Potty rant

Some days I wonder why the fuck I even got out of bed..
Today was one of those days.
From the moment I opened my eyes, shit went downhill.
People pissed me the fuck off, I pissed others off. I can only be a ray of sunshine for so long before I start barking mean shit at others...

What sets me off MOST is how some folk can be so goddamn self-centered, how they don't give a flying fuck to try and understand where someone else is coming from.
Yeah, dude, I said I was going to get back to you on Thursday and it's now Friday and I haven't written back... did you stop and think I probably didn't do it because I was still trying to work shit out? I have some big decisions to make right now, the last thing I need is your fucking attitude.

Mom also tried giving me the silent treatment today... because apparently she hasn't learned that I actually ENJOY silence... so... this isn't really punishing me.
What?! You mean you're not going to try and tell me a two-hour-long story-- with excruciating detail-- about your employee's hoodlum son who continuously does stupid shit that nearly drives his mother to an early grave? Not today? Ahhhhh, shucks! I was really looking forward to it! It's the highlight of my fucking day!
Why was she refusing to acknowledge me? Because she irritated the fuck out of me, so she got a nasty response from me:
There are some things you just DON'T do to me. One of my top DON'Ts is, what I consider, pretty fucking understandable: DON'T BUG ME WHEN I'M IN THE BATHROOM.
Bathroom time, whether I'm pissing, shitting, or showering, is MY time. You let me be in that fucking room in silence... don't fucking try talking to me, don't try getting me out of the room... just leave me the fuck alone and go about YOUR day sans moi.
Mom, well, that woman has a fucking knack for bugging me when I'm in the bathroom-- I'm pretty sure it's the reason behind my severe sensitivity to this topic.
Being the Mexican woman she is, she goes about screaming all the fucking time.
"AnoMALIE!!!" is all I fucking hear... all day (this is how I KNOW I could never be a lesbian, and if I were born a man, I'd be gay as fuck. I don't know how men willingly put up with a nagging woman for the rest of their lives. Fuck that shit. FUCK. IT)... even if it's just to inform me of a television blooper.
Gali tripped as she played that game with the rest of the cast from her show?? I nearly broke my neck as I slid on the motherfucking marble floor... thinking there was some goddamn emergency... and it was all to show me how this bitch falls on Mexican television?!
This time around, I was in the bathroom, pissing right before I jumped in the shower (I've never been one to piss in the shower... that shit grosses me the fuck out... WAY too much)... i.e. I was naked on the toilet taking a super long piss... vulnerable.
And she screams at me.
"AnoMALIE!"
"WHAT?" I ask... not irritated at all, just trying to be audible all the way from my bathroom, to the kitchen, where she was located.
"AnoMALIE!!!!!" she elevates her tone... to her "I'm fucking angry you little idiot, and if you don't come over here RIGHT NOW, I'm kicking your ass!" level.
This ENRAGES me.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!!!!!!!!!!!"
I scream at my "DON'T YOU THINK IF I COULD GO OVER TO THE GODDAMN KITCHEN RIGHT NOW I WOULD?! USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN! AND QUIT FUCKING SCREAMING! I'M SICK OF IT!" level.
It was so loud, I swear the house shook... my throat hurt after I shut up. And the house fell silent... I'm sure at least one of the neighbors contemplated calling the cops.
This, it turns out, greatly insulted her. So she stopped talking to me... because she's always right and I'm always wrong and there's nothing wrong with sounding like you're herding cattle when you're actually calling your kids over.
Ay, mujeres... silent treatments... will you never learn? Only people affected by that shit are those who seem to be afraid of being alone. I love the fucking shit out of silence. If you want to punish anyone, do what you always do: talk incessantly about vapid shit... I assure you plenty of us will begin contemplating suicide after ten minutes.

Anyway, after this argument, things only got worse. No need to go into further detail, because it will only frustrate me and bore you.

Lessons learned:
1. If you wake up and "sense" shit is off... just... stay in bed. Don't leave your room. You're probably right.
2. Silent treatment is INEFFECTIVE when applied to me... because I'll only love it... and you'll probably end up feeling lonely... and that will only amuse me.
3. Don't EVER... fucking EVER interrupt me when I'm in the bathroom. You'll regret that shit... no pun intended.

Un Animal

Good day, guys... such a good fucking day... I've been smiling and laughing so much, I fear those around me are going to have me committed to a mental institution.
But... she was so depressed not too long ago... now this? She probably has her suicide plotted out and we need to stop it before she goes ahead and does whatever crazy shit she has planned!
I hear that's what happens with people before they commit suicide... they're really happy and lovable the day before they go off and do the crazy thing...
But I swear to you that's not the case. I'm just so happy, and on a total upswing right now... I'm kind of fearful that the world IS ending... hence this strange string of blissful days-- the Universe's way to even the score.

Or maybe I'm just really amused when I make my poor, mega-Catholic, little Mexican mom listen to my favorite songs that may not be all too innocent.

I was driving her around town and my itunes shuffled to NIN's "Closer." Instead of changing the song, I increased the volume... as an experiment.
Me: GUESS why I love this song.
She's gonna kill me...
Mom: It sounds scary.
Me: It's awesome... and dirty... but fucking awesome!
Mom: AnoMALIE! Quit talking like a trucker! (she has this new thing where she accuses me of being a "trucker" whenever I get too vulgar or whatever)

The lyrics begin.
You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you.
Mom: Valgame Dios! (equivalent of "Oh my God")
Me: Shhh!
You let me penetrate you
Mom: OH MY GOD!
Me: NOT YET!
You let me complicate you.

I turn up the sound, my cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. Mom was staring at me in disbelief, shaking her head in disapproval. This--naturally-- only made me giggle a little louder.
Help me, I broke apart my insides.
Help me, I've got no soul to sell.
Mom: Muy bonito... ("very nice," obviously said sarcastically)
Shakes her head again, a bit more intensely.
Me: Shhhh!
Help me, the only thing that works for me. 
Me: Get ready, get ready!
It feels like Christmas Eve!
Help me get away from myself.

I join in on the singing... emphasizing the obvious word.
I wanna fuck you like an animal.
Mom: ... of course.
I wanna feel you from the inside
Mom: Ave Maria Purisma, niña! ("Blessed Virgin Mary, girl!")
I wanna fuck you like an animal
Mom: That vulgar bastard... THAT'S what he is!
Me: The voice mom! The voice! It's sexy! ... and the lyrics are hot. It's some good shit, Mom, gotta admit it.
Mom: Que me van a gustar estas vulgaridades! ("Like hell I'd like these vulgarities!")

I like to torture my poor saint of a mother... so we listened to the entire song.
I know she ended up liking it... I mean, she was bobbing her head to it after maybe a minute.
I'll just let her keep denying the fact. I got you, Mom. No worries.

Curandero

One of the images that most sticks to my head, is that moment where Bambi gets shot by the hunters and falls to the floor, completely defeated. Suddenly, a thunderous voice commands him to "GET UP!" Bambi looks up, and there you see his father, standing in all is majestic glory.

So, the Universe's sucker-punch to the back of my head came yesterday, as made obvious by the previous post.

It was pretty fucking intense.

So intense, I was unsure about today. 

No, not whether or not I would live to see it, but just how we'd move on.

To say it was an explosion would be putting the shit mildly.

I went off the motherfucking handle... so much so, I'm now on house suicide-watch.

Ummm... yeah. I bet 8-year-old me never saw THAT one coming.

After my... dramatic display of... distress... was done, even I thought "Goddamn, am I possessed or something?"

I said some things that... were downright HEARTLESS. The worst part? I enjoyed it... I did it all with a very cynical... some might say maniacal... smile on my face.

THAT'S what scared me... and made me consider visiting some Veracruz Curandero... have some shaman shake me down with some sacred palm leaves while chanting some ancient, healing verses or something.

The showdown was between Mom and I... and... well, if there was any sort of "victory," I guess it would be me... if victory is considered "uttering the meanest shit possible and making the opponent crumble into uncontrollable sobs." Then yeah, I won. Because, like I said, I didn't cry (during the showdown. "Before" was a completely different story), and I left the room once D was huddled over my violently sobbing Mom, hugging her, pretty much shielding her from me.

I made my mom crack.

And I didn't feel like shit...

which is what kind of scared me.

Holy shit! Am I deranged?!

I thought once the new day would begin, I'd no longer have a computer, a phone, a car, or a house (the threat was made yesterday, to which I responded with something that... might be frowned upon by most societies... maybe not samurais). THAT'S how intense this fight with Mom was last night.

When I woke up, I stayed in my room, not wanting to touch or eat anything, because I swear I thought I was going to get evicted any second.

Instead, I came to realize I was just under suicide watch.

Great.

It's safe to say I've seen better days.

(But in all seriousness, I'll be ok.)

The Watch

Mom was VERY interested in shopping yesterday.
She had gotten into an argument with Dad because he went off and bought a house and only listed it as his.
SO, Mom was fuming.

I found it understandable that she'd want to do some retail therapy to get over the rage she was feeling, but she was getting a little out of control.
I knew something was wrong the moment this went down:
I'm staring at the Michael Kors watches, and stop to admire this one.
(I've been in need of a watch since... umm... sophomore year of college? I spent all of grade school rocking a watch, and suddenly, I was 20 and watch-less. It felt as if I were naked. Somehow, I never got down to actually buying one. I always left it for tomorrow, when I'd go look for a decent--not Kandy Kid-style-- watch. Now, I don't really miss it)

Mom: Get the watch, AnoMALIE.
Me: Nah. They don't have the one I want.
Mom: But I thought you said this one was pretty... ? You stare at it all the time.
Me: Yes. It's pretty... but it's not my style. It's too glitzy. I don't like bling.
Mom: GET. THE WATCH.
Me: Mom, it's not an emergency. I can live without it.
Mom: GET. THE WATCH!
Me: What is wrong with you? It's 500 dollars. I DON'T NEED IT!
Mom: C'mon, sweetheart... get the watch. I see it in your eyes that you really want it...

I pause and look at her.
What has gotten into this woman??
Me: Mom...
Mom: I owe you a watch... and I'll get you this one...

She almost has me reeled in, here (yeah, leave it to ME to have to be persuaded and sweet-talked into being gifted a 500 dollar watch). She's giving me that friendly little smile she gives me... the one with a twinkle in her eye 'n shit... the same look she gave me when I HAD to tell her I needed a pad because I had my first period. It reassures me... but creeps me out at the same time... like... if she were telling me to trust her and put my hand on a mouse trap, she'll be holding it so no harm comes my way... but I KNOW that shit's gonna snap all over my knuckles.

Mom: I'll buy you what EVER you want... (whispers in my ear) just don't ever tell me you hate going to church...

And THAT made me frown and feel like shit.

I walked away from the watches, with nothing but a huge knot in my throat.

Grouchy Old Low-Carb Lady

Parents? Enjoying la vida calmada in Tulum right now.
Sister? Working.
Me? Cleaning the house from top to bottom AND running my folk's business... like a BOSS!

Cleaning the house is all right. It must be done.
Plus, it clears my head because I start thinking about practical shit like "Why the fuck is Mom storing my 4th grade John S. Park T-shirt in the laundry room? Is she... wearing it? Oh man... elementary school... field days... fuck, those were fun! Man... I REALLY hated the Big Stick Popsicle station... I still do... that MIGHT be the only ice-related goodie that I hate... fuck you, pineapple!"
(seriously, FUCK pineapple. That shit reminds me of piss for some reason. Even a TRACE of it in my food--pineapple, though I'm sure piss will ruin anything as well, but it's not my habit to ingest urine--will ALWAYS ruin whatever I may be eating)

Now the work thing, that DOES suck.
I hate dealing with my mongoloid cousin, no offense to those with Down Syndrome, because they're definitely brighter than this moron.
He does this sort of mistake AT LEAST three times a day:

05-03-12? REALLY? REALLY?!

He did that last year. How do you skip TWO YEARS like that?
I hate him. A LOT.
SO, having to drop by work to check up on this fucking imbecile works me up.
The other day he had set up his motherfucking PS3 to my dad's TV, which is in Dad's office.
I don't know how anyone else would react to that... but that shit made me IRATE.
WHO TAKES THAT KIND OF LIBERTY AT WORK?!
He also continues to take photos of himself holding all the $100 bills FROM MY DAD's safe at work, and posts them on Facebook.
I'm surprised I haven't suffered a heart attack from all that shit.
Talking about all this makes me want to take a baseball bat to his knees. THAT'S how fucking fed up I am with his bullshit antics.
Oh! OH! He also smokes weed ON THE JOB (really, guys... when you're naturally fucking stupid, WHY take something that will only make you slowER and stupidER? REALLY. I don't think I'd resent him so badly if he took speed or any other STIMULANT. Or take Adderall! At least that shit will make you focus, for fuck's sake!)... with his gang of buddies (who go to work and eat whatever the fuck snacks we sell and not pay for SHIT. They're ALL obese... they eat a good 50 bucks worth of snacks... EACH).
It's a truck stop. We have pumps of diesel. We are one of TWO companies that have above-ground tanks in this city.
Yeah. Keep doing that, fuckhead.

AHHH! I have to stop. I'm being one of those people who continuously talk about work problems, and my work isn't interesting like other peoples'. No one wants to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers (unless you're on King of the Hill and your name is Hank). I don't want to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers.

I'm going to chill out. Get mentally prepared to chop my locks tomorrow, FINALLY.
I'm also going to up my carb intake.
I've recently been made aware that all this rage I've currently been experiencing is from a lack of carbs in my life (I've been carb-free since March... it's rough, guys... ROUGH! Though... I was only 100% carb-free form March until May. I do eat two baby tortillas on most days, and I'm eating oats occasionally, so I kind of get my fix some days).
Even Rafa noticed this while he was here, and gave me a new nickname:
Grouchy Old Lady.
And yes, he's on the money with that one.
So, I do apologize for my violent, mean behavior. Luckily, there haven't been any heavy object near my angrily clenched fists... or I haven't managed to bite my tongue as I angrily clench my jaw.
Also, the outcome of the recent Copa America games have been able to mitigate the rage and tame the wild beast inside me.

Ok, this entry has been long enough. Took me damn long enough to write it, too.
Uh-oh... I think I'm getting angry...
Nah, I'm home alone, it's impossible to be pissed off under that circumstance.

Prey pray

I went to confessionals the other day.

I can almost swear (although that's frowned upon by the Catholics) I freaked that priest out.

He tapped my head and asked if he could pray for me.

...yeah...

As long as I don't start spewing green stuff out my mouth, it's all good.