lobsters in a tank

It's like time stood still... like those 20 years didn't go by... the feelings are amplified.
I haven't been this happy in a very long time.
No one has looked at me like he does, spoken to me like he does, and much less touched me the way he does... as though I'm the most fucking precious object on Earth.

My lobster-- he's alive, and has found me. I have agreed to get caught in the same tank.

But this isn't a happy story... anything that ever has to do with me should never be considered a happy story.

I'm just trying to hold on to this feeling before the world collapses... like it always does... knowing full well that this time it will hurt worse than it ever has in the past.

... I jumped off that cliff with my motherfucking eyes closed.

Don't do it, girl!

I'm getting better.
I'm even on "mood stabilizing" pills.
Who would have thought carbohydrates to be THAT fucking important in one's emotional health.
But I'll pay that price any day, over... you know... being fat and KINDA normal (now I'm just pissed all the time... but I can leg press your mother... and probably your father, too! Deal with it, World).

You know what else makes me angry? Yesterday's show.
Ok, it DOESN'T make me angry... it just irritates me... and it's in the forefront of my mind because... it was so goddamn ridiculous.
Today, we spoke about how you break it to a dude, and if you even break it to the dude.
On the show, the girls would straight up tell the date "I'm a virgin." after maybe half an hour. Then they'd go off and ask the date what their future plans looked like... the steps and amount of time they planned to take at each one and whatnot.
I sat there watching, mesmerized.
No wonder these broads are virgins...

Seriously, I've never actually vocalized my status. I've never had to. I find it akin to "I'm retarded."
If I see myself ever actually saying those dreaded words, it'd be seconds before fucking, and it'd be along the lines of "well, I apologize in advance if this sucks... but..." then we'd get over it. But this would only happen if I really liked the dude and wouldn't feel stupid about one day possibly admitting to banging him (that's where MY issue lies. I overanalyze and convince myself that I'll never forgive myself for allowing this or that dude's appendage anywhere near me. I really do treat my body like a temple... or I'm just fucking mean as hell. He has a fucking stupid-shaped head! YOU let THIS guy hit it. THIS GUY! With the stupid-shaped head! For shame! or He says "SUPPOSAVLY!" SUPPOSAVLY! Shoot yourself, AnoMALIE... you fucking idiot! You let that animal possibly, theoretically procreate with you!). It'd be my way of admitting he's pretty fucking legit.
Yo! I totally don't think you're embarrassing or stupid! And I'm totally cool with the thought of you one day possibly reproducing mini-yous! Hooray!
However, I'm not saying I've never seen this go down with someone else... the vocalization of status, that is.

In my experience, when a girl tells a dude she's part of the club, his reaction is one of two:
1. He wants to hit that. BAD. 
He will hustle that girl until he lands her. It turns into a fucked up game... that I kind of enjoy watching, because both parties entertain the shit out of me-- the dude for trying so hard and the chick for being so retarded and throwing her so called "morals" out the door. Both parties always think they're smarter than the other... when in reality, they're equally handicapped.
Most of the time, once the guy hits it, he totally quits it. And the girl goes off and becomes a huge whore... or "reclaims" her virginity... that twat.

2. He runs like hell.
I have to admit, this one used to infuriate me.
REEEEEEEELAX, you fucking asshole! You're not THAT special. Calm your ass down, you lamefuck (these accidental puns are really aggravating me, but I can't help it. This is how I really talk. It's how my brain works).
I used to think these egomaniacs needed to get punched in the face, for thinking so highly of themselves.
Yeah, you're so fucking special... I'll NEVER forget your sexual prowess. The moment you leave me, I'll be broken FOREVER! Suffer a lifetime of longing for your dick... because you will be so damn unforgettable, my love! "My love" because that's what will definitely happen after I have a taste of your penis... I'll be madly in LOVE with you! Get. Out. Of. Here.
But after watching this show, I get it.
I get you, guys, I get you.
Bitches be motherfucking crazy! Chick may try to stronghold you into marrying her... or she'll forever stare at you with that creepy, adoring, is-she-a-serial-killer? look in her eye.
Run. Run like the wind!

Ahhh, I'm in the company of greats.

PERFECT Sunday

When I have bad days, they're BAD days.
My good days? They're fucking amazing.
Today has to go down in AWESOME DAY history, though. It was... great.

This last week was good for the most part. Throughout the week, I smiled and laughed a lot... I even found myself dancing around for no particular reason.
I was just a happy girl.
Today capped it all.

The day started off... well, like any day can start at 5:30AM after going to bed at three in the morning, drunk.
I woke up still buzzing, but a blissful buzz that made me nonchalant about everything. I only cared about my pink eyes-- not the gross conjunctivitis kind, but the dry-eyes kind.
I also had a terrible stomach ache.
Yesterday's food, while viciously delicious and thoroughly enjoyed by my gustatory glands, was not appreciated as much... actually, it was downright detested, by my intestinal lining.
Fucking Jalisco food... deceivingly delicious only to damn near murder you the next day.
I sat through church, almost falling asleep during various times, but that damn alien fetus in my stomach kept me awake.
THAT was the only downer to my day.

In an attempt to feel better, once I arrived home I decided to run intervals and hill climbs.
Wake up and forget about your stomach being a weak piece of shit! Also, get 100% sober, loser.
My day became brighter.
I then showered, which always makes the day that much cooler.
THEN I saw how Manchester United received their trophy.

CHICHARITOOO!

CHIIIIICHAAAAARIIIITOOOO!

THEN I watched PUMAS get their 7th championship.

7, suckaaas! I love these guys!

I was just kicking back, completely elated.
Of the three soccer leagues I follow (Spanish, English, and Mexican), my three teams were champions.
No, I'm not a bandwagoner. I have proof of my lengthy fellowship for each one (ManU was thanks to Beckham... because he has ALWAYS been ridiculously hot. Barça because they had a successful Mexican on their squad, Rafa Marquez, then Gio dos Santos. And finally, UNAM I've liked since high school, when I had that university as one of my top choices. So those who accuse me of jumping on a bandwagon can go eat a dick). I've been there for the good and the bad. I refused to participate in the "empañolada" when I went to the Barça game. They were 3rd place that year, yet there I was, supporting the dudes in Camp Nou.

Visiting the place where magic happens.

Only slight distress is trying to come up with a team to support for the Champs League final. I'm cool with whatever outcome, because if ManU is to lose to anyone, I'm glad it's Barcelona. I'd go ballistic if it were Madrid. And if ManU wins? Ok, I want THEM to win... because they have Chicharito.

Anyway, the awesomeness continued... because I went shopping. Well, shopping sucks... but I did get some new shirts. New shirts are always applauded.
THEN, I wanted some raspberries, so I asked Mom if she could go to Sam's Club and buy a bulk package of them. When we went, we saw this for 10 bucks:

Oh. My. God!

I was on that in a heartbeat.
You have NO idea how... FELIZ cherries make me. I am not exaggerating when I say: Cherries MAKE MY LIFE.

But the REAL magic? The REAL awesome news that made me... freak out?
Ready for this?
Ok:
Thanks to my mom, I've been asked to be a regular columnist in a magazine!
NO. SHIT.
When Mom told me, I nearly fell over. I thought she was joking.
(Sister's reaction was: LAME! ... ???)
The magazine has a very... specific target group.
It's a magazine that will only be distributed here, LA, Chicago, and... I forgot the other city. I tend to go deaf when I'm excited.
It's for people living in the US, but with Durango roots.
Aha! The catch!
I'd write short-stories based on my experiences IN Durango, traveling TO Durango, being AWAY from Durango... just... memoirs of a Durango chick, I guess.

I haven't accepted... because I KNOW this will get me in trouble. I'm misunderstood as is, I can only imagine the bullshit I'll face once I start writing shit and my sarcasm/humor won't connect.
I don't care about getting paid. I don't care that the magazine will not be widely distributed... I just... dude, I get to write!
And the weird thing was that Mom was super excited for me and... she thought of me when they asked HER to write the column (she's a poet/essayist... although not professional, since she never pursued it. But she's INCREDIBLE with words).
My mom wants ME to write. Is that... does that sound crazy to anyone else?

Fucking perfect Sunday.
I don't know... I'm still... taking in the weird feeling that is being asked to write for people. It's so... bizarrely exhilarating.

... OK, I'll quit being optimistic now, since that always wrecks shit.
Shhhhhh! I'm not mentioning another word of this again.

La virgencita

I woke up to the magnificent news that my final letter of recommendation was submitted.
I got on-line and submitted my last application... only to notice on the receipt that I fucked up my phone number. I added a zero (###-###-##0##). Typical AnoMALIE fuck up.
That only killed my mood for a second... how important is a phone number... right?
At least that shit's out of my hands, and the application process if officially over now!

I began the celebration by eating breakfast-- Honey Bunches of Oats.
I was running a little late, so I dashed off to the gym... only to vomit the Honey Bunches of Oats once there.
I'm surprised they haven't raised my fees there... or given me some puke-related nickname.

I wasn't going to let that shit bring me down... so I came home and ate another bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. What can I say? I'm stubborn... if I want cereal, I eat motherfucking cereal.

As I happily munched away at my cereal, Twiggy dropped by the house.
Mood killed.
Looks like I'm going to have an adopted sister for ten days.

She was upset because Sister told her I knew about her (Twiggy's) plans for the night (driving an hour away to fuck her boyfriend).
Twiggy: Oh my God... your sister knows I'm not a virgin?!
Sister: She knew immediately. She was the one to tell me you weren't heading out to Mesquite every other day, for the entire day, just to look at Miguel...
Twiggy: Oh my God... she's gonna judge me...
I screamed from the kitchen.
Me: ... why? I'm 25. My friends have been fucking for years. Calm down.
Twiggy: Oh my God... I'm so embarrassed.
Me: Why? I'm not the pope. Chill out.

Looks like my innocent face intimidates chicks.
Just because I don't fuck around doesn't mean I judge those who do. What you choose to do with your body is none of my business (unless you're into self-mutilation... I might get a little concerned there).
I'm not too much a fan of self-rightousness, but seeing how so many people assume I am... maybe I am and I just don't know it?
Nah. That's not possible... because I never impose my personal beliefs on others (I never speak long enough to do that, anyway).
As far as sexuality goes, I don't give a fuck (unintentional pun). Be a prude, or be a slut, I'll be your friend as long as you make me laugh. Plain and simple. I might say something if you fuck around with married people, though... then again, I wouldn't have friends who were into that in the first place.

I don't hold my Vcard for religious reasons (sorry, God. Please don't strike me dead...), but I do it for personal reasons. Stay a virgin until marriage for a guy? PSSHHHHHAAAA! Get the fuck out of here!
Of course, I don't say that out-loud... I just shrug and smile.

Why don't I fuck? Eh...

Maybe I should try being less vague, but who wants to listen to me explain myself for five hours (It all started the summer of '92... I was seven...)?

I'm naturally sweet and innocent (I'm going to harp on that for as long as possible, because everyone knows I'm cynical as fuck-- Jesus Christ, I can't stop saying that word! I'm sorry!), but I can always talk/joke about the raunchiest subject (and if I can't, I don't mind being educated... VERBALLY on it).
It wasn't like you were holding out for me to be your first fuck. Relax!

Now deal with it, homegirl.
Can we all please just go about our daily lives and joke around the subject again? No need to be so fucking awkward, weirdo.

three percent

This shit is getting difficult.
I promised I'd write everyday back in March... and I didn't really follow through with it until this month (sort of).
I'm sick of looking at this screen, although it's a very lovely screen.
I sit at home, typing away... and studying (quite poorly. I've been revising the same 6 group of words for the last 2 weeks. 6 groups! I'm so frustrated with myself. Someone get me some fucking Ritalin!)... while my little sister goes out and enjoys her little latin nights with the girls.

I'm totally her wingman... well, in the sense that I tame the beast back at home while she lives a semi-normal young-adulthood. It's not like she should be mistrusted in the first place, since she's commanding officer of the V Club... and sheriff of the Virginity Police.
The girl takes issue with any one of her friends that informs her of their virginity loss. Sis will blurt out her discontent at the most random times to me.

I'll be sitting in the living room, catching up on my Wii Fit bullshit, trying not to wobble as I run a test:
Sis: So-and-so is not a virgin anymore. She told me she did so-and-so last month. She just barely got the nerve to tell me now.
Me: That's nice. ??

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, reading the cereal box as I eat some afternoon Honey Bunches of Oats:
Sis: Bitchass Girl#2! She let her boyfriend screw her!
Me: So?
Sis: THE CREW IS SHRINKING!

I'm sitting on my bench at the gym, quietly waiting for class to start:
Sis: So... Girl#3 is no longer part of the club.
Me: What?
Sis: G#3 fucked a guy.
Me: Who the hell are you? Chill, Gestapo!

It's a lonely club... to date, there are 7 lonely members... and one of them is close to getting her membership revoked due to her lax definition of virginity ("as long as a real penis doesn't penetrate your vagina, you are still a virgin." Take that as you may). The group only counts Hometown girls 17 years and older.

Sis is part of the club because she's of the "Wait Until Marriage" kind. She freaks out when her fellow Catholic V's lose their membership, and only grows disappointed in the Non-Cath members who were members... out of sheer bad luck?

Five of the seven members are of the WUM kind. They may be a little wild and party like rock stars, but they'll be damned if any boy touches their no-no place without putting a ring on their finger (besides the aforementioned girl with the rocky membership, because God knows what has been placed in her mouth, backdoor, and cookie box).

The sixth girl is a member because she has never had a boyfriend in the first place. Puberty hit her hard, let's just put it that way. That, and she's also very demanding... she grew up with no interaction with boys her age, so she's very squeamish and rather irrational when it comes to expected male behavior (and their bodily functions). I can't ever imagine her getting laid... because she would never allow a penis anywhere near her... too gross. Mark my words.

Me? I'm of the "Fuck that shit... are you kidding me? Have you seen how that shit turns out?!" kind. Frankly, I could give a shit if my future husband (not probable, but let's just run with it) appreciates this membership or not. My willingness to settle down and leave my comfortable lifestyle should be enough to say "Fuck, I LOVE YOU!"
He shouldn't take ANY credit for my chaste cookie box.
The truth is: I refuse to get that emotionally attached to anyone (hello, have you met me? I get upset when I have to throw away old Play-Doh. I imagine parting ways with a guy I screw will cause major irreparable damage to my already-cynical point of view).

Until the moment I find a guy I find to be absolutely legit (won't make me lament ever taking the chance of possibly reproducing with that retard), and all sorts of awesome (or at least one I can intimidate the shit out of so he won't say a word of what goes on), I'll continue being an anomaly in this city... at least the V Police won't be on my case.

(I'd like to thank today's episode of The Doctor's. Way to get into my head)

Sign of things to come?

Hooray for insomnia!

...

Actually... I pretty much spent the day sort of sleeping today.

New Year's Eve was CRAZY.

Think of the craziest thing you can imagine happening to a REAL person... multiply it by three... and you have my new years.

Fights...

getting barred from a certain casino for life...

being lost in the sea of people with nothing on me but my cell phone...

Being in the same small room as Denise Richards... Having her feel so... awkward that she waves, smiles, and says hello to my group as if we're the celebrities...

Having one of your friends diss the hell out of Denise Richards in front of her face, her managers, her bodyguards, her camera crew... just... sweet God... why? She was so nice to us!

Noticing I have bigger ta-ta's than Denise Richards...

Noticing Denise Richards has a bigger ass than I do...

Did I mention cops and security guards and nasty racial slurs? No? Oh... ok... that.

All you can drink bar...

Getting pinched repeatedly by random guys while walking down the strip (is this the new thing to do? WTF?)...

weed, weed, EVERYWHERE!!

puke...

getting chewed out...

chewing people out...

hour-long wait to get out of a fucking parking garage...

20 year olds grinding on me like... dogs in heat...

frowning...

random kisses...

pictures of getting kissed...

continuously being referred to as "YO, BITCH!!" by... a friend...

having my heart broken by... the effects of alcohol...

gaining a sister :] (I LOVE YOU MOONEY!!!)

15 cops...

bathroom brawls...

embarrassment beyond compare...

europeans... everywhere! :]

"AUSSIE! AUSSIE! AUSSIE!!" "OI, OI, OI!"

crying...

Man... so much more... but I just... don't want to admit it all.

It sucked.

It was mostly bad.

I came home with the shakes, a sore throat, and I slept 2 hours...

Yeah.

I had sushi for breakfast...

I went to mass at 6PM and slept through it all... including the parts where I'd be standing (busting a "horse," where I'd be woken by the feel of my body swaying)... this only irritated the priest, who gave me the evil eye the entire evening (I was sitting in the 3rd row... so yeah...).

I went to my aunt's house, slept on her kitchen table... her reclining sofa... then her fancy sofa. Each time, her annoying little dog was all over me... biting my nose, hair, fingers, sweater... humping my arm, licking my mouth (errgghh), etc. I was too sleepy to defend myself from that little bitch... just giving up and waking up with dog slobber all over my face, dog hair all over my lovely sweater... wondering why the hell nobody got that damn dog off me as I slept like a narcoleptic all over the house.

Came home and talked to the Bay Area Crew... totally lost any sense of tiredness thanks to their goofy asses making me laugh.

... so now I can't sleep...

again.

Keep it indoors, lady!

I just...
caught my neighbor lady getting... banged... out in her backyard... hard...

Oddly enough... I was the one mortified... for being caught in my green pajama bottoms at nearly 2 in the afternoon....

MY NEIGHBORS ARE THE FUCKING TRASHIEST NEIGHBORS IN ALL THE FUCKING ENTERPRISE LAND (because we all know there are plenty of other crazy neighbors in Vegas communities, I just didn't know my hood was as trippy as my old central Vegas one)!!
(no pun intended... or is it? I don't know!! Now I must go and wash my eyes out with some chlorine)

En boca cerrada...

Me: Man... last night I had the worst nightmare...
Little Sister: What was it? (She knows that if she doesn't ask, I'll never sit through any of her dream sequences)
Me: I dreamt that this guy I have a crush on was gay... and that we were best friends and I was helping him look for a boyfriend...
Little Sister: Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Me: Fucked up, right?
Little Sister: You have a crush on someone?!?

Thank you, thank you!
Yes... I'm that good.