Putting it out there

WHO ARE you?!

Ten minutes into this sketch, I had to stop and take a break. She looks familiar, and the fact that I can't figure out who it is frustrates me... but mostly creeps me out.

So... I think this was the break I was asking for.

In other news, my middle school buddy published her book about four days ago. I wasn't aware of this until today, since I had been told it wasn't going to happen for another ten days.
I purchased the book, of course.

I am insanely jealous... obviously, since this is something I've wanted for almost 10 years (it is so fucking horrible to think Creative Writing was that long ago... what the fuck?!), and I haven't done SHIT.
I've been keeping journals since first grade, when my teachers forced me for my writing's sake. It was that latent love I wasn't aware I possessed until the day I first attended that writing class in college... just so I'd have something to do during my giant break between science classes, all while still in the company of my bestie. Something I did for so fucking long, and what unwittingly kept me holding on during those difficult years... those difficult times.
And I was a fucking snob and hated all over my friend's rough draft like a jealous cunt... and flipped when I found out she was actually going to publish.

Jealous because I didn't have the drive or courage to put my shit out there like this friend does.
Here, you have this fucking thing that I keep from pretty much EVERYONE... my other online journal, the popular one, the one I've had for 12 years is locked so only I can read it after all the horrible fights and drama that it inspired (no, seriously... there was some BAAAAAD shit on there). I do not possess the fucking ovaries to say "This is my shit. Go on. Say what the fuck you want. But it's MINE. And I like it. Fuck you." I cower and cross my fingers that I'm STILL that quiet fly on the wall.

But, while I still think that it's uh... something I'm not generally down for (the genre... the subject matter. I'm too cynical for it), I will still support her. Because she has a great, tender heart... she's a badass... and she's brave as fuck.

I'll quit being jealous... pinch myself when I feel it creeping up on me.
Best of luck to this wonderful, kind woman.

Queens Coffee

Pacemaker: I'm so excited! For the first time, I actually met my new year's resolution!
Me: That's great!
What... was her resolution?
Pacemaker: Yeah! I'm shocked that I actually had the time to visit all 10 new cities.
Me: You did?
Pacemaker: Yeah. Let's see, I went to Miami, Miami Beach, West Palm Beach,
(I giggle)
Pacemaker: What?
Me: Nothing, nothing... just that... you're considering "Miami Beach" a different city?
Pacemaker: Yes...
Me: Ok... if you say so.
Pacemaker: Then I went to New York, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens...
(I laugh this time)
Pacemaker: What?
Me: You went to Queens? When?!
Pacemaker: I went... to a little coffee shop there.
(I laugh even harder. The pause made it more than obvious she was lying. We practically had to give her a wheel-chair ride to Brooklyn because her lazy ass was getting too tired walking around the pier and nearly quit before walking across THE FUCKING BRIDGE)
Me: Wow. I never met someone who wanted to find a coffee shop in QUEENS. The time I spent there I just wanted to get the fuck out ASAP. Though I DO have that fond memory of that girl spitting her chewed-off nails onto my pants as we rode the subway. Still, I don't mark Queens as a place I hit.

I appear snotty, don't I? I come off as a little snobby bitch... but see, Pacemaker has been rubbing me the wrong way for a while now. Since the wedding back in October, things have been rocky in Pacemaker-AnoMALIE Friendship Land.
I don't know what the FUCK is her problem, but she has taken it upon herself to brag about EVERYTHING of hers, and to belittle everything of mine.
She talked shit about my degree, talked shit about my job (which I no longer have, but I dare not tell her, for obvious reasons), talked shit about my dad's business, talked shit about my family's vehicles, talked shit about my brother's job... it's just REALLY fucking aggravating me.
I haven't straight up told her to shut her fucking mouth and watch the way she speaks to me, but I'm probably two phone calls away from doing it.
I'm sick of her bragging, so I'm becoming an eight year old and making her feel uneasy with my ridiculing giggles.

I'm not too fond of bragging (I'm sure it's not too obvious here, since I feel I brag a lot when I blog... but that's only because it's probably the only place where I share anything at all... since in person I turn into a timid mute), but her little list of "10 New Cities" got my gears turning. I could have shut her up, and proceeded with MY list of cities I visited, but I kept my trap shut. Instead, I made the list for myself.
So, for my OWN viewing pleasure, my list of (some not so new) cities visited in 2011, went like this:

1. NYC
2. Princeton, NJ
3. Chicago, Il
4. Washington DC
5. Atlanta, GA
6. Los Angeles, CA 

Honorable mention to Milwaukee, WI, place where I had a layover, twice, which lasted about three hours each time, so I went ahead and tried legit Milwaukee food... i.e. their motherfucking BOMB cheese.
Second honorable mention to Boston, MA, place where I had a layover of about two hours... then got stranded on the plane as a freak tornado ripped through the city. That was intense... and made me realize I have to hit that city next chance I get. Something about nearly losing your life in a city makes you realize you have to pay your proper respects to the area some time in the future.

Anyway, while it's not anything like Pacemaker's 10-city list, it's a list I really did enjoy... and a list I totally didn't just half-ass.
Miami Beach.... get the fuck outta here.

No tengo dinero

Me: Did you hear?! *Brother* got the consulate job in South Africa!
Mom: Really?! Thank you, God! Mijo's really blessed! I always ask God to grant every one of your desires... as long as they're good for you, and he always hears my prayers!
Me: You ask for that?
Mom: Yeah. As long as it's good for you. If it doesn't come, it means it was never going to serve you any good, and I'd rather God not grant it for you. Like with you, baby, you haven't had your wishes come true because it's not meant to be... yet. You'll get the millions you want... soon... once it's good for you.
Me: You think that's my biggest wish?!
Mom: It's not?

I can't help but feel a bit worried when my mother suspects money to be the top priority in my life.

FYI- My biggest wish is to visit as many countries as possible. I want to see the world... meet its people... and write about it. I WANT TO WRITE!
That is my biggest wish.

It's all the Windex

I clean when upset.

I'm not talking "wash the dishes" type clean... I'm talking "scrub at the walls like there's no tomorrow... then scrub the floor... and hell, why don't you just polish the furniture while you're at it?" type clean.

I woke up this morning partially crippled... my right hand was in a fist that I couldn't undo.
I had stayed up until 4:30 in the morning cleaning away... my wing of the house now smells like Windex and Orange Glo.

BUT, my part of the house is magnificent, my room is FANTASTIC, and my bathroom is fucking immaculate (ahaha... pun). My soon to be houseguests better not have complaints... I'm doing it all for them... and kind of because I'm upset without my mom or news from Mexico... and I kind of don't want to go out and do the whole "Vegas" thing when these kids come. I love them and everything, but partying is so tiresome!

Talking about partying, on Thursday TravelinDin and I went to CrazyDrivingCousin's suite party.
Things were as fine as they could be (hostile, because TravelinDin and CDC are sort of feuding thanks to their birthdays being so close to each other), then these strange guys came. They weren't invited, but they knew one of the girls that was, so they made themselves at home.
Then they started pestering us (group of 4 girls, we were in one of the bedrooms chatting away about the drama going on in Mexico), and things were just growing increasingly uncomfortable... even the birthday girl was starting to freak out a bit (these guys looked like gang bangers... so, while we wanted them the fuck out ASAP, we had no idea how to do it without getting shot in the face by their Glock or some shit).
Finally, I realized we had to put an end to the situation once one of the guys mentioned:

"Yeah man, I got some E on the way... give some to the girls... get this party started with some pills! He also asked if I wanted some yeyo, so I told him to bring that shit up too"

I noticed he looked in the room where I was with the 3 other girls... and I decided enough was enough.

"Yo, those fools are gonna bring some drugs up in your party... they're talking about ecstasy and cocaine over there..."
I told CDC and her brother.

Next thing I know, two other guys at the party come up to me and ask:
"Ey! Who are the ones who are talking about brining weed to the party?!"
"First off... it's E and cocaine... but anyway, it's the dude in the... brown hat."

Little did I know, two of the gang bangers were wearing brown hats... and guess who got confronted? The innocent one (well, as innocent as he could be).

It took a minute... and a couple of dirty looks from the gang bangers (but not gun fire!)... but they finally got kicked out of the party.

And of course... the rest of the night I felt like a hardcore narc...
AnoMALIE: the party killer.

The return of the JAMMF

Prime example of why I don't want to marry a Latino:
(Phone rings, it says it's unavailable. Typically, I'd never answer, but since Little Sister and Older Brother are overseas, whenever they call, it says the same thing. So I answer in case it's one of them)

Me: Hello!
Unknown person: Buenas tardes, estoy llamando de *Survey group* haciendo una encuesta sobre productos que usan las amas de casa (Good afternoon, I'm calling from *survey group* doing a survey on products housewives use)
Me: Oh...
Male Telemarketer: Se encuentra la señora de la casa? (Is the lady of the house there?)
Me: No.
Male Telemarketer: Entonces... se encuentra el señor, El Jefe, de la casa? (Well then, is the man, the boss, of the house there?)
Me:...
(click).

Fuck that. There is no "El Jefe" in my house. FUCK THAT.
I fucking despise machismo... with a goddamn passion.
The day I hear my boyfriend/husband/etc.etc. refer to himself as "El Jefe" in comparison to me, I'm fucking knocking his teeth out with an elbow to the mouth.

Talking about what I hate in guys:

Last night JAMMF came up to me after church.
I saw him eyeing me as I stood outside, waiting for mom to come out of the sacristy (aka room where the people who help out in church go to get ready or grab the blessed goods).
I've seen him around quite often, and I point him out to as many people as I can, calling him:
"The fucking jackass who screamed at me in church because I was LOOKING at my phone."

I think it has gone to his head, thinking I'm pointing him out as a hottie or something (OH PLEASE! As if the fucking scowl and glare I toss his way could say anything but "I fucking hope you get in a nasty car accident where battery acid lands on your smug little face and disfigures you more than you already are, bitch!").
Yes, he's well-dressed... but that only makes him a well-dressed jackass motherfucker. Nothing more.

Anyway, as I stood outside in the semi-cold in my poorly chosen outfit (I was so excited about Manchester's 6-0 win yesterday, I wore my jersey... that cold, cold jersey), and standing next to my aunt, the midget approached me in his dumb little trench coat and we had the following exchange (in Spanish, of course, but I roughly translated it):

JAMMF: Excuse me.
(I look over to make sure he's the one talking)
Aunt: Yes?
( I roll my eyes and look away... as in... I turn my head so much to the side, the midget's practically having a conversation with my neck)
JAMMF: I was wondering, is she your daughter?
Me: (internally) Oh, what, bitch, are you going to complain about me to my aunt, pussy?
Aunt: No, she's my niece, her Mom's over there.
(Points to Mom, who is busy talking to church members who are curious about the free English classes she talked about during the announcements after mass)
JAMMF: Oh, well, I was wondering if you ladies would like to join our youth group and family group... to help out in church and everything...
(I turn to face him, I see he's smiling, and his stupid ass dimples make me want to slap them right off his face. I also notice that he's very close to me... and that I'm an entire head taller than him. So I look down at him, without moving my head just rolling my eyes down to meet his. I give him the most fake smile--one where I don't even show my teeth-- and I slowly --but firmly-- shake my head no... almost blurting out, "Fuck. no.")
Aunt: Oh, sorry, ::nervous giggle:: but she doesn't like doing that kind of stuff.
(Aunt pats my back, trying to lighten my condescending demeanor. It doesn't help. I just say "Nope," and turn my head as far away from him as possible)
JAMMF: Oh, what a shame... pretty girls are always like that. What can one do?

I nearly vomited (flattery gets you nowhere with me), but I was too angry to do so.
I looked over at him, giving him The Best Glare Ever, and my aunt asked me what the hell my problem was.
Me: He's a bitch.
I told her the story... how I remember it was in October because I'm still furious that he was such a fucking prick to me and almost made me cry in church.

I guess I was a little too loud... and I guess JAMMF's friends saw me give The Best Glare Ever, because next thing you know, the dumb bastards are all in a circle, talking and occasionally looking in my direction... like some lame-ass, football huddle where they gossip rather than talk strategic plays to get to the end zone.

My brother's giant (she's about 5'10") 15-year-old goddaughter came up to me after she heard what the sissies were saying (since she helps around church and is an altar girl, she managed to infiltrate the huddle).

However, she's a very blunt, and funny girl.
She made things all better when she said:

Surprise, surprise, they're talking about you... but what do you expect? They're a bunch of beaners!

She looked over to the huddle of sissies as she finished her sentence.

God bless giant 15-year-olds.
They say things so humorously, you almost forget almost any other person would get punched for it (she's Mexican, so I guess she feels free to use the expression. She'll say that about anyone... and I asked her who wasn't a beaner, and her response? "Us." O...K.).

But... whatever... I don't care.
I can take care of myself... why else do you think I've been lifting? (Actually, I've been lifting just in case I need to punch some suckas at the football match in March. But hey, if I need to use 'em to punch some suckas after church, I don't mind)

Come and get me, bitches (and those guns are only going to get bigger... oooo-rahh!! haha... You know I'm kidding, right? I can't even flex properly, much less get "guns.").

Snobville, population: +1

I was first told I was to wear glasses when I was a Junior in high school.
I of course, being a great Mexican, withdrew in denial and never wore those things for the remainder of high school.
I was like a mom with postpartum depression... I just hid those glasses in a drawer and wanted nothing to do with those nerd magnets (I was already an AP student... no need to add fucking glasses to the mix).

Well, I started noticing that I had a hard time reading yellow and green dry-erase markers in my calculus class when I entered college.
Of course, I solved this problem by looking over at my neighbor's notes until some blinder bat complained about the stupidity of writing with yellow markers on a board.

My eye problem gained momentum once I got into organic chemistry and chose some shitty seats.
The teacher loved using the overhead projector... and I couldn't see the tiny electrons she'd draw on mechanisms (nerd talk, I know).
That's when I decided to find and wear my old glasses.
I'd quickly put them on once o-chem lecture began, and then I'd get rid of them once the professor finished writing for the day.
Once Organic Chemistry was over, I stashed the glasses back in their hiding spot.

No problems during Fall of 2005... but then came the Spring of 2006.
My worst nightmare.
The Biochemistry professor loved making PowerPoints with disgusting color schemes.
The one I hated with a passion was aqua-ish blue background with white writing. I'd go ape shit when he'd use those colors (I still groan with rage whenever I see some ass use those colors together).
It was freaking impossible to read anything.
Mammalian Physiology didn't help. One professor did the same type of shit.
Buttttt! I did learn my lesson that semester.
No, I didn't learn Biochemistry II OR Mam Phys... I failed those two bitches with a hardcore F. The lesson I learned was: USE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING GLASSES AnoMALIE! Quit living in denial and just wear those damn wire-rimmed glasses for fucks sake, before you go blind!

Well, like a good kid, I wore my glasses for the remainder of my college experience (but only during lecture).
However, towards the end of this semester, I started noticing how I was having a hard time reading very small, distant print while wearing my now-accepted-and-worn-without-a-care glasses. I also had to squint to see people... often times completely ignoring some friends who'd smile at me (I almost lost a few friends over my new "conceited bitch attitude." I'd have to explain that no, I wasn't turning my nose up at them... or giving them the stink eye... I was seriously having a hard time making out any sort of facial feature on a person's face).

This leads me to what happened yesterday.
Tired of being a blind idiot who's scared of driving at night for fear of striking a small animal/child in my boondock side of town, I decided to go for an eye exam.
Mooney's ever so kind to hook it up.
She dealt with my baby attitude when it came to checking my eye's pressure (that's what the air blowing into my eye was for, correct?), not losing her cool the entire... ten minutes I sat there going "No!!! I don't like anything being shot in my eye!!"
Mooney: Well, I'd hope you wouldn't like anything being shot in your eye!
Tests showed I'm now to wear glasses all the time.
Booooooooooo!!
To make me feel better (and because she loves me), Mooney gave me a family discount... and that gave me the extra push I needed to buy myself these bad boys:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen... I am now the proud owner of a pair of Dolce & Gabbana glasses!
Fuhhhhhhhhhhhhhck yesssssssssss.

I was told my glasses would be ready in a half hour, so I had to walk around the Fashion Show and get a headache 'til then.
I was getting a bad case of buyer's remorse... but I finally said "Fuck it. I'm graduating... I deserve this little thing!"
When I finally went to pick up my glasses, right before I left, the dude who was helping me pick out the glasses in the first place remembered he hadn't given me the case.
I thought it was going to be your average case (how foolish of me, I should have known Italians do things with fucking style!), but when the guy handed me the case, I almost jumped up to kiss the hand with which he was handing me the case.
Why? Because it looks like this:So beautiful, I get watery eyed just staring at the case in all its majestic glory.
It looks so chic and feminine... Ooooo... ahhh.

Ladies and gentlemen, AnoMALIE is growing up.
Looking a little extra nerdy... but... chic... with her bitchin' pair of glasses!

(Not even a day with them has passed and I'm already getting the elitist attitude D&G buyers have. I realized I get slightly offended when others compare their glasses to mine.
As I sat at a lounge with a couple of friends last night, "celebrating" the end of semester for them, end of college for me, one of the chicks at the table pointed at my glasses and then pulled out her pair of glasses from her bag. "We have the same glasses!" she said, twice. Her glasses were black plastic like mine, that's it. The first time she said it, my head went "Did she just say what I think she said?" The second time I smiled at her, with the desire to throw a fork at her, flipping over her Paella, scream "Where the fuck is your D&G? Fuck that, yours look nothing like mine!" and then spit by her shoe... j/k. I did want to roll my eyes at her though. Instead, I smiled while little sister screamed "Yours are Dolce & Gabbana too?!" as some lame, 1980's merengue music made it difficult for any of us to hear her. I don't know, maybe it was just the mojitos in me that were making me a little snobby last night... who knows?)