a fucking lifetime away.

Up until two weeks ago, I was the chillest of chill cucumbers. I had ZERO fear. I was downright careless.
Then I had to inform my work-out group I was leaving for Peru in two weeks-- THEY freaked out.
They have managed to embed all sort of doubts into my brain. I'm now thoroughly convinced I'm going to fucking die in the goddamn Andes.

"Do you have waterproof spray for your hiking boots?"
Me: I... don't have hiking boots yet.
"Do you at least have gel?"
Me: ... I need gel?
"FOR SHAFING!"
Me:... no.
"Do you AT LEAST have the Altitude Sickness pill?"
Me:... uh...
"Altitude Sickness can kill you!"
Me:... but... I'm... Native American... I think I can handle the altitude...

Everything is wrong, I'm going to fucking die, I'm a fucking idiot.

But GUYS! My mitochondrial DNA is Native American... My father's mDNA is as well. My motherfucking ancestral background is that of groups of human beings who fucking PLOWED through harsh terrain and fucking survived. That has to count for something, right? AND Hometown is located at an elevation of 6100ft... AND I've chilled in Mexico City, even RAN there, and that place is at 7,383ft... like... I'm going to fucking handle this shit.

I'm angry that despite all of these reassuring FACTS about myself (alongside the fact that I hit the gym 6 days a week... and I don't just fucking ride the goddamn elliptical for an hour-- I go hard), I have still allowed these hating-ass women to stress me the fuck out.
This past week has been horrible for me-- I have been restless as fuck at night, and my anxiety level is THROUGH THE ROOF. Saturday morning I was on the verge of a panic-attack... shallow breathing, trembling limbs, tears ready to burst any second. I had to force myself to take a nap, fearing I'd crack any second.

I've never been this uncomfortable before a trip. I'm not afraid over the fact that I'll be completely alone for the first leg of the trip, hanging out in Panama for 8 hours... I'm scared of actually BEING in Peru... with the other two chicks that will accompany me on the trip.

I HATE the fact that I allow others' doubt of my capacity and abilities seep into my mind, casting the self-doubt.
It SUCKS that others have such a low opinion of me... but it's fucking worse that I fall into the trap of believing them.

DAAAAMN IIIIIIIT!

cheaters never prosper

Well, I'll be fucking damned...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leve her sleeping

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me say this again:
I AM NEVER GETTING MARRIED.

Hugs

"I'm sorry... but I feel you REALLY need a BIG hug."-- Pacemaker.

So, last night I was REALLY losing my shit. I'm talking raging so hard, I was ready to hop in my vehicle and drive up to the bay with my vandalized painting, finding my godson, and finishing the destruction of my painting by smashing his face through it.

The disillusionment I have with this kid is unparalleled. I have NEVER been so disappointed and disgusted by a single person in my life... ever... like... maybe when that whole thing with my grandpa happened that ruined my childhood... but even then, I was seven, and the negative feelings only built up a little later in life-- when I was a bit older to really analyze the situation for the fucked up violation that it really was.
This time, it's was the most abrupt removal of the veil... fucking shit blinded me.

I decided to go to bed on it-- to chill the fuck out before I blamed anyone and potentially ruin our relationship.
I interrogated everyone who entered my sister's room in the last six months.
Everyone was removed from the line of suspects, everyone BUT my godson.

I discussed the subject with Pacemaker, and that's when she apologized for the shitty situation I'm encountering.
"I can't begin to imagine how this must all be for you. I know you really trusted this kid... and have done so much for him because you wanted his life to be better. It's just... I'm really sorry for what you must be feeling right now. What a horrible transgression. I know how personal your paintings are..." she said.
I didn't cry. I haven't cried. I'm so... shocked... and confused... I don't find a point in crying, as angry and upset as I may be. The confusion is so strong, it only gets me to laugh.
What the fuck was this kid thinking? HOW did he do it? WHY did he do it? WHEN did he do it? What the fuck? What. The. Fuck?

And I'm still wondering what the hell happened. What goes through the mind of someone who intentionally wrecks the work of someone else? How do they justify that shit?

... Am I really THAT bad of a person who deserves this sort of shit? Because FUCK! it is fucking astounding how much bad, hurtful shit is done to me intentionally... it DOES get me to wonder if I'm really a shitty person and just don't know it... and I need this sort of shit to happen to me so that I can open my eyes.

I. Don't. Know.
I don't fucking know.

betrayal of betrayals

You know how I tend to keep quiet when a bad situation is aggravating the shit out of me... and how it only snowballs out of control until I'm fucking irate and ready to start destroying my own property?
Well, that is sort of happening now.

I was quiet for months, and now, it seems more information is coming to light which is only WORSENING the situation.
Of course, this is all my fault, and only my fault (said sincerely. No sarcasm here) because I always place people on pedestals. I never learn my lesson about never putting my hands in the fire for anyone.

The gist goes like this:
I went to Europe at the ends of May.
I paid for my trip AND my godson's trip-- all of it, EVERYTHING. So, it was basically one Euro-trip for the price of two.
Being kind, it turns out, is always a bad idea... because people are terrible assholes.
People have heard stories about this Euro-trip... and they're mostly bad... about ME. IMAGINE THAT! Does that shock anyone?

These stories have gotten back to me, not all... but many. AND, at the end of the week I head over to the Bay where I will hear them straight from the people who my good ol' godson talked to.

I will pay any price to learn the true nature of a person... and I just paid a pretty fucking penny to learn that this kid is the biggest piece of work yet.

I am shit

Ahhh, Greece. Meeting again.

I arrived Friday morning, Greece time. It was a long haul... sort of. Layover was in Toronto... for nine hours. In those nine hours, I managed to cry in public. That was fantastic, as always.
I guess I should mention I brought my godson with me. It's my gift to the kid, since he's been battling a serious case of depression, unlike myself.
You see, when I really love someone, there's nothing I won't try to get them to feel better... as long as it's in my realm of possibilities.
If you have ever been kind to me, if you've ever made me smile-- you're good with me.
So, I figured I'd do this for the kid.

He's still weird. I don't know how to describe it, but the best I can do is by having others imagine someone who has just been freed from a cult-- the shellshocked, deep disillusionment with the world... that sort of shit.
He was driving me insane with his constant religious talk, which was a bunch of shit... but since I'm a nice person, I'd keep mum and only say "Umm... ok."
He's also very vain... very... umm... flamboyant in the sense that he goes out of his way to call attention to himself. He'll wear nothing but muscle shirts, and talk at a very loud level, so as to call attention to himself. He still has that salesman mentality... and let me tell you... living with a salesman is the last thing I ever want to do from now on. Fucking BONKERS.
"Goddamn it... is he talking to that stranger again?"
"No. No. You stay over here... I'll be right back because this is going to take me a second and I don't need you striking up a conversation with every person there for the next two hours."
It's obvious English is his second language because he uses words incorrectly... or he'll use them in the wrong context... or... he'll use inappropriate terms he learned off the douchebag coworkers from when he worked at the timeshare business.

This leads me to the thing that made me cry in public.
As we killed time in the airport (which wasn't too hard, considering they have an enormous lounge area with an ipad for pretty much every passenger... which is motherfucking amazing. This airport is a gem), we were sitting in the lounge area having a discussion on life... relationships.
I was chastising him for being "stereotypical pig Mexican" because he'd shamelessly check out girls, almost all of them... looking at their tits and ass and even vag. I told him that was inappropriate, and to be a little more discreet. He then says "ALL women like that."
I NEEDED to correct him.
"No. They don't. It's vulgar. Not all women like vulgarity. I'd say most of them hate it."
"You're saying if I like that girls ass, and I tell her 'Nice ass' she's going to be offended and not take it as a compliment or like it?" he asked.
"Most girls would consider that offensive. It's not something some of us are looking to hear at a fucking airport when we're agitated and tired. So yes, she'll more than likely get offended," I said.
"Even if it's me? I mean, I know I'm a good looking man. Girls throw themselves at me," he said.
(I was so outraged by his ego at this point, I wanted to take my carryon bag and throw it across his face. How the fuck am I related to this? WHO DID THIS TO YOU, Godson?! Is this real life? What a fucking douchebag)
"It all depends on the girl... but I'm sure there'd be plenty of girls who'd be put off by the comment and find you offensive," I said.
"You're going to sit here and tell me if Cristiano Ronaldo went up to you and said 'Nice ass.' You'd tell him to fuck off?" he asked me.
"If those were the first words that came out of his mouth when he met me, I'd tell him he's a vapid, disrespectful jerk. That's exactly what I'd tell him," I said, completely enraged by now.
"YOU'RE SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" he screamed at me.
I noticed damn near everyone in the lounge area stop cold in their tracks and stare at us. I could read some had a look of concern for ME, as though I was getting verbally abused by my boyfriend/husband.
"What you just said... offended me worse than anything ANYONE has ever said to me. ANYONE. And I can't believe it came from YOU of all people," I said.
"What did I say?" he asked.
"You just said I'm SHIT!" I said.
"No I didn't! You heard wrong!" he said.
"I don't care if you misspoke or whatever you were trying to do... but what came out of your mouth, and what EVERYONE AROUND HERE heard was YOU screaming at ME that I was shit," I said.
And then he did what most men have done in my life when I call them on their shit rather than sit down and take whatever fucking stupid shit they're talking: he acted angry and outraged.
"You know what. I'm fucking done talking right now. Let's stop right here before I really fucking say something offensive. I don't want to hear anything," he said as he slammed his face down on the table in front of him.
And I sat there... fighting back the angriest tears of my life.
Doing fucked up things in public... where they know I won't act up because I don't want to make a scene... so not fair.
The words reverberated in my mind... the look on people's faces ran through my mind... and past memories of others being fucking assholes to me ran through my mind.
I tried focusing my sight on the bathroom that was directly to my left... thought it would help me calm down while keeping my reddened face and watery eyes out of the view of nearly everyone who had witnessed the scene.
But it didn't help. Tears started rolling down my eyes and it was over.
People started leaving the scene... visibly uncomfortable... and I just sat there, across from my idiot godson whose face was out of view, and his fucking stupid earbuds (which I gave to him because his own got busted from listening to music too loud) blocking out any sound from the outside world (only pumping out douchebag Bro techno into his ears), crying... sobbing. So motherfucking alone. Again. In a fucking SEA OF PEOPLE at the motherfucking airport.
I mean... all this shit just runs through my mind when I'm crying and it does NOTHING to calm me down. It's such a fucking terrible cycle, I tell you.

So, after about half an hour of crying like an imbecile in my chair, I calmed down enough to climb out (it was a stool) and head to the bathroom... where I did the typical AnoMALIE thing of crying in the privacy of a stall... blew my nose... walked out to the mirror to fix myself... and then faced the world again.
I motioned to my godson that it was now time to walk to our gate and I was mute for the following fourteen hours (we waited at the gate for an hour, the flight was ten hours, then we headed to the embassy to get the house keys from my Bro. Got home, unpacked, and showered).
Once in Athens, as I was ready to take a nap before the haul to Mykonos for the weekend (we were going to leave at 4:15PM for the ferry to the island), Godson walked in and tried making things better with that bullshit line of "I'm sorry you felt offended" then added "But I'm offended you thought I MEANT it that way." Ummm... ok, thanks for that bullshit apology?
"When are you ever going to see those people?" As though that takes away the fact that was a fucked up thing to SCREAM in an airport in front of a sea of people.
"Now I know you're very sensitive." Excuse me? What? Was I... being too sensitive about getting upset about your ignorant ass SCREAMING "You're shit" at me in a very public setting, in front of men, women, children, and old people who are clueless about our relationship and our conversation? MY MOTHERFUCKING BAD. Fuck. Oh fuck! Fuck me and my extremely girly feelings! I brought it upon myself for being so motherfucking sensitive. My motherfucking baaaaaad.

There's a line... a motherfucking line. I can be ridiculously vulgar... I can drop as many fucking cusswords as you can imagine, in NUMEROUS languages... but I KNOW WHEN to do it. There's a time and a place... and I try my best to RESPECT it. Do I think censorship is silly? Yes, I do... but I also understand that it serves a purpose. I don't enjoy little kids hearing coarse language... or older people being harshly introduced to me by me uttering some profanity. I also understand that different cultures have different stances on vulgarity and more importantly, I RESPECT it-- despite how much or how little I may agree with it.

The key term here, I suppose, is "RESPECT."
Bumping into people who LACK any sense of it... or prove to be ridiculously inconsiderate, drives me MOTHERFUCKING CRAZY.

Ah... good times ahead. For sure.
(This past weekend was something to talk about. The long weekend in Mykonos sure has a lot of stories... one even includes me--yet again-- crying my motherfucking eyes out as I walked to my hotel room all alone at 4:30AM for two miles. Long stretch of highway along the coast where I stared out into the sea, under a nearly-full moon, just bawling my fucking eyes out with both rage and incredible sadness. I even ran into a run-over, dead cat. I mean, who would come up with this sort of shit? Good motherfucking times.)

"Anxiety" my fucking ass

There is a feeling that I hate more than any other feeling in this world-- when someone I hold in high esteem fails me... and fails me HARD.
Disappointment sucks dick.

While I AM crying with rage about it, I can say I'm still relieved at realizing these tears do not carry as heavy a weight as they did a few months ago.

This is how I know I'm no longer depressed...
I'm just really fucking pissed.

But it's me!

You know what really fucking works me up? People who don't fucking "get it," people who don't even bother to empathize one single fucking bit with my... way.
I hate people getting pissed at me because I have difficulty being social.
I hate how some people think it's SO FUCKING easy to just go out and socialize.
I ESPECIALLY hate it when this person is someone who has seen me ACTIVELY attempt being social, only to be fucking humiliated or publicly insulted in some way. They see this fucking shit go down and STILL not empathize.

"Maybe it's all in your head... ?" some people have told me.
All in my head... really? I really just imagine people talking shit about my clothes or my voice or my smile or... my personality? REALLY? I just fucking imagine a guy screaming "Dyke!" into my face at a party because I push away his physical advances? For reals? Like... he might have been screaming "BIKE!" at me instead and my mind just misconstrued it all? For reals? This is all conjured by my fucking imagination because I fucking like it or some shit?
I swear I fucking try, and I try HARD to socialize and not be fucking awkward... but goddamn it! It's motherfucking hard as fuck! And PARDON ME for refusing to subject myself to the motherfucking torture that it is to try and be... "social" with fucking strangers every once in a while. Goddamn. My fucking bad. How motherfucking selfish of me. FUCK!

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. But it's me!" ... Yeah, it's you. And I don't know how fucking drunk you've been the other times we've chilled... but I always come home from the events and cry my fucking eyes out because someone did or said something to me that seriously hurt my feelings... or made do something stupid, or made me feel fucking stupid... or worse yet, made me feel fucking invisible... or gross. I mean, if I wanted to be fucking invisible, I just would have stayed home and painted the night away, out of everyone's view... at least then I'd be comfortable/relaxed/not going deaf with the fucking shitty music played at hipster bars.
I don't fucking like the vibe. I don't fucking like drinking. I think people are fucking rude and I'm too aggro to put up with their fucking shit for more than ten minutes.
It DRAINS ME. It makes me UNCOMFORTABLE. People DON'T LIKE ME... and when they DO, they get too pushy on me, which only results on me stiff-arming the shit out of them so they can cut their shit out, and THEN they proceed to hate me.

Don't ACT like you've "tried" fixing me... because hanging out with me for fiteen minutes at a six-hour-long party doesn't fucking count-- it doesn't even scratch the surface, those fucking fifteen minutes. What can I tell you in fifteen minutes? What can you conclude in fifteen minutes? That I'm shy? That I'm uncomfortable? That I'm sad and distant? You'll maybe notice the latter, but will be too uncomfortable discussing, so you will just ignore it... but ohhh man! You fucking tried! Bravo. Fucking bravo.

Go ahead, make me feel guilty. Go ahead and chastise me. Go ahead and make me feel like a horrible fucking person because I refuse to participate in an activity that leaves me feeling lonelier and stupider and uglier once I'm done. Go on, now. Go on and vent your fucking frustration with me and ACT like you know anything about me. Act like you know where the fuck I'm coming from.

People who try to "fix" me with some sort of "man up!" speech deserve a punch in the mouth. A motherfucking punch to the teeth with a brick.

Goddamn. People make me feel like shit.

my zebra

For the love of god...
When things are going shitty, they sure fucking just love piling up.

Today, as I was forcing myself to be a fucking NORMAL human being who smiles and cracks jokes, I stepped out of the gym at 3:30pm to see some stupid fucking cunt scratched the shit out of the left side of my car with her shitty excuse for parking/pulling out.
The worst part is I know this fucking cunt-- I work out with her.

God, please don't let me see her again... much less her fucking white piece of shit car... 'cause I'm gonna FUCK. SHIT. UP.
Fucking piece of shit white Nissan wrecking the side of a car three times as expensive... THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! And what pissed me off worst was that the motherfucking parking lot was EMPTY... and I parked far as fuck, too... precisely to avoid any dumb motherfuckers parking next to me.
But no. This dumb cunt felt the urge to park next to my car, so close it scratched the entire front left side, leaving white horizontal lines across my car's dark chocolate paint job. Fucking infuriating.
WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!
(If you do this, rest assured I fucking hate your stupid guts. HATE them)

So fucking angry, I just know I'm going to be passing out tomorrow (I mean, eight hours later and I'm still fucking fuming about it).
I hate people.

Behind cameras

As always, I intended on updating sooner... but shit got in the way. Luckily, I'm only sick, and not dealing with bullshit-ass family drama... my parents seem to have gotten their shit together... for now.
I'm sick because I spent my Monday screaming my head off at Disneyland... and getting incredibly soaked on that godforsaken Splash Mountain. Guys, never get on the same log as FIVE people who are well over 250 each... with one being at least 6'2" and in the 300's. The boat rocked in the most terrifying way, and splashed far more often than it intended. I was thrown to the front of the log, and so... I was literally drenched from head to toe... like a wet cat... my mascara even ran (and my maxi pad slid off my underwear, but no need to get into details about THAT beyond: I was MORTIFIED... and REALLY. FUCKING. WET. I should have just dived into a pool. This sort of shit only happens to me, I swear. Y'all should hang out with me more often and just witness the bullshit that occurs to me... it's amazing in a way).
I spent the rest of my day trying to dry off... and of course, I caught a cold like the dumbshit I am. I caught my flight back home that night, and I was so subdued by the illness, I didn't freak out when I had thirty minutes to reach my gate and a GIANT group of people with down syndrome (who had apparently attended some sort of convention earlier, based on the shirts they were all wearing) were ahead of me at the TSA checkpoint. They were confused... talkative... and did I mention confused? Had I been my normal self, I would have started sweating bullets, scared of not making my flight... but again, I was sick, and I just wanted to go to sleep.

ANYWAY! That update from the other day, the Saturday one that was sort of incoherent... that was written up while I very angrily sat at my table at the party, watching everyone act like a dick for the cameras.
It's baffling... terrifying to see how fucking different people behave once a legit camera crew is on them. I was the best behaved person present... and I was just fucking angry the whole time... and holding back my puke... and sort of drunk... and upset.
Each scene was shot a minimum of five times. FIVE TIMES. We were given freedom to be ourselves, but once one of us did or said something witty or outrageous, we were asked to re-do the "scene."
There's something about saying the same thing repeatedly, where you just feel a piece of your soul disappear.
There were about 28 of us, and I was the only one who isn't a regular at their parties... and one of the two Vegas girls they invited. So I sat at the table trying to remember everyone's name, while everyone else got mine the moment I shook their hand.
For the most part, I was checked out of the conversations... I had no reason to listen, since I didn't know anyone they were talking about.

Starting the night/filming

There were three tables set up. One was pretty much empty the entire time because the four people who sat at the table left early, the other table was the "action" table where all the "main characters" of the show were sitting, talking their made-up scripted shit, and then there was my table-- the drunken, loud, unruly table (where real drama was going on).
We were only allowed to drink Bud Light-- that was hell, and why I was drunk. I hadn't had food in my system for a good eight hours, and they hadn't given me water. I sipped my beer and felt like garbage within minutes. I swear I'm allergic to that shit... fucking beer.
ANYWAY, they eventually got us some tacos... and that proved to be a mistake, since I spent the remainder of the party trying not to vomit them out.
There were some funny moments, legitimately sincere moments... like when we started playing the game (Loteria, which is the Mexican version of Bingo), and when the main character of the show won and yelled Loteria, we all naturally called bullshit and flung our beans (what we were using as markers, like in Bingo) at him. This, of course, tickled the producer pink, and thus, he had us throwing beans at the guy another five times... and another three at the end of the night. He killed our joke.
There was also my favorite part of the night, when the cameras left, and everyone behaved like themselves. The superficial fake folk left along with the camera crew, but the cool people stayed and proceeded to crack jokes... and we had a very nice sing-along. A girl at the party brought her guitar, which apparently is what she does at parties, and proceeded to sing our favorite Mexican songs. It was so fucking mellow, I momentarily forgot about my fucked up stomach.

And then the fucked up part rolled around at midnight.
The entire night, a girl at my table-- the loudest broad-- kept asking when the blow was getting there. I swore she was just being obnoxious.
But she wasn't.
The blow got there.
Lots, and lots of blow.
Ahhhhh, yes! For a minute I had forgotten what part of Mexico we hail from...
I don't know if I'm the only person who feels like this, but few things break my heart more than seeing WHO does that shit... I seriously feel my heart shatter. It's horrible. The disillusionment I feel when I see someone I perceived as "cool" hitting that shit... it never gets better.
Cocaine has ruined so much around and in my life... there's no way in hell I'll ever be cool with it... or those who use it.

So... feeling completely shitty about humanity, I finally bitched enough to get taken home.
Upon entering my friend's home, I rushed to her bathroom and proceeded to vomit the red velvet cake I had stuffed my face with a few minutes before leaving the party (I initially panicked when I looked at the puke... thinking I was bleeding like some tuberculosis patient or some shit). Little did I know my "friends" took the liberty to look through my phone and steal some of my photos and read my texts while I panicked in the bathroom, projectile vomiting. That was nice... I wish the camera crews had captured THAT fucked up shit... at least that way I'd be publicly validated when I tell you guys some of my "friends" can be pretty fucking shitty people.

Horse shudder

Many people I know consider horses to be "dumb" animals.
I've always been fond of horses. I find horses to be noble and silly... and smart.

My summers spent in Mexico always involved camping trips to the mountains, campsites to which we traveled to on horseback.
There trips taught me to trust horses.
Horses were able to see things we could not... they would sense danger.
While the group of people would be distracted by the beauty of the scenery, or just conversation, someone would randomly have their horse buck, immediately bringing the rest of the horses to an abrupt halt.

We'd be annoyed by the halting, since our initial reaction would be to kick the horse so it'd quit being such a stubborn little jerk and just get us to our destination... but then we'd end up having to apologize to the beast when we'd spot the huge snake camouflaged in our path.
Horses are SO good at sensing danger... and they don't shy away from expressing their qualms.
Naaah, bitch! I'm not moving... there's some bad shit over there. Fuck off.
That's their attitude... you can just tell that's what they're thinking... as you feel their skin crawl underneath you... you feel and hear their shudder.


While I'm definitely not 100 percent when it comes to judging a person's character, I do have a perfect record when it comes to people I initially dislike.
Too often I've been wrong about someone I immediately like upon first meeting them... but I've never been wrong about someone I initially disliked.
I don't dislike many people... being repelled by someone upon introduction is a rare occasion for me (I'm that dummy who WANTS to believe EVERYONE is a good person with no ill will towards anyone)... but like the good ol' horses, I have a visceral reaction to it. I literally feel something inside me shudder and my gut will feel as though it's on a very uncomfortable free-fall... and I will refuse to budge on my distrust of the person. Something in my mind will quietly, but sternly say "No."
I will try to convince myself to be nice to the person... give them a chance to prove me wrong... and in doing so, my energy will drain and I will grow increasingly aggressive/resentful toward the person.

AND THEN the person in question proves me right. The fucking dirtbag will prove to me what a worthless, shiesty motherfucking piece of shit he has always been.
I will be angry about the person being a piece of human garbage, but angrier about the fact that despite every fiber of my being telling me to ditch this piece of shit before he gets to fuck me over, I ignored my read on him and allowed it to happen.

I honed this ability for a while during my poker playing days. This was probably the time where I took full advantage of my read on people and profited from it (in all reality, I wound up breaking even, completely even).
Of course, I had to stop with the poker because it was really fucking with my sleeping... and my overall attitude... since it was an all-consuming addiction... where I'd grow FURIOUS with anyone who tried to interfere with my tournament times. The price I had to pay for normalcy was losing my acute ability to read people... bad people... dishonest people.

But then days like today happen... days where I learn I still possess some of this ability. I am STILL perfect on my read on BAD people... but it doesn't feel good to know it.... because it means I STILL encounter shitty people.

My boxing "trainer" turned out to be SUCH a lying piece of shit... and I FELT it from the get-go... from the moment that fool touched my hand when I took the initiative to shake his hand in order to introduce myself. Today he helped me realize I'm still good at catching bad people... bad people like him.
I learned I need to quit ignoring my gut. While I wish everyone was awesome and I was just a judgmental, stubborn bitch... it just isn't so... people out there can be horrible rats.

I hope I never have to be correct about bad people again... it fucking sucks to encounter legitimately SHITTY humans.

Good luck with that

Guess whaaaat...

Fucking awesome, right?
This time, my lip decided to switch shit up. This time, instead of breaking out in my usual spot of the lower left corner of my lip, my central nervous system decided it had enough of that shit, and handed me the cold sore smack dab in the middle of my bottom lip.
I have two lovely, perfectly circular holes in the middle of my lip. It'll be interesting to see that shit heal.

What caused this outbreak? An infuriating exchange with my trainer yesterday afternoon. My body was QUICK to react... the cold sore popped up six hours after the enraging encounter with the guy.

Remember that story about my substitute teacher who made me cry because he wouldn't give me my homework, back in third grade? I know it's in here somewhere... the story with that goddamn motherfucker Mr. Lockitch (however the fuck it's spelled... probably some Scandinavian or German spelling a Mexican like me never gave a single fuck about learning. His name I may not know how to spell, but his face I'll never forget... fucking... Edward James Olmos' characterization of Jaime Escalante in "Stand and Deliver" looking-ass) and how he took joy in tormenting me by holding up the extra homework sheet above my head as I pleaded for him to give it to me... tormenting me long enough for me to miss my bus and all that good shit you'd love to do to a nine-year-old good-girl.

 That was twenty fucking years ago... and yesterday, the story repeated itself, sort of.
It's well documented I HATE running. I'll sprint a couple of laps, just to get my HIIT in... but from that to making me run a mile after an hour of intense kickboxing is insane. It's NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN.
I was NOT built to run long distances... for fucking SHIT. I'm a fucking OX... I'm built to survive long, harsh winters... built to carry shit twice my weight... built to wrestle motherfucking bison... THAT'S the type of body I was given. I was not given the body of some fucking marathon runner... person who had to carry fucking surrendering orders to pussy-ass tribes... person adept to fleeing at the first sign of danger (can you tell my fucking disdain for this fucking activity, or should I continue?).
SO, when I'm ordered to run a mile, I will give my best contempt-filled glare, and walk out.

There's an added hatred to this mile because very few people actually run the fucking thing. When we sprint a lap or two, I'm always game... and I'm always the first girl done with the task... and if I get a good-enough head start on two particular guys in class, I'm the first person done. I hustle... I hustle HARD, just so I can get the damn thing done.
However, I find I'm usually one of the few who actually DOES this stupid thing. Well over two-thirds of the class just WALK HALF a lap, go to the bathroom, and then go back to the room to continue with the weight-lifting portion of the class.
This boils the fucking HELL out of my blood... I damn near foam at the mouth... and I definitely shoot death-glares at every single lazy fuck I see walk through the doors-- MORE SO to the fucking cunts I catch already in class, acting as if they ran the allotted laps... which I know they DID NOT, because none of them passed me on the track... I often scowl at them while mouthing "Liar" directly to their faces.
The dishonesty of others infuriates me... but the fact that the instructor knows this shit is going on, and STILL does it pisses me off most. He knows I kill the one or two laps, but still insists on the mile-- that shit fucks up my shins, it's too much stress on my body.
So as protest, I don't do it at all-- I just grab my shit and go home.

This was the case yesterday. After fucking killing myself with all the plyos, the moment the trainer ordered the class to run the mile, I walked over to grab my towel, water bottle, and car keys, and proceeded to walk out of the  class.
I was one of the first people walking out the door, and next thing I know, the instructor snatches the water bottle out of my hands, and goes for my hand holding my car keys.
For the next two-three minutes, I stand there, asking for the return of my water bottle, and he demanding my car keys so I can go on and run the mile.
Me: Not gonna happen.
Him: Gimme the car keys. You can't run with your car keys.
Me: I can't run that much. Give me my water, please.
What was REALLY pissing me off was the fact that his fucking groupies walking past us kept giving me "encouragement."
Annoying18YearOldTwat: Come on girl! You can do it! Wooo!
AnnoyingTwat2: Yeaaaah! Let's go, girl!
As if I was some fucking out-of-shape slob.
I was fighting the urge to "encourage" these fucking annoying girls to squat 200 pounds with their fucking noodle legs while I enthusiastically hooted "COME ON GIRL! YOU CAN DO IT!" Because everyone knows yelling words of encouragement helps you accomplish physically impossible tasks (the running is currently impossible for me because I've been nursing a fractured metatarsal for well over two months. I keep fucking it up because cunts keep yelling "encouraging" shit when I'm told to perform an excessive amount of burpees... always resulting in a re-injury of my fucking toe. Running on it is excruciating).

So... I was PISSED... but trying to keep my composure.
Keep the fucking bottle... it's only a dollar.
And just as I was about to walk away, completely done with my "begging," the guy gave me my bottle and I walked away.
Why don't you give your bitch this much of a hard time? SHE never runs.

It wasn't until night time when I realized the level of rage reached... once I saw the cold sore.
Those bad boys always betray me and let me know just how fucking deep certain actions really cut me.

FUN TIMES!

Therapy, my way.

As predicted, this strong, violent episode of unadulterated rage produced a surge of creativity.

In two days, I manically created this:

 

Today, my mind's like "Are you gonna finish this or nah?" to which, of course, I'm like "Nah, man... I'm actually pretty happy and calm now. Thanks for the outlet, Brain... but I'm good now. Fuck the details for now. I'll finish this sucker next time someone makes me irate... or the next time I come across some fucking imbecile drunkard. And I'll stop talking now because I'm starting to get angry again."

But for real, I'm so much better now. Sure, I still feel a little tear coming up when I let my memory wander back to some of the mean, idiotic shit MGH said and did... but I just force myself to be happy by thinking of things like... dumb music lyrics... or the fact that my brother is hollering at one of my close friends from high school (this I'll discuss in much more detail in the near future, you know, when this story gains more material).

I wish I could become creative on command, not after some fucking traumatic life event or whatever.
Anyway, painting is great... and drawing psychopaths is fun.

Shitstain

That cop-out, that fucking ire-inducing cop-out:
I was drunk.

... Yes. You get a fucking pass for "being drunk."
You're so drunk and unable to control your actions, you go about and wreck shit, and humiliate others, mistreat others... but OH! Shit! WAIT! HE WAS DRUNK! He didn't know what he was doing! It wasn't REALLY "him" doing it... it was the drunk alter ego... he's not REALLY like that, so let's not hold it against him. Let's sweep it all under the rug and hope he doesn't target you again the next time (probably tomorrow) he gets inebriated... you know, when he gets "awesome" and hilarious and cool... because he's so fucking cool when he's drunk... he's FUCKING HILARIOUS.

No. Fuck you. Fuck that shit.

You know what gets me to "black out" and "not be myself" and lose control? Rage. It doesn't happen often... but there are those rare moments, where I am SO infuriated, I am completely BLINDED by rage.
So... with your drunk logic... I can FUCK SHIT UP... and I mean, I will fucking DESTROY things as well as PEOPLE... but see, I was BLINDED by my angry episode... I wasn't really ME... I was just really, REALLY angry and that shit overrode any logic in my head.
So I get a free pass, right? I punched holes through your walls, broke your fragile shit, and smashed your face against the hardest surface I could find... but it's ok, because that wasn't really me, I was just REALLY REALLY angry... like the Hulk.
That thing I did to your eye? Well, isn't that just ever so unsightly... and I'm sure it sucks for YOU to walk around with it... but see, I supposedly (ah, yes, "supposedly"... I LOVE that word. I fucking LOVE when drunks drop that word. FUCK having any sort of accountability... I mean, can anyone REALLY PROVE they did/said what you're claiming? "Supposedly"... beautiful word, really) did that while in that blinding fit of rage... you can't really hold ME accountable for doing that to you... because I DON'T REMEMBER doing that to you... so... it didn't really happen.
I mean, you KNOW the REAL me... I'm a pleasant, quiet little girl who is too scared to even hold eye-contact with you. That ugly angry episode was just... a bad moment... a rarity... so... free pass, right? And no, no apology, because REMEMBER, I DON'T RECALL ANY of this ever happening... so... I don't feel like I'm the one who needs to apologize... maybe next time HulkAnoMALIE shows up, you'll force an apology out of her.

Fuck that.
If I were to injure anyone in my fit of rage, I'd be doing jail time. If I fucked up people's possessions, I'd be sued for the damages. I'd be HELD ACCOUNTABLE... regardless of whether or not I remembered ever doing any of it.

It isn't funny. It isn't cool. It isn't... it isn't worth being around.
Excuse me while I label you persona non grata and keep my fucking distance... because I hear shit smears quickly, and quite frankly, I could do with one less fucking shitstain in my life.

Best they can do

I've been on the receiving end of some very sweet compliments from guys recently. It helps, a little, to ease the hurt incurred Thursday night.

Another wedding, Thursday night.
I was actually excited about this wedding, since I had been told it'd be a very intimate affair (the fact that this was going down on a Thursday aided in fueling this false sense of security).
Intimate = not many people = comfortable.
Of course, I should have known better, considering this was the wedding of the girl whose bridal shower I attended last month where the ladies hounded me about my single status and the girls shunned me for being hopelessly single.
Sure, this was going to be "intimate"... but how about the quality of the people? No one promised that to be "comfortable."

Comfortable this wedding was not.
Since I'm single, OF COURSE my paired up friends (ALL of the girls at this place had a partner of some sort. Except for me, of course-- the eternal bachelorette/spinster/cat-allergic-catlady) thought they'd do me a solid by sitting me at a table alongside single dudes. Of course.
1. They were younger than me.
2. They were divorced.
3. They had children.
4. They were bald-headed ex-cons.
5. Covered in tattoos.
Rad.

The outcome? They were treating me like garbage... THEY were upset they got stuck with me.
Ahhhh, this familiar spot, yes.
I had a wonderful flashback to the summer of 1999... the beautiful time when the boys in Mexico decided to bully the fucking shit out of me for being fat... when they'd moo and oink at me when I'd walk by. The awesome days when boys would be absolutely disgusted at the mere insinuation that they'd have a crush on me, or WORSE, ME on them.
(Just mentioning that shit makes my stomach drop... it's insane how my mind still remembers the exact feelings all that shit elicited in me... it's so fucking vivid)

It was SO FUN to sit there and see these bald-headed cholos treat ME like the leper... how appalled and annoyed they'd get when others at the table tried getting them to talk to me. Shit, even ACKNOWLEDGING my presence seemed to irritate them.
I'm not quick when I'm upset. I don't know witty comebacks to throw at jerks who cross a line with me... not this line. No, I freeze. I am so shocked and upset at the realization that adult men can still treat me this way, I lose my power to speak.

The worst part was that the ladies at the table would not relent. They'd continually poke around to try and encourage them to hit it off with me.
I'd look down at my phone and play games, hoping any conversation topic relating to me would end once they'd note I was mentally checked out. I also did it to avoid seeing the look of disgust on one particular dude-- he was SO annoyed... and even looked insulted at the fact that "this was the best they could do?"

What was my sin? I have no clue... sitting at the table? NOT being a bitch when I took my seat, and actually smiling?
I walked into the venue ten minutes after the party was allowed in, looked for my table, found my table, smiled and greeted everyone that was already seated, and I took my seat. I looked around and admired the decorations and food, and the bride and groom. I was being me and minding my own business.

When the insulting glances and snide remarks finally made me reach my breaking point, I excused myself to the bathroom and did what I do in public restrooms-- I cried.
When I returned to the table after sniffling away the emotional injury, the main jerk was gone-- and his mom STILL tried giving me his number.
???
I proceeded to stuff my face with a cupcake... spending the rest of the night calmly watching the rest of the room hit the dance floor.

It's shit like that which fucks me up. I can hear 100 compliments every day for a month and never believe a single one... but give me ONE "Ugh" or disdainful stare and I will be emotionally fucked up for MONTHS. I will believe I'm disgusting for fucking MONTHS... if not forever, which seems to be more accurate.

A fucking cholo made me feel like a hideous monster and reduced me to tears at a wedding... ain't that some shit.

Hey, AnoMALIE! Why do you have massive social anxiety, again?

Shitty shittiness

Good God, some people are fucking GIFTED when it comes to pissing me off.

And I try so hard to keep my mouth shut so as to not make matters worse... but FUCK! does that shit kill me.

Listen, when shit doesn't pan out, just fucking accept it and move on... especially when it was something OUT OF MY CONTROL.
Getting pissed at ME will only piss ME off at YOU... and nobody wants that.

Shit, if it weren't for this thing, I'd probably be suffering a stroke from holding in my rage. Instead, I vent here and come off as a psychopath to the internet.
I promise I'm normal, and for the most part, CALM AS FUCK... I just need a platform to vent, and most of the time, I happen to be on the internet when someone decides to get under my skin.
::shrug::

Last, but not least: I will never understand people who think it's perfectly fine to mistreat others with the excuse of "I was having a bad day." No apology, no conversation... just a "I was having a bad day."
But OH! Don't get it twisted! Don't you dare hurt THEIR feelings, even if by accident (i.e. you weren't wearing your glasses when they waved at you at the grocery store, leading to you ignoring the wave).
Their feelings >>>>>>> your feelings.
How does that work?

Empathy, homie... practice a little bit of EMPATHY.
Treat others how you'd like to be treated.
Shitty day? Keep your shitty feelings locked up in your shitty room for as many shitty hours that are required to shit out your shittiness. You shithead.

I have plenty of shitty moments... and I avoid people as much as possible during those episodes. I make it a POINT not to bump into society when I'm suffering a rough patch. It actually helps-- I'm usually the only one who ends up with busted feelings (my self-loathing is pretty vicious).

I'm disappointed for allowing someone's shitty treatment get to me. Damn hormones.
Can I be a robot already?

Poorly, but...

My parents sure have a way with words...
Never thought I'd miss the days when he'd just accuse me of being a "dyke" as I tried eating my fucking cereal at the kitchen table... at least that would happen in the privacy of our home.

This exchange also occurred a couple of minutes after hearing my friend's father was at the hospital after suffering a heart attack, by the way.

Aaaaaand how has your day been?

Worse than shit

Hearing the most unexpected people talk some unbelievably horrible shit about a loved one sucks.
I'm too hurt and upset to get angry.
I've been crying for the last few hours or so...

Some people are so fucking repulsive...
And I can't believe I'm crying...
This fucking trip to Mexico messed me up...

I can't write right now.

This is why I fucking avoid people... they fucking suck.

This makes it how many times?

Know what pisses me off most about lies? The fact that my intelligence is underestimated.

I stay quiet not because I'm a fucking idiot... well, maybe I AM an idiot by believing in someone's fucking integrity... that's probably where I go wrong, but anyway, I stay quiet because I want to see HOW FAR you'll take your lie... and how LONG you're going to lie to me.

Mexicans have a saying: Si digo que la burra es parda es porque tengo sus pelos en mano.
If I say the donkey's brown it's because I'm currently holding a batch of its hairs in my hand.
If I'm telling you you're lying, it's because I did my goddamned research and did my fucking homework... I have PROOF... proof you provided for me throughout all that time you fucking lied, genius.

How can you live with yourself knowing YOU are being dishonest with someone?
For-fucking-real. How?

I also love how the "You're a neurotic narcissist" card is played once I call bullshit.

Lies... they're so repulsive. So damn repulsive.
Come on now.
Keep lying to me... and keep telling me GIRLS are the problem.

Fucking pussy shit.
Man.

D-fence

It's during moments like these when I really miss my dog.
Would Tyson still be alive, I'm sure I'd be... better.
I'd spend my evenings outside, stroking the little guy while sipping on some tea... or water... and probably laughing at the silly things he'd do for me.
Tyson was good at noticing when I was in need of comfort... or a laugh... or just company.
That's what he'd be doing right now. My little dude.

He was just loyal... and never fucking judged.... and he loved me with all of his heart (AND he NEVER tried humping any body part of mine)... defended me from everything, even the little trivial shit like cockroaches that would get too close to my feet.
He'd sit on my feet, looking over at whatever it was I'd be looking at. I'd feel his warm little body inhaling then exhaling... I'd hear his little noises... see his ears perk at the slightest sound.
If I made the slightest little noise, he'd turn his head back to make eye-contact, and I swear his little eyebrows would furrow... as close as he'd ever get to saying "What's the matter? Please don't cry..."
I'm sure poor little Tyson thought the only thing I knew how to do WAS cry... and the only thing he knew how to do was comfort.
He never did break my heart... except that day I found him under the tree... that day he broke my heart in a way it had never before been broken.