The bile, it is a-building

I really wish family drama wouldn't interfere with my writing, but it does.
I have been SO fucked up these last two weeks... I can't think clearly. I am only ANGRY the whole fucking time. I damn near went to the hospital yesterday because I was SO angry, I was suffering from a horrible pain in my stomach for two days.
I tell you, I'm visceral as fuck... when I feel rage, I FUCKING FEEL RAGE.

I am so disillusioned, but above all, furious, at how fucking shitty my family is proving to be.
I have spent my life thinking that family is everything... I have done MORE THAN my fair fucking share to make their lives just a little bit better. I have swallowed all of their backhanded compliments, "thinly" veiled insults, and downright public humiliations... all for fucking "family's sake."
I have harbored nothing but love for these fucking assholes with whom I just so happen to share ancestors... making myself believe their ill treatment of me and often my entire family, as "learning lessons." I've excused their bullshit as them "having a rough time" or "not knowing better." "Maybe they didn't know they were insulting me... ?"
But seriously... a 16 year old guy slapping me across my 7-year-old face with flour and throwing me against the floor in front of three other cousins who LAUGHED was them "not knowing they were humiliating me"? REALLY?! FUCKING REALLY?!

It's fucking ridiculous how many stories I have relating to these motherfuckers purposely acting injurious towards me, physically hurting me, psychologically/emotionally scarring me... and me just shutting the fuck up and forgiving them because I've been taught to "be a good girl," "to forgive," to be motherfucking empathetic... sympathetic to a fucking fault.
"Because you don't want to stir shit up."

And to all this, I keep asking, wondering, analyzing just what in the fucking hell I have done (I should say we, my parents and siblings have each been on the receiving end of some fucked up bullshit from these people) to DESERVE this.
Did I insult them at some point? What the fuck did I say or do that warranted this bullshit?

I (we) have done nothing. Quite the contrary, we have pulled them out of debt, we have taken care of the ill, we have given their criminal-asses jobs when no one else would, we have bought them cars, homes, VACATIONS, WEDDINGS... but still, STILL they find a reason to say and do some fucking WACK shit.

And it drives me fucking crazy.
It makes the bile in my system just... fucking rise. It makes me dizzy. It makes me faint.
So much rage, and confusion, and disillusionment... goddamn, is this what Don Quixote felt?! AM I DON QUIXOTE in this fucking family?!

I'm also confused... because I don't know how to react. I'm STILL scared I'll be accused of overreacting.
But... when have I ever overreacted? People often think I'm a goddamn mute or just boring because I'm so languid and detached in person. I am a mouse... it takes great effort to get me to say a word.
And still I manage to offend people-- blood-- to the point where they inexplicably hate me and intentionally aim to hurt me.
What in the fuck, man?

I HATE thinking that these people are "jealous"... though I often hear others explain it to me that way. I feel foolish even assuming this is a possibility.
"Don't try to find an explanation to someone's jealousy... it will drive you crazy. Oftentimes, it has NO explanation."
But I mean... what is there to be jealous about? I TRY TO SHARE as much as possible... I try as much as possible not to be selfish about what I have or what I can do. I thought I was making that clear... not "boasting" about it... just... proving that I was ready and willing to share the good stuff.
I give genuine, heartfelt compliments. I feel genuine joy at the positives in the lives of others. I try to help to the best of my ability when it's at all possible. HONEST. Nothing makes me happier than the happiness of others, especially my family's.

When it's bad stuff that is going on, I keep that shit to my own damn self. I prefer others to believe I'm a total weirdo than to clue them in on the fact that I'm motherfucking dying... that I am just fucking dying on the inside.

Is my ability to keep quiet and internalize the bad shit making it too difficult for others to realize that my life isn't all good?
I thought my inability to comfortably stand in a room with more than six people made it abundantly clear that my life isn't all rainbows and unicorns.
My inability to hold eye contact isn't indicative of my life maybe not being super rad? Not indicative of me having poor self-esteem?
Has everyone forgotten the constant, daily verbal abuse I took for being "fat" throughout my school days?

I fucking don't get it... and it's breaking me.

This shit is interfering with my creativity, with my peace, with... everything.
My heart is fucking shattered and I have no fucking clue how to pick up the pieces, if it's even worth attempting to salvage any of the pieces.

Feelings suck. Lies suck. People suck.

what you asked for

So I finally snapped.

Raise your hand if you're surprised.

I was doing my best to remain calm and collected... to take deep breaths each time someone in the house said something to outrage me... but I finally couldn't handle it and blew up this afternoon.
Who was the lucky winner to finally push me over the ledge? My sister. Naturally.

Everything was fine at first, I had been busy getting ready for the day's events. We had planned to visit the Acropolis museum and then stroll the premises. Then I began noticing everyone taking their time... just chillin... not making an effort to get ready. By three, I had given up hope of making it to the museum, so I went ahead and did my own thing... I sat down and played games on my phone... you know, to keep calm and not scream at everyone my discontent for their fucking lackadaisical attitude.
Then the girls had the idea to go out for gyros. Dad decided he didn't want to go, so I stayed behind to keep him company. I told the girls what I wanted, and they left around 4:15.
Everything was fine.
They returned at about 5, and we all sat down to eat.
I bit into my gyro... and bit again... potato. I bit again. More potato. I bit again. Lots of potatoes and a tomato.
I opened the gyro and looked inside. What was supposed to be protein was just pure fucking potatoes.
And I angrily commented about what kind of fucking asshole dipshit would prepare a POTATO gyro. A MOTHERFUCKING POTATO GYRO! POTATO!
(I actually said "Who the fuck would prepare a potato gyro!?" none of this bold, all caps "POTATO!" business I just did due to the rage I felt just remembering the ordeal [I fucking hate potatoes to begin with, so this only made my blood boil worse])
So I stopped eating and set it aside.
This made my sister tell me I was overreacting and that I just needed to shut the fuck up-- that it wasn't their fault.
"I KNOW it isn't your fault. I KNOW it was the idiot fucking chef. I'm not angry at ANY of you. I'm just angry someone could be that fucking stupid... and when I get angry, I lose my appetite. So I'm angry a fucking idiot made me angry to the point where I lose my appetite, when I was hungry before sitting down for lunch."
And then we have Clemson trying to "solve" the problem by suggesting things I could do, like trading gyros etc. Completely ignoring my statement about me losing my appetite when I get angry.
Then my sister says "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING EAT ALREADY?!"
And this pisses me off. It. Makes. Me. Tick.
BOOM.

***
Last night my brother was going to the airport to drop off the van we had rented for the weekend (we went on some fun road trips to Delfi, Sumio, and ending it all with Meteora, which was absolutely gorgeous and had me in a wonderful, blissful, calm mood), and asked me to join him since he used my credit card to pay for the van.
From there, Clemson added herself, because she thought Bro was going to travel alone (he was going to do the 50 minute treck back to the house on metro/foot). Then Pacemaker added herself to the trip because she wanted to get out of the house.
Sister had added herself, since she didn't want to be alone in the house.
My brother was surprised by the fact that we all wanted to make the mediocre, boring airport trip with him, and he commented that we didn't HAVE to go on this boring trip.
My sister went crazy on him and flipped. She screamed, cried, and locked herself in her room. All because she misunderstood my brother's comment.
"You only told ME I COULDN'T GO!"
That sort of shit.
Clemson, Bro, Pacemaker, Mom, and I tried calming her down and begged her to join us on this stupid trip... but she was her typical melodramatic self-- refusing to acknowledge us... pouting while her earbuds were in, as she stared at some Sons of Anarchy episode on her iPad.
This soured ALL of our day.
***

Me: Hey, *Sister*, why didn't you come outside without us last night?!
Sister: Because you guys were fucking assholes to me!
BOOM!
Me: WE were fucking assholes?!
::I point at everyone at the table-- Mom, Clemson, Pacemaker, me::
Me: WE WERE FUCKING ASSHOLES?! FUCK. YOU! We BEGGED you to join us. EACH ONE OF US. YOU WERE THE FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'VE BEEN THE ONLY FUCKING ASSHOLE HERE FROM THE MOMENT YOU GOT HERE!

My mom gets angry, tells ME to shut up. Pacemaker leaves the room. Clemson keeps eating at the table.
I sit between Clemson and Sister... feeling my chest heave heavier with each breath I take... losing my ability to keep my chin from quivering, and my eyes from watering.
I can feel my sister sit next to me, feeling victorious. Feeling validated. Feeling CORRECT. Feeling like the winner.
Only thing running through my mind is that once again, I'm forced to shut my mouth, when in my fucking heart, I KNOW I'm right... I KNOW SHE has been the fucking asshole. Angry because I once again have to remain quiet about MY feelings and MY thoughts. MY feelings and thoughts are useless... to be kept silent, because they stir the status quo... because I step up to the little bitch who has ALWAYS thought she runs the show.
I fucking lose it.
Incredibly hot tears streak down both my eyes and I turn to her. I look her in the face, and in a whisper, I very angrily growl (as though I were possessed, which one could argue I was) "YOU WANT ME TO BE AN ASSHOLE? BECAUSE I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT A FUCKING ASSHOLE I CAN BE! I CAN BE THE WORST FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN. I WILL RUIN YOUR FUCKING LIFE. I'M FUCKING SICK OF YOU RUINING MY TIME. I'M SICK OF YOU DISRESPECTING ME IN FRONT OF OTHERS LIKE THIS. I HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT NICE AND CALM WITH YOU. HAVING EVERYONE LICK YOUR FUCKING ASS YESTERDAY TRYING TO GET YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE. THAT'S ME BEING AN ASSHOLE?!"
I angrily stand up, staring down at my sister, clenching my fists.
Mom: ANOMALIE! NO YOU WON'T! SHUT UP! SIT DOWN! GET AWAY!
Mom seriously spoke English.
Me: I AM CALM. I AM TRYING TO SOLVE A PROBLEM. I AM NOT SCREAMING... IT IS TAKING EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO SCREAM IN HER FACE LIKE SHE SCREAMS IN MINE. I am talking it out. I am letting her know it bothers me. I am letting her know I am fed up. HOLDING IT IN, like you want me to do, is what caused this scene in the first place. You're telling me she can disrespect and pout and throw tantrums... making us all feel bad.. but the moment SHE feels hurt and insulted I need to shut the fuck up? NO.
Mom: SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP!
Me: SHE JUST KNOWS WHEN TO DO IT. WHEN TO PISS ME OFF. WHEN TO SAY SHIT. WHEN THERE'S OTHER PEOPLE PRESENT, SO SHE GETS AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE SHE KNOWS I CAN'T DO SHIT IN FRONT OF OTHERS. KNOWS IF THEY WEREN'T HERE, I'D RIP HER FUCKING HEAD OFF.

Tears are streaming down my face, even my nose is running. I am breathing heavier than I do when I run sprints.

Clemson was no longer in the room.
Mom starts giving us some irrelevant speech about having to love our family etc etc, but I am too angry to give a shit. She does this all the time-- missing the point of an argument.
I continue making my argument of "Why can SHE insult us and act a fool, but I can't tell her to shut the fuck up when she's being an asshole," with the reasoning being "because she's your baby sister."
Somehow Sister leaves the room, and I stand at the corner, by the washing machine that is still running, and proceed to calm my breathing-- all to no avail. My body, for the first time I can recall, begins to shake uncontrollably-- my core, my arms, and my legs. I have to stand there and concentrate on staying steady so that I won't collapse.

I have never reached that level of rage, I have never been so pissed I actually shake... "trembling with rage" used to just be a figure of speech.

What happens next? I'm left to be alone in the kitchen, being held up by the washing machine, trembling uncontrollably, while the rest of the house--naturally-- goes and calms down the melodramatic queen that is my baby sister.
She's a sea of tears and sobs on her bed... I'm a silent, shaking beast alone in a corner of the house.

I was a monster. Of course. Is there any other way?
I mean, big ol' mean me... growling, sniveling at this baby sister, baby sister I can easily hurt with just the bump of my hip. Telling her mean shit no one really ever tells anyone... even enemies-- the motherfucking truth.
I am a monster because I spoke the truth... because I refused to "shut up" and allow someone to insult me one too many times.

I TRY to be nice and calm and kind... I FIGHT the impulse to slap and punch and kick the fucking shit out of those who insult me... and I do a motherfucking awesome job at it, considering HOW MANY TIMES and HOW MANY PEOPLE insult me.
They see me sit quietly when they bulldoze over me with their insults/mistreatment. They gain this false sense of security, thinking I'm all talk... a cowardly lion... but the moment I finally reach my boiling point, "PUT HER DOWN! SHE'S DANGEROUS!"
No fucking shit. No motherfucking shit.

People don't give me enough credit when it comes to how well I manage to keep myself calm and collected rather than give in to my natural instinct of just wrecking shit--physically and verbally. They feel this need to constantly poke at me, completely skeptical of my warnings and please to not enrage me... but they just keep pressing to see if this supposed monster inside really does lash out, if it really exists... just push, push, push, stomp, stomp, stomp, insult, insult, insult... and when I finally do show them the horrible side (AT THEIR INSISTENCE), I'm shunned and reprimanded.

I'm calm now. It took me about four hours to chill out... about two hours to actually stop trembling. About an hour to actually stop giving a shit about having to calm MYSELF down, alone in a room next to a rowdy, old washing machine... everyone scared of me, thinking I'm such a horrible human (which I am).

Everyone's out drinking at the bar now. I'm home, watching some Italian crime drama with my parents, typing this up.

Life's motherfucking great.

FUCK YOU DRUNK PIECE OF SHIT!

So. FUCKING. ANGRY.

I HATE MOTHERFUCKING DRUNKS.

Next motherfucking drunk I deal with, I swear to fucking god will get punched so MOTHERFUCKING HARD ACROSS HIS VERY FUCKING STUPID IDIOTIC SLOBBERING PATHETIC IRRESPONSIBLE FACE I will make that motherfucker forget his motherfucking BIRTHDAY!

I fucking HATE drunks.
HATE.

No, really, get me some purple capris already

I've been a strange combination of an angry AND sad mess these last few weeks.
If I'm not crying in the fucking dark like some unstable creepy idiot, I'm taking deep breaths and counting to a billion in hopes of not breaking shit all over the place.
I'm in that scary angry stage where I feel I can crush shit with my bare hands... all fucking Hulk 'n shit.
I'm not even taking any meds or PMSing or ANYTHING I can blame... I'm just really fucking frustrated and fed up with people's behavior. People are REALLY fucking pissing me off... BADLY.
I need Vicodin or some shit... a fucking dart to the neck like some goddamn rhino.

Since I'm so anti drugs (mainly because I have a WILDLY addictive personality and I know once I pick something up, I'll beat it to death [figuratively speaking]--- which in the case of drugs would undeniably result in MY death... which I guess I wouldn't mind, but I sense it would be a painful crazy fucking death, so yeah, no, let's avoid that shit, yeah?) and I'm cheap as fuck... I don't pay for counseling OR drugs, so I resort to easy shit... like drawing... and long baths where I just sit in the fucking tub without thinking a damn fucking thing beyond "Goddamn.... I HATE this fucking tub!"
And I'll listen to HOURS of classical music.

... now that I think about it, this sounds like shit serial killers enjoy. Umm... uh... hmmm.
Sad.

I haven't even grocery shopped in weeks. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE GROCERY SHOPPING?
Ugh.
Stress sucks dick.

I want to be normal.
And not cry all the fucking time like some weak pussy.
God.

Well, this was of no help.
I'm sorry guys... I'll be better in a few... hours... after I eat and lay like a corpse on my bed... listening to Bach and Strauss and Chopin and all that shit that makes me calm, like a peaceful bunny.

Injurious delusion

"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter Kerr
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." - John Bright
"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others." - Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." - Paul Keating
"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?" - Mark Twain
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go."- Oscar Wilde

(and two insults that have nothing to do with my rage, but made me laugh out loud:
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second ....if there is one." - Winston Churchill, in response.)

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily." - Charles, Count Talleyrand
And that one, is that what I was SUPPOSED to do? You know, so I wouldn't be considered such a cunt? How DARE I stand there and act like "just a friend" when I have a vagina and everyone else has a dick. Clearly I was there to find some dick... because that's the only reason girls hang out with guys... not because they enjoy the conversation and shallow shit like that... we just wanna FUCK!

This issue has been giving me side-aches from containing my rage... my desire to just spew ALL of my hate and putting the TRUTH out there...
But fuck it. I'm done. Go ahead and continue LYING to everyone and interpreting shit like you always do: completely, utterly wrong, you fucking IMBECILE.
Keep acting like the motherfucking victim.
Hope you can live with yourself knowing what a motherfucking MANIPULATIVE piece of SHIT you truly are... you lying sack of shit.

Me: Hey, she likes you. You should give her a shot.
You: NOPE!
Me: Why? She's a good girl. She's smart, she's working really hard and succeeding at dropping weight, and she's learning about sports to have more stuff in common with you.
You: NOPE! SHE LIKES HARRY POTTER!

Yes... THAT was excusable for you in your fucking pea brain. "She likes Harry Potter" was a relevant reason to dismiss someone, yet here I tell you REPEATEDLY I don't like you, nor will I EVER, FROM THE GET-GO... and it makes me a hypocritical crazy bitch. I tell you I only like ONE person, and I don't pass around the circle of friends like some fucking joint from which everyone takes a toke... yet I'M the cunt. Right.

I end by quoting my best friend: When you objectify and act injurious toward someone, you become the most unattractive monster in the universe.

Oh, and before I forget, the reason I brought up my monetary situation last post was because of this: for ages, women were bought and sold like goddamn cattle... some STILL are treated this way. In my hometown, women HAD to get married in order to leave the town, come to the US, or to have a decent living. The only catch would be that often, they suffered the fate of a fucking servant. Machismo at it's fucking best.
My mother married my dad NOT loving him... because she gave up on all her hopes and aspirations... because her dad forced her to... because she was a woman.
Both she and my dad have told my sister and me that WE don't have to suffer the same fate, they worked so hard just so we wouldn't have to. Mom wants us to know what love feels like... not... getting with someone out of sheer convenience, and dad doesn't want us to suffer mistreatment from some douchebag who thinks he's above us for the simple fact that he has a dick.
Too many girls out there marry out of convenience... they want to be taken care of for the rest of their lives. When the need for that "convenience" is removed, they're free to look for LOVE... not "like" or "eh, I guess, whatever," "Eh, he's aight."
I am free to find a guy I genuinely feel for... regardless of how much or how little he makes. Money becomes a non-issue.
I did not mention this to "gloat." ANYONE who knows me knows I don't do this. PLEASE tell me of a time where I bragged about labels or brand names. Please. Show me ONE instance. (I WEAR RIPPED SHOES, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! WHAT THE FUCK?!)
I'm sorry I drive nice cars... but in case you haven't noticed, I damn near park a block away just so you won't see that shit... and I only "show it off" when others ASK to see it... it's not like I park in people's fucking driveways and honk as a way to announce my arrival.

SO FUCKED of you to judge me. Am I supposed to live in misery my whole life? What the fuck?

People are fucking retarded part 57649274

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
People are fucking inconsiderate RETARDS! I don't even want to use that word... it's an insult for those poor souls with Down Syndrome... to be compared to "normal" humans who CHOOSE to have complete disregard for their peers. I haven't met a single person with Down Syndrome who was an asshole... "regular" people on the other hand...

Anyway,
Not only was I hit by a shopping cart as I picked up some hairspray at Walmart today (Check it: I was STANDING, reaching for the bottle of hairspray, I was nearly ON the fucking display, TOTALLY as out of the way as I'm humanly-fucking-possible, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart moving towards me. I think nothing of it, because it was going slow... and I'M NOT INVISIBLE, the idiot driving the cart HAD TO SEE ME-- I THOUGHT. But no, instead, I feel the cart dig into me, my pelvic area... slowly... and pressure beings to be applied... like what you'd do when you feel your cart being obstructed by... fuck, I don't know... a pillow? "Maybe if I push hard enough it'll magically disappear!" What the fuck do I know, I've never been fucking retarded enough NOT to look at what's obstructing my cart's MOVEMENT. ANYWAY, I look at the DUMB MOTHERFUCKING CUNT driving the cart [GUESS her what she was... just GUESS! Stereotypes exist FOR A MOTHERFUCKING REASON! Can't even drive a motherfucking SHOPPING CART!], I just STARE at her face, not saying a word... wondering WHEN THE FUCK she'll finally look up and see what she's HITTING. Finally, the bitch looks up. I make eye-contact. I give her my best "Why, hello, there, IMBECILE!" look. And she apologizes "Oh my God! I'm sorry!" I don't say a word. I just look at her cart, that is STILL ON MY PELVIS, then at her fucking STUPID face, I look at her cart again, then at her STUPID FACE. I raise my eyebrow, not saying a word, holding my fucking bottle of hairspray, and just STARE. I. Want. To. Make. Her. Feel. RETARDED. Think about what exactly she did... YOU HIT A PERSON WITH YOUR CART AND CONTINUED GOING WITHOUT LOOKING AT WHAT YOU WERE DOING... IN THE HAIRSPRAY AISLE OF WALMART, not your fucking house, where you expect NO ONE TO BE THERE. I stare. I don't budge. I just stare. And follow her with my eyes until she gets out of the aisle. You have NO IDEA how hard it was for me NOT to grab her fucking stupid cart and flip it over on her fucking stupid feet. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDIOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!) but also a FUCKING CUNT finally drove me to lose my shit in kickboxing and FINALLY physically injure the fucking shit out of someone at the gym-- MY PLACE OF REFUGE!

Horrible fucking day.
Fuck you, January 31st. Fuck you.

Little Guy Friends

I'm not surprised to know when a new rumor about me finally gets to me.

I AM, however, always surprised when I find out the culprits behind the stories.

It is always a family member. Always.

For the last six months or so, I've noticed my dad getting more distant from me.

I had heard how he became wildly upset when D left, because his idiot friends at work wormed the idea the D only left so she could let loose her inner slut.

I thought maybe Dad was holding some resentment towards me because maybe he thought I was keeping D's secret.

Finally, I was let in on the reason behind Dad's apprehension.

After a few months of not stepping foot at Mom and Dad's place, I went ahead and hung out with my folks and their coworkers for a few hours.

Everything was fine, and we were all laughing and telling stories, then my folks had to leave the building to fix an issue at a separate building.

I was left alone with the cashier and his dad-- who is also my first cousin.

The conversation was somewhat awkward, since this cousin is almost 20 years my senior. He was asking me questions, and I was answering.

Then he ruins everything with the stupidest question anyone can ask me:

So, what does the good ol' boyfriend have to say?

I looked up from my phone and made eye-contact with my cousin.

Me: I don't have one.

Cousin: Oh, so you just have "little guy friends."

Me: Friends.

The conversation was in spanish, so "little guy friends" is more like saying... fuck buddies. I knew he meant this because of the look on his face when he said it.

I felt as if I had been shanked in the gut by an icicle.

YOU!!!!

Everything made sense.

I KNEW I should have blocked him from my Facebook.

It's one thing for others to think I'm an easy whore-- I don't give a fucking shit what they think about me-- but when that shit gets drilled into my dad's head, and he BELIEVES it, it really fucking upsets me. I DO care about that... about what my progenitor thinks.

Finding the person(s) responsible for poisoning my dad against me infuriates me, not only because it makes me want to beat their fucking smug face, but because I CAN'T beat their stupid ass. 

That look of triumph they throw at me... as if they're fucking all-knowing... that "HA! I knew you weren't a good girl! ALL girls are whores!" look... it kills me. It makes my chest burn with hate.

The way my cousin looked at me, I could tell all he was thinking was that he somehow knew my "secret."

This girl is unmarried because she's too busy fucking all those guy "friends" of hers! You don't fool me, you sneaky hoe!

It makes me sick.

You're making my dad upset thinking he has whores for daughters all because you're fucking bored and want to gossip like some fucking women at the nail salon! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Only ONE guy in this entire STATE knows what my fucking lips even feel like... ONE GUY. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE with your fucking judgmental comments and fucking fables.

I don't understand why they'd take this BULLSHIT to the next level and try and convince my father that I am NOT the sweet innocent girl he thinks I am. WHAT concrete evidence do they have to hurt me like that? Some fucking photos on FACEBOOK, where the most I'm doing is HUGGING someone? Where the fuck are we living, again? Iran? Get. THE FUCK. Out of here!

But... I have to take a deep breath and calm down. There is no way I can control what other think of me, or what they WANT to believe.

I know what's up. I know that I am... damn near a fucking saint, and I don't care to "prove" anything to anyone.

Like I've said before:

Bring me ONE guy who can say he has ever touched me. Just ONE, and I'll let you talk all the shit you want.

Good luck.

Deep breaths, baby

1. What makes you angry?
2. How do you react?
3. How do cool down?

1. Homie... so many things piss me off. It's multifactorial.
Have I eaten? WHAT have I eaten? What have I NOT eaten?
What time of the month is it? (Yeah, it's irritating when guys automatically assume you're pissed off because you're PMSing... but I definitely notice I tend to have wild mood swings around certain times of the month. And for that I apologize profusely, but hey, it's motherfucking biology. Bite me)
How many hours of sleep have I had?
How many people have I spoken to?
How many hours have I driven today?
Is it too hot outside?
Have I been in a crowded area? For how long?
But there does seem to be a couple of stand outs:
a) Groups of people-- whether they're smart or dumb, funny or boring... if I have to be in a "group" of more than 10 people, for over two hours, I. Will. Get. Angry.
b) Waking me up. I tend to feel ok when I sleep an ODD number of hours. Wake me up at hours 6, 8, 10, 12, I'll bite your fucking head off. Wake me up at hours  3, 5, 7, 9, I'm fresh as a cucumber. I don't know what that's all about... but hey, at least I know my body, right?
c) Hunger. When I don't eat, I get angry, like any normal person. HOWEVER, I also get VERY angry when people try to FORCE me to eat. I can't explain it... but when I tells you "No thanks, I'm good" and you insist on me eating, I will be FURIOUS and ready to spontaneously combust. No means NO.
d) Driving. I just fucking hate this task... and I get pissed the moment I see someone breaking a rule. It irks me and I get a mean case of road rage.
e) Incessant chatter. SILENCE IS GOLDEN. Shut the fuck up and let people think. It'll be ok, I promise. There is NO need to continuously hear sound. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. When someone speaks for more than five minutes, non-stop, trust that I am using all of my self-control not to stuff my sock in his/her mouth.

2. How do I react? Well, that too has multiple answers. For the most part, I bottle the rage... then finally explode after a long time. My "explosions" are not pretty, luckily, I've only done this three times... I'm like 20th-century Mt. Vesuvius. Since I bottle my anger, I just rant on here... nearly suffer a stroke... then I get over it.

3. I get over the rage by... trying to make myself laugh.
It's the best way... I have to giggle.
I take deep breaths, then think of how stupid the situation might be to a stranger... or how stupid I must have looked... and I get over it.
If that doesn't work, I Tweet like Kanye... then get over it.

I'm seriously trying very, VERY hard to be a more pleasant person.
I'm not going to let AngrAmelie win.

ROAR!

Ahh, yes! Because August couldn't be cool with me and wanted to punish me for whining, The Universe decided to give me a bump on my eyelid.

MY VIRGIN EYELID!

I've never had anything wrong with my eyelid... just... you know... when I cry and they swell and that shit... but any sort of bump? NEVER!

Yeah, I know I'm overreacting, but I'm just bummed out 'cause my eyes are the only kinda-ok thing about me. Now even that is fucked up. Nice going, Summer... you're the best!

And while I don't really give a shit about this, I've been agitated since around 7PM, when I started arguing with a cousin over the whole USA-Mexico FRIENDLY.

I'm fine with differing opinions... but when the opinion is STUPID and lacking logic... the sole "logic" being "I want to piss you off by saying some of the most misinformed, bandwagoning bullshit," I go fucking batshit. I know I reach this level once I drop the word "retard" so often, I run out of spit.

Oh, oh, oh! And a couple of hours before that, I got in a verbal altercation with this fucking idiotic cholo, driving one of those shoddy landscaping trucks. Imbecile nearly crashed into me because he didn't do a four-way stop correctly... and I caught him right before he hit me... so our cars did this elegant, slow-motion dance in the middle of the intersection, where we pounded on our chests, lowered our windows and screamed:

IT WAS MY FUCKING TURN!!! MY TURN!!!!!!

I feel I won it, because while he spiced up his sentence with "FUCKING DUMB BITCH! IT WAS MY TURN! DUMB BITCH" I was pissed off enough, and cogent enough, to scream "GO BACK TO FUCKING PRISON, BIIIIIIITCH!"

Really, Holmes? You're gonna do me like that? you are gonna call me "DUMB BITCH"????

HAHAHAHAHA! What you got against girls, dawg? Too much BITCH duty in prison? It's OK, Montoya Santana, you'll get over it.

I think that's what kept me from getting all lame and sentimental, and instead violent and all... Herculean.

It also didn't help that I was returning home from my longest day at the gym. I am a massively aggressive monster Wednesday afternoons... when I speed home for my delicious, nourishing post-workout meal... which is my absolute favorite meal of the week. So pardon me as I chop your fucking head off for getting in the way of my nutrient-depleted body and the fan-fucking-tastic carbs awaiting me at home.

As we parted ways from our car-tango, he calmed the fuck down... not I. When this girl wants to be menacing, she WILL be menacing... you can blame pent up aggression for that... and these too

See that elbow?
I would fucking LOVE to smash it across your goatee-rockin' face, lil' homie!
This chick is NOT too happy with dudes right now, G.

I screamed a nice "Fuck you!" and bucked. Yeah, I bucked.

I got home and cracked the fuck up.

Vato couldda shot and killed me... AHAHAHAHA! Oh, a girl can dream.

I tell ya, reckless. I just no longer give a fuck.

And to end on a less sour, violent note, Mooney was kind enough to screencap the conversation RidiculouslyGoodLookingBoy had in regards to some bitch questioning his sexuality:

If only I were that articulate... and participated in more civilized activities, like rational conversations...

Me no think. Me SMASH!

God, I'm such a brute.

Lazy wetwhatwho?!

It's baaaaack!
My terrible, terrible lifetime partner is BACK.

YOU SON OF A BIIIIIIIITCH!
and yes... that's a Germany-inspired mani.
I'm torn between making a portugal-inspired one next... or sticking to Spain. It hurts my heart.

Yeah.
I had been doing an awesome job at controlling it, especially since I've gotten the hang of when I break out.
What makes me break out?
Being extremely nervous...
Or being extremely flustered/angry.
Any of these two things happen, and that's when the stupid coldsore from HELL decides to accompany me for a few days/weeks.
What triggered this outbreak?
A moment of pure IRE, which I encountered Saturday night.

I know I come off as quite the grouchy, mean bitch on here... but I swear to god I'm patient as fuck. I'm quiet, and extremely patient in person. I'm a timid mouse.
I will sit there, usually with a shy smile on my face, and listen to bullshit for fucking HOURS. People can toss insults at me for hours... they can even get physically offensive with me a couple of times, and I will STILL quietly put up with it... because I know the moment I go off, I will MAIM a motherfucker.
The amount of self-restraint I practice is... pretty unheard of, hence my usual rants on here-- it's the only time I allow myself to blow-up.
The rage I hold within is years in the making-- decades of much physical/psychological/emotional/verbal abuse.
I'm a fucking volcano... and I continuously need to tell myself to calm the fuck down.
I need:
1. Gym Time... with lots and lots of weight-training and kickboxing in order to relieve MUCH of the stress/angst/hatred I harbor.
2. Church time. I'm a big girl-- a science-oriented, science-educated girl-- while I identify Catholic, I have my own beliefs... and hearing people patronize me for it REEEEEALLY pisses me the fuck off. To automatically assume I'm a dumb shit for going to church will automatically get you on my shit-list, my will-beat-the-shit-out-of-you shit-list. Church time is my meditation time... my cool down time... my counselor time. It soothes me, so get the fuck off my back and quit treating me like a retard for needing a place to hear calming words that will keep me from smothering you to death. K? Cool.
Normally, I have plenty of these two things in my life... so I'm pretty good in person... and it's thanks to this that last night I didn't seriously injure anyone, and only suffered the outbreak of a stupid coldsore.

What happened?
Game Night with a racist idiot white girl happened.
Game Night with Musketeer's wife happened.
All was running quite well... it was like the reunion of the three musketeers... a very pleasant one. It was like we had traveled back to 2005... only I was the sole member who didn't bring back a soulmate... probably because I'm soul-less, but I digress.
There were plenty of giggles... and sarcastic remarks... and smiles... inside jokes... it was a pretty chill time.
Then Apples to Apples happened.
Fucking game always causes drama...
The adjective we had to try to win was... I think something along the lines of "lazy"... or "revolutionary," my ire makes my memory fail here.
Kelley's dude was the one in charge of choosing the winner. We usually plead our case to the "chooser," so that's exactly what happened.
One of the cards was "Cesar Chavez."
K'sMan: Cesar Chavez?
Musketeer: Man was a fucking HERO!
Musketeer'swife: That lazy wetback just wanted an excuse NOT to work.
....
Now... "wetback" is not a word that normally enrages me. I don't get angry when people are being "sarcastic" either... but this bitch said it seriously... like in the tone one uses when saying Hitler was a horrible man.
I was so shocked, I was at a loss for words... any sort of sound, really. My brain was nearly short-circuiting at the thought that someone would say something so racially charged... so... hateful... and fucking historically inaccurate.
Everyone else in the room gasped.
Musketeer'swife: What?
Kelley: You know... wetback's a terribly derogatory term, right?
Musketeer'swife: Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I'm from New Mexico! That's what they taught me! In New Mexico "wetback" is not a derogatory term!
And they also told you Cesar Chavez was LAZY?!
By now I could feel my face burning. My hair was standing on end... I felt like I could start shooting lightning bolts. I could have jumped at her throat and ripped her face apart... no bath salts needed.
I was also holding back tears... because I was finding myself pretty fucking hurt. I HAVE been called a wetback, numerous times... as has my father... and while I don't care when people throw it around "playfully"... when someone "means" it, I cry. I just think of the poor, terrified, desperate immigrants who cross the river... many drowning... the ordeal of it all... just to have a better life. I think of the horrible conditions many of these immigrants live under, and I seriously cry.
To hear someone mock it so hatefully gives me a knot in my throat.

So yeah, I was furious, I was sad, I was offended, I was confused... but I was holding it all in.
The girl kept apologizing, which only aggravates a situation because they're only digging a deeper hole, but I didn't want to make a scene... so I clenched my jaw (and fists) and told her to just let it go.
The night continued... but the awkwardness never left.

I went home, cried a little, then went to bed.
I woke up at six in the morning, and in the middle of my shower, I felt a hot spot on my lip.
Upon closer inspection, I saw my annoying companion.

Ah! Ignorance-- such a lovely piece of shit to deal with... it even gives me coldsores now! Hooray!
Ok, enough... I have to cry the remaining hate now. I'll be fine tomorrow.

Right. Ok. Yeah.

Money in Mexico: It gets you anything.

Seriously... if you're the offspring of a wealthy Mexican, you can get whatever the fuck you want... as shameless as the fucking request may be.

And the winner is...
The JOKE in the middle!

I see my godson's face and I know EXACTLY what he's thinking:
What a fucking joke!

Turns out, Golden Boy--BlueUndies-- is the son of a rich man.
Y'all can imagine what went down.
Good job, Mexico! Doing what you do best!
Fucking idiots.

OK, I'm done talking about this subject. Never again. It's done. My godson's a G, and that other dude is a spoiled rich boy who will never accomplish anything on his own.
Way to go, dude! Keep it up!

Check, one, two.

Know what works fucking miracles when it comes to clearing my mind?
Cleaning.
Cleaning gets the job done SO wonderfully, that I start behaving like I just received a lobotomy.
My communication skills are subpar, at best, on my good days... but once I get in my Mexican-cleaning-lady mode, I don't even bother to formulate THOUGHTS.

Alls I know is:
My fingertips hurt like a motherfucker.
I have five papercuts that came out of nowhere...

Patrick's face makes the pain go away.

But I know they're there once I get windex in those shits... or Sriracha sauce-- I got some of that shit in there earlier today as I snacked on some corn on the cob (yeah, so I do that shit. Don't judge me. It's good as fuck).

Suuuure do!

I know I have to call it a day once my hands start to bleed... which they finally did... so I thought it was best if I got online... ? Yeah, I have a great sense of logic.
Lobotomy, remember?

My poor sister was unfortunate enough to start texting me as I was in the middle of my cleaning spree, and this is how I greeted her:

I know, I have a way with words.
Poor kid was crying in her room and this is how I console her.
It's the Windex, I swear!
... and maybe the fact that earlier today I had to body check a fucking stupid cunt who wouldn't move out of "my side" of the sidewalk as I was walking out of the gym, towards my car.
She was one of those entitled, self-important, pompous cunts at the gym who walk in a herd of fellow Ed-Hardy-rocking bitches that won't open up space on the sidewalk. Bitches expect everyone to step foot on the street and walk around them like we're below them or some shit.
Umm... NO, I'm sorry, we're all equals here.
I was in no mood to move for her royal highness, so I shoulder-checked THE FUCK out of her.
I played post in my high school basketball team, I had two jobs: 
1. Take the shot at the top of the key. 
and 
2. Take the charge. 
And let me tell you, my fucking favorite was taking the charge... even if multiple times I had to get mowed down by a fucking rhino of a girl.
If you are a chick between the ages of 13-35, below 280 pounds, and shorter than 5'8"... you're outta your damn mind if you think I'm going to bitch out to your inconsiderate ass (I make exceptions if they're trying to round up their evil spawn. I move for them like I move for fire trucks. Fuck having to deal with that shit. Wrangle away, ladies).

I made eye-contact with the little princess,
Umm... hello? I've been walking on the right side of the sidewalk for the last minute... you gonna give me some room or what?
She rolled her eyes at me,
OH. HELL. NO.
And she proceeded to talk to her equally cunt-y cronies... actually picking up her pace, coming directly AT me.
Alllllll right then! Seems you enjoy this, Princess. I will too. This one goes out to Shh-CAAAAAA-Go!
I tensed up... and why lie, I did it quite jovially... I was actually excited at the prospect of knocking this bitch over (I blame the low-carb thing I have going on right now... when in doubt, always blame the low-carb).
I made sure my left shoulder was sturdy, along with the rest of my left side, and the moment we collided, I dug my shoulder into her left clavicle... flaring my left elbow to connect with her stomach.
Muay Thai's my shit... AND I just got a deadlift PR today... you thought you were gonna beat me, stripper? HA!
The idiot yelped.
The dude in her group looked at me, and I gave him my nonchalant "What? You saw that. Your cunt wouldn't move out of the way. Wanna come at me as well? I got you" look... along with my infamous Jordan Shrug.
I can be like a cinderblock fence when I wanna be, jackass.

Like I'd fucking apologize to that idiot...

Well, look at that! Seems a little bit of rage makes me regain some sort of cognizance.

AnoMALIE: body-checking extraordinaire. 

Five digits

The other day I was watching a guilty pleasure of mine:
Tough Love.
That one show where a... dating coach (?) takes a few single girls with severe dating issues and tries setting them up.
Sister and I joke that we'd give that guy the roughest time out of all the chicks. I say it jokingly, but D's pretty serious about wanting to be on the show.

I don't care to be on the show because I know what my issues are (I've been holding a certain dude--who is unaware of this position he holds-- on a pedestal and I use that as a crutch to avoid all other dudes who show some sort of interest in me. Plain and simple)... and I don't want to be in a relationship... really, I don't. I freak out at the thought of having a dude... and that's no joke. Maybe in a few years I'll be cool with the though of sharing my life with someone. Right now? No thanks.

ANYWAY, I'm watching this show, right?
Steve (the coach dude) mentions how girls should avoid talking about their shortcomings, because it's a turn-off for dudes.


I'm TERRIBLE when it comes to that subject... both of them.
The "turning-on" I'm terrible at because I get awkward the moment a dude shows any indication of attraction. I clam the fuck up... and metaphorically stiff-arm them away from me.
My mental block goes "Errrrr! Back up, homie! This tollbooth is closed."

And the shortcomings... well, I'll be the first to bring up my shortcomings.
Just yesterday, I had this conversation with one of my exes:

Ex: So how's D holding up?
Mom: She's ok... for the most part. She has moments of weakness where she'll call or text, and inform us she wants to throw in the towel. She'll cry once in a while.
Ex: That's funny. I always pictured D as being the strong one.
Me: Huh?
Ex: I mean, both of you are great girls, and your parents raised you right. I just mean D looks like the girl who'd put up a fight. She's more... independent. She'll fight for what she wants. Just... tough.

I stare at him with my What the fuck is wrong with you, ass? face

Ex: You seem more... gentle. Like you'd... well... you're just more innocent and docile. Sweet and kind.
(Normally, a girl would take this as a compliment... not I. No... not AnoMALIE)
Me: Ha. Haha. Nah. I have a heart of stone.
Mom: Oh no. No no. D's a little match. Totally irascible. She'll ignite at the slightest disturbance... but it fades, REAL QUICK. Anomalie, on the other hand... be careful with this girl. She. Is. Violent. The moment her bloodlines cross, she will explode. She'll bottle her rage...
Me: And appear docile...
Mom: But the moment someone finally does something to push her over the edge, she will light your ass up... and make you pay for it for YEARS. AnoMALIE holds her own... and knows how to make someone hurt.
Me: I'm a sadist.
Ex: ... oh... really?! How come... you never showed me that?
Me: Because you never pissed me off. Only a numbered few have seen me at my worst.
Mom: But... she is a good girl... just don't make her angry.
Me: ... you won't like me when I'm angry.

...
Any takers?
Eh? Ehhhh??

Someone feed me a cupcake, for fuck's sake.

Keychains

All right... originally, I was going to blog something pleasant about Costa Rica, but something just happened that has me fuming and quite fucking offended... to the point where I want to fucking cry out of frustration.

I don't care if this makes me look like a spoiled bitch... or a whiny cunt. Or maybe I just have a fucking point and people will understand what I'm getting at:

I love to donate. I truly do. It's something I do every chance I get. I don't do it because I want ANYTHING in return. I do it because it makes me feel good and because I will ALWAYS try my damn hardest to help someone out. Anyone who doubts that can go get run over by a fucking bus. Eat a dick, you skeptical, critical bastards. The only reason you'd doubt that is because YOU are unable to have those sentiments.
However, it's one thing for me to enjoy donating when I want to, than to have someone FORCE me. That shit DOES NOT fly with me.

Numerous people have this... fucked up attitude when it comes to my family. They feel entitled to my parents' hard-earned money. They try and take and take and TAKE, their excuse being "They're rich! They have more than enough money. They won't miss this. But me, I need this money!"
Umm... hold up, hold up, homie.
That's where I rant.
It's one thing that my family doesn't have to worry about money, and another that we're here to just HAND OUT money like fucking Uncle Moneybags. When it comes to giving, there's one tiny little detail: it has to be of OUR will... not anyone else's.
We help out as much as we can when we see a family in severe need... but we take everything into consideration.
Down on your luck after BOTH of the breadwinners got fired, and you don't have enough money to buy your kids a new pair of shoes? Sure, here's some cash to help you out.
Down on your luck because you spent your paychecks purchasing iPads, xBoxes, digital cameras, the new Jordans, and Seven jeans? FUCK. YOU. Pawn your shit and live within your means, you fucking idiot. 
My parents don't work 12 hours a day for YOU to enjoy their money. Fuck, not one of us owns a fucking iPad!
Arrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!

My latest rant comes thanks to Pocahontas (Teresita) and her husband.
Sure, I am very grateful for the warmth their entire family showed in Costa Rica... but I immediately caught on to a behavior I fucking hated. They were of the "Well, they're rich, they'll pay for everything!" mentality.
And yeah, man, we didn't mind paying for everyone's shit, that was the least we could do as a way to thank them for their extraordinary kindness. We gave away about three grand to the family... but these two ABUSED. They'd go fucking crazy: buy extravagant shit... and a shitload of food! Food that they would DISCARD! Nothing irks me more than when people don't eat what they order.... especially when they order tons of food and only pick at it... then just throw it away.
We're in Costa Rica! Have you not seen the poverty these people live in?! Francisco (guy with whom my folks and I stayed with) gets paid nine bucks an hour and he's the college educated manager at the bank! What the fuck is wrong with you?! EAT THAT SHIT or DON'T ORDER SO MUCH or BRING IT HOME WITH YOU! Don't throw it away, you wasteful piece of fucking shit!
And things in Costa Rica are expensive AS FUCK.
But these two were seriously like "Oh well, they can afford it. God has blessed them."
God. God. God! That's all they would boil it down to.
Yeah, homie, God has blessed us... but the main reason the blessing has stayed is because we've learned to MEASURE OUR SPENDING. We're not the Hiltons, you fucking idiot.
Dad is a sucker for the whole "God has blessed you, brother, and he'll continue to bless you, so spend away!" line.
So here was dad, paying for everything Pocahontas and her husband wanted... mind you, we're their landlords and we've forgiven two-months' worth of their rent.

But I didn't complain. I just rolled my eyes and swore never to hang with them again. I avoid those who take advantage.

ANYWAY.
Their Costa Rican family I do love. And I feel I'll never be able to repay them for everything they did for me. Like I said, we gifted them about three grand so they could fix their tin roof (they live in a house with a tin roof, just so you can sort of grasp the need of this family. Sure, Fran has a pretty fucking sweet DSLR camera, but that had been given to him from a rich bank customer who lives abroad), so they could buy their girls school supplies and clothes, and so they could cover their gas expenses.
I would have given them more, but they asked us NOT to, since we were their guests. I had to settle for giving them all the accessories I had taken with me: my sunglasses, my hats, my costume jewelry, my beauty supplies... shit, even my gum. I wanted to give them EVERYTHING. It's the least they deserved. I would have given them my shoes and clothes if they would have fit in them (no way they would though, since they're pretty tiny people).

What warmed my heart most was that the family very humbly tried reciprocating. That to me is priceless. Their gifts would be made of... simple materials like wood and paper... and they'd buy me fruit like nobody's business (Oh, granadilla! I still fight back tears when I think of your goodness!)... and that was better than giving me buckets of gold and precious stones.
I don't lie when I say "it's the thought that counts." That shit seriously moves me.

Before leaving, the baby girls gave me a handwritten card, which I already shared, and some jewelry made from coconuts. They gave Mom and Dad a beautiful painting of a Costa Rican landscape, made on a large piece of wood, with a very touching dedication written on the back.
That all went above and beyond... they did not have to spend a dime on us, but they so graciously and humbly did so.

Fast forward to Thursday, when one of the girls FB messages me, and informs me she sent some keychains with Pocahontas for us. She described them in detail, and told me they said they'd give it to Dad on Sunday (today) after church.
They came over a few hours ago, and handed us a small, white bag with the keychains.
I don't like opening shit in front of others-- because I find it to be disrespectful-- so I took the baggie to the kitchen and sat it on the kitchen table.
Mom and Dad took Pocahontas and her family to a restaurant (guess who's paying...), I stayed home.
Once alone, I walked to the kitchen and looked in the baggie...
The girl told me she had sent SIX keychains. How many were in the baggie?
Two. One for Mom, one for Dad.

I very loudly screamed "FUCK! YOU!" and felt like my chest was going to explode.
Yes, I'm ranting over four missing five-dollar keychains.
It's the principle of it.
They were meant for US (they were labeled, for fuck's sake!). This girl spent her hard-earned money on a couple of keychains meant for US to remember her by. How the fuck you gonna appropriate yourself of those keychains?
FUCK YOU, man! Fuck you, you selfish fucking prick.
You wanted keychains? Why didn't you buy them?
It makes me sick to my stomach to think of what the hell crossed these idiots' minds.
They're rich, they're not gonna miss these. Plus, my daughter's gonna love these!
Fuck, man. I'm sick of that shit attitude. God damn it.

.....
FUCKKKK THAAAAAAT SHIIIIIIIIIIT!

I'm sorry, guys... sorry... I'm just so fucking angry and upset. People are such fucking.... they're so... let me just ride this out a bit...
:(

I DO MY JOB!

Want to earn my everlasting resentment?
Question my integrity.

I... well, I wouldn't call it "got in trouble," but my attention was called.
Musketeer must now "keep track" of my work... the exact detail of my work.
NO ONE else is going through this. Just me.
Who had that idea?
Guess.

WHY THE FUCK ARE BITCHES SO GODDAMN CATTY?!?

Somehow, the boss is under the assumption that I sit there for NINE FUCKING HOURS doing jackshit.
I DON'T EVEN CHECK MY FUCKING PHONE when I work! I DON'T EVEN FUCKING EAT!!!! (I HAVE taken a grand total of THREE pee breaks in the last TWO WEEKS I've worked... which I'm sure is probably a total of five minutes... my bad) 
How the hell are people suspecting I just sit there and fuck around?!

I was so upset, I nearly cried.

I work hard, and I stick to my task. I ALWAYS have, regardless of what the stupid task may be, regardless of my age, regardless of WHO fucking asks me.
I didn't earn a Biology degree by being a lazy fuck. I DID NOT.
I don't cut corners.
I do my motherfucking job, and I try to make it THE BEST FUCKING JOB ANYONE can make. I'm stubborn like that. I'm a perfectionist like that.

Kelley suggested I let these bitches have it on my last day... and originally, I had said no.
Not the case now.
I have no idea when exactly this stupid job will end... but when it does, I'll have my opening line prepared:
VAYANSE A LA VERGA, VIEJAS PUTAS! PUDRANSE en este ESTUPIDO "trabajo" que tanto pelean! 

Fuck. I always hate it when Mom or D come home and vent their work frustrations... and it appears I do the same fucking thing. Shoot me now.
(I'm just glad I really don't have to deal with this shit behavior, since it's not my permanent job. I feel so much for anyone who has to put up with asshole coworkers. That's just some bullshit right there)

Starts with AN ends in GRY

I'm angry. So angry. So so angry. So So SO angry.
Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry.

People always complain about their job... but they rarely put themselves in the owner's shoes.
Like my godfather said:
The funny thing about firing people is: they ALL think they were THE BEST at their job.

My cousin's a fucking delusional loser... and I'm going to fucking knock that piece of shit out the next time I see him.
Fucking imbecile.

Vets

My patience level is quite high, believe it or not.
I know I rant a lot and whatnot, but that's only here. In person, I have a tendency to wait on people and things for a freakish amount of time. I put up with A TON of shit... ask anyone who knows me (explains why I only resort the internet to complain, complain, complain).

I usually make fun of those who throw hissy fits at restaurants and other places where one must wait.
Even when I have shit-tastic service, I'll wait... and wait... to the point where I'll often get teary-eyed from the pent-up anger, but... I am never one to walk out or speak up/complain. I just shrug and think that motherfucker SUCKS at his job... and probably life as well.

WELL.
Today was Tyson's second follow up for the little paw.
It's still not completely healed. The bloody area has shrunk considerably, but there still is a bloody area. That shit's unacceptable.
I had made the appointment two weeks ago, on his first follow up.

Aside from my patience, I'm also--for the most part-- very punctual.
I showed up to the appointment--as always-- fifteen minutes early.
No one was waiting at the vet's, and no appointments were ahead of me.

Since Tyson's an antisocial monster, we must perform an entire dance to get him into his room.
First, one of us must walk into the office to make sure no other pets or people are in the waiting area.
Second, we have to announce Tyson's ready to walk in.
Third, the room is prepared, and once the room's available, they leave the door open for him and the assistants get on the other side of their desk.
Fourth, we have to make sure no one is in the parking lot. Once the coast is clear, we practically run him into his room and close the door behind us.

So much hassle for a 102 pound pitbull.
But we have to do this because he has almost murdered two other dogs in the waiting room in seperate occasions... and he has almost bitten two assistants in the past.
The only person he likes is the male vet. Fuck girls. Tyson HATES females (hmm... they say pets resemble their owners... and this little fucker is a clear example of that).
Anyway, the animal hospital has been very, very nice and considerate of this antisocial pet of mine (why don't you just muzzle him and walk in there like the rest of us? You may ask. Tyson's smart, and he's far more dextrous than any fucking dog should be. He uses his paws to remove the muzzle, I KID YOU NOT. Also, since his head shape is so bizarre, muzzles don't fit him like they do other breeds) and I've never had a complaint.
But today...
Today was NOT the day to make me angry.
For one, I went to bed hell of late last night since I once again had to be the mother of the house, because Mom and Dad left on a day trip to LA for a funeral. I had to do everything in the house because D was out being an irresponsible brat.
Once I DID conquer sleep, Mom walked into my room and woke me up, angrily asking for D's location.
I gave her incoherent answers... because I honestly had NO IDEA where the hell D was, and I was also in the middle of some goodass REM sleep when she decided to barge into my room like some fucking ICE officer.

In the morning, I was exhausted from killing myself at the gym the day prior, killing myself at the house the remainder of the previous day, not getting much sleep that night, and then bathing tyson who acts as if water is made of nitric acid in the morning... so when I got to the animal hospital, I wanted to get the shit over with ASAP. It was only a check up, after all.
At first, everything was going great. I was told his room would be ready in a few minutes, so I went outside to chat with Mom--who was handling a hyper Tyson-- while we waited for the room to get ready.
After ten minutes, I walked inside.
Once again, they promised me the room would be ready, and this time, they made me sit inside.
Two people walked in with their pets... and I became furious the moment I saw they were immediately ushered into two of the three rooms.
WTF?!
One of them was NEW to the place, so she clearly had no appointment scheduled... and by now, they were cutting into my appointment time.

I waited some more.
They attended TWO MORE people and their pets.
AN HOUR had passed.
By now, my blood was boiling.
I decided to stand up and hang out by the counter... since apparently that's where people get more attention.
They straight up ignored me.
THE NERVE OF THESE BITCHES!
Instead of getting rude and saying something cunt-y, I just walked out.
No appointment for Tyson.

I was angry about it for about three more hours. I couldn't even eat breakfast.

...
Hopefully I don't update this shit in a week's time to talk about the death of poor Tyson.
Curse you, Mexican irascibility! 

Adult fight

4th grade.

Scene A:
After getting cornered in the girl's bathroom, my "friends" Michelle and Jenelle (I swear to God, those were real names. I don't joke when I tell you my life could be turned into a sitcom) start beating the shit out of me... for the second time that school day, the third day in a row.
It's the middle of the school year, and it's been the same story for the last two months.
Jenelle stops with the punches, stands still, ponders something, then finally speaks up.
Jenelle: AnoMALIE... WHY don't you ever HIT BACK, you dumb ass?
I look up, stare her in her eyes, and very sincerely, but quietly say
"Because I don't hit my friends." (even writing that line now, 17 years later, my eyes get watery)
Jenelle: You don't hit your friends.... HAHAHA! You hear that, Michelle? She doesn't hit HER FRIENDS! HAHAHAHAHA! Well, we're NOT ::punches my stomach:: YOUR FRIENDS!
And the two continued kicking my ass until recess was over.

Scene B:
I'm in line in the cafeteria, waiting to have lunch. I notice one of D's friends tugging on my shirt.
DsFriend: D wants to talk to you... she's crying in the bathroom.
DsOtherFriend: Angelica made her cry.
I forgot about being hungry, I forgot about possibly getting in trouble for leaving the cafeteria before being dismissed by the teacher, and I just ran to the bathroom with the two friends to find my sister.
As Sister sobbed and told me her story behind her tears (Angelica teased her about how she cried when it rained and she then made fun of my mom), I felt my blood boil.
After calming my sister down and walking her to her class so she could sit outside and wait for her teacher, I went ahead and looked for Angelica.
It didn't take too long to find her, she was the only blond amongst the little hispanic girls.
I walked up to Angelica, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and very quietly, but sternly warned her
Me: You make my sister cry ONE. MORE. TIME, I'll fucking kick your ass. You hear me? ONE. MORE. TIME.
I went on with my day, got my ass kicked by my "friends" one more time, but I was called over to my sister's class a couple of minutes before the school day was over.
Angelica had been crying all day, her teacher--who was also D's-- wanted to talk to me because she said Angelica had told her I had threatened to kick her ass.
Teacher: Did you really do that, AnoMALIE?
I looked over at Angelica.
Me: The girl crying over there? I don't even know her.
The bell rang, and the teacher let me go.
I rode the bus with Angelica. I walked behind her all the way to her apartment complex, and as she was turning around to close the door to the gate of her complex, we made eye-contact.
Never. Again. Leave my sister alone.

Angelica wasn't the first or only peer of D's I threatened/fought. I fought boys who physically hurt her (I walked by one boy and made that throat-slitting gesture with my thumb the moment I heard he had made her bleed. I then found him a little later and body slammed him before lunch was over), and I even dropped whatever I was doing the moment I would see her in trouble (I was once eating an ice cream cone as I walked out of my house to see my neighbor/cousin dragging my sister by her hair. I dropped my cone and ran at that chick's back and started pounding on her face so she could let go of my sister. Once that happened, I continued to punch her until she stopped trying to defend herself). I turned into a heartless monster the moment I'd see tears in my sister's eyes. I made motherfuckers pay for every tear she shed.

When it comes to me getting hurt, I'll stand quietly and take the punishment... especially that year in fourth grade.
People would always ask me why I'd put up with it... and the best I could come up with was a shrug.
I never fought back. Not even once. (I still don't even fight back, for the most part. I'll swallow my rage until I'm physically sick, vomiting all over the place from the built up bile)
And NO ONE stood up for me (well... ONCE, someone did... just once, and I don't think I've cried that hard in public... just because it meant so damn much to me to see someone finally try and stop the violence).
However, I will fight anyone or anything who tries to hurt the ones I love. I go ballistic.
It has always been that way, and it still is that way.
I fight for my loves like I wish someone would fight for me.

I only mention this because last night, right after I finished posting my entry, Sister walked into my room with a shaky voice and said
D: I got in my first adult fight just now...

I didn't look over at her, because I was busy with the laptop WHILE trying to catch up on my DVR shit.
However, D just sat on my bed and I could hear her breathing was shaky.
Me: Wait... what? "Adult fight?" Like an argument...
I turned around, and saw her eyes were red, the right side of the bridge of her nose was purple, and her left arm was bruised and bleeding.
Me: What... the... what the fuck?!

Last night was a stupid "concert" in town, very similar to the rap-olympics or whatever the fuck that's called. Bunch a dudes go on stage and "spit rhymes."
Woo. Hoo.
We had all been invited by none other than the Boys... from Europe.
The main person interested was 30thBirthdayBoy, because he's kind of seeing D's BestieFromtheBay.
Since I don't dig that scene... AT ALL, I chose not to go. It was just D and her bestie, with the stupid Boys who think they know anything about Europe.
I guess 30thBirthdayBoy has been seeing many other chicks, and one of the chicks he has been hooking up with lost her marbles when she saw him making out with DsBestieFromtheBay.
The ghetto hoodrat swatted at 30thBdayBoy, he decided to bounce, grabbing DsBestieFTB to take her away, and D followed, not knowing what was going on.
Next thing she knows, D gets sucker-punched in the eye.
It was the stupid crazy hoodrat.
Two different GUY cousins of ours saw this go down, yet they did and said nothing... even if they DID know the bitch.
D realized her phone had gotten lost in the scuffle, and so, she and Bestie decided to go back into the venue (The House of Blues... that magical venue).
They bump into the crazy hood rat.
Hoodrat goes for Bestie's hair and they scuffle.
D tries to break up the fight, but Hoodrat's friend pulls D by the hair/earring. Since D has short hair, she slips out of the grasp, and she manages to connect a punch with the bitch pulling her hair.
These four girls are brawling... at a rap-olympics... the only latinas in the venue are providing the real entertainment.
Anyway, security comes and breaks up the fight.
D leaves with her bestie--who has a busted lip and a scratch running from her right eye down to her neck-- and the boys, OUR cousins (actually, 30thBdayBoy is the son of my sister's godmother) who witnessed the whole thing? They do nothing.
NOTHING.

I was furious about this last night. I was sending texts back and forth, demanding a name... but OF COURSE everyone was telling me to drop it (they know I may be a quiet girl, but the moment someone crosses me, I become ruthless)... and they were acting as if they didn't see the fight.

I'm no longer fuming. I'm just "disappointed," but at the same time glad I found out the worth of this so called "family."
Two days ago I would have thrown down with any cunt who'd try to hurt them...
Today? I won't lift a fucking finger if I see them dying of thirst on the street.

Yo, I'll fight tooth and nail for my loves if I have to...
but the moment you prove to me that you won't do the same for yours... well, you just become a stranger to me then.

Thieving brat

If there is one thing I hate with all my being, it's an ill-behaved child.
They are the motherfucking BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!
I hate their incompetent parents the most though, for not teaching them SHIT and allowing the little bastards to get away with the most ludicrous garbage.

There are days when I deal with little fuckheads better than others.
Anyone... anything could tell this week is DEFINITELY not the week to fuck with me. Whether you're 70, or seven, stay the fuck away from me and my shit unless you want me to unleash my wrath upon you.
Well, apparently a little 10 year old cunt was not too good on catching social cues, and I. Made. Her. Cry.
Yessir. I made a ten year old little bitch cry. In church.

Hear me out:
I was minding my own business, sitting in the 5th bench from the front row at church. Mom was sitting to my right, no one to my left, since I was at the very edge of the bench.
Before Mass starts, some person is always up in the front leading the rest of the congregation in praying the rosary. At the end, they always make us stand up, they say some closing prayer, and we once again take our seats and wait for Mass to start.
SO, this happens, we stand up, sit back down, and then four ladies decide to sit in our row, so Mom scoots closer to me. That's when she remembers "Oh, the envelope with the money offering," and looks to her right (where she so stupidly placed it. I always place the damn envelope directly in front of me... because you never know what people are capable of... especially in these tough economic times, also, I place it there because I'd probably forget it if I didn't).
Anyway, once Mom looks to her right, she notices it is no longer there.
It was there before we stood up for the rosary thing... hmmm... 2+2...
Mom started looking around, even in the missals. We both pretty much made a scene looking everywhere for the freaking envelope. I even looked under the bench.
Oh, you silly, silly dumb-dumb... do you not think straight? It's a motherfucker in the back. Someone behind us took it.
I was convinced one of the members of the family of four behind us had taken it.
I looked back at them, and they very cynically stared back at me... so I stared even harder... I glared.
I KNOW one of you took it, you son of a bitch!
When Mass started, I turned my entire body to face the family (under the guise that I was following the procession, which starts at the back of church). I continued glaring...
You ROBBED ME... AND IN GOD'S HOUSE... YOU MOTHERFUCKER. It's ten fucking dollars! You condemned yourself for TEN FUCKING DOLLARS!
I stood tall and gave them my best "You're such a fucking piece of shit" look.

Since I'm stubborn, and I'm a fucking C-U-N-T when I want to be (especially when someone STEALS from me), I sat through the rest of mass with my body turned slightly to my right, my face turned to my right, making sure they could see me LOOKING at them throughout mass.
I'd occasionally look directly at them, look them up and down, shake my head, and look back at the priest.
I. AM. A. BITCH. (when I want to be)
Th whole time my chest is ready to explode from the rage. I can't even swallow... I swear I'm going to suffer a heart-attack. All I really want to do is get in the face of the Mom, Dad, Ten year old daughter, and six year old son and scream at the top of my lungs.
GIVE ME MY MOTHERFUCKING MONEY BACK! THAT ENVELOPE HAS MY FUCKING STREET ADDRESS!
I was bewildered at the thought of someone robbing you blind... IN CHURCH. Of all fucking places.
Anyway, I survive mass without saying a damn word or causing a ruckus. Well, there was ONE part where the little boy threw one of his two ping pong balls into my leg, and I stomped on it, completely destroying it (another HUGE pet-peeve of mine is when parents bring toys for their kids to church. The shithead is SIX, that motehrfucker better know how to sit still for an hour. If he can't, then DON'T come in and disturb the peace. Suck a dick if you want to argue over this... oh wait, that's what got you in this predicament in the first place).
By the time Mass ended, I KNEW who the guilty party was, because when it came time to give our $ offering, the ten year old told her Dad
"Papi, que hago con esto? Lo encontre allí." aka "Daddy, what do I do with this? I found it there."
"Just leave it here," he said, placing an envelope in the little missal cubby on the back of my bench.
I stared right at it.
AHA!! YOU SON OF A BIIIIITCH!
The dad left before Mass was over, so I got WAY more courage once Mass was over. I turned around, looked in the cubby, saw my envelope, felt my blood boil, and I stared at the duckbfuck mom--who wasn't making eye-contact, which was weird since I made a fucking scene as I turned around and dug my hand in the cubby, right in her fucking face, not moving my eyes off her.
Mom looked to see what I was doing, and once she saw the envelope in my hand, she was pissed.
Me: Para la proxima, no VUELVAS a tocar algo que NO ES TUYO! Eso se llama ser RATERA.
(Next time, don't EVER touch something that ISN'T YOURS! That is called being a THIEF)
I said it directly in the face of the little girl... I got down to her level and practically spelled it out to her.
Mom was shaking her head.
Mom: Porque no le enseña modales a su hija? Eso no se le hace a nadie... gente mañosa.
(Why don't you teach your daughter some manners? You don't do that to anyone... cheap people)

We were pissed, because clearly these fucking imbeciles saw their retard of an offspring (she was NOT really retarded. Fucking little brat was alert as hell, she was just being a fucking asshole when she took our envelope) take our envelope, and they STILL didn't hand it to us when they saw us searching for the thing like fucking maniacs.
Anyway, this went down as the choir was singing and the procession was heading back out of church, so obviously the priest didn't see what was going on, but EVERYONE in our surrounding did... especially when the dumb little idiot started to cry.

Tough love.
I assure you that little bitch isn't going to touch shit that doesn't belong to her EVER again.
You're welcome, world.
Now someone get me a promoter, I think I'm ready for the damn UFC.