Sing to me.

He called me.
He sang to me.
I felt like it was back to our good times.

He was whispering.
He was happy.
I was happy.

I'm going back.
I won't cry this time.

It was a great birthday.

Gatsby

Elusive-- that's what he was.
The bride's brother said he had only managed to squeeze two or three words out of him the entire week, other groomsmen hadn't even heard his voice.

This elusive gentleman spent cocktail hour standing at the venue's front door, which was higher ground than the rest of the room.
He was like Mufasa on Pride Rock.
He stood on his hill, mojito in one hand, white umbrella in the other, silently scoping the scene.

The Billionaire...

It's odd to think of someone that way, I mean, I've never been in the presence of someone so... well off. His quiet behavior kept everyone at bay-- men, women, we all avoided him. Some were too intimidated (ME), others were jealous, others were not interested... and others... were too drunk to care.

The elusive gentleman was handsome, in his own way. Not particularly tall, or muscular... but his eyes immediately demanded your attention-- his intense stare.
He was very courteous, always allowing women first, offering his elbow as support. I had never seen such... manners.

After seeing our seating arrangement, Table 5, Betty, Sister, and I groaned. There were only three seats available, my partner was automatically booted from the table... the Billionaire club had bumped him.
Well, that's one way to make a negative impression, you selfish, self-important jerks...

The drinks flowed, the jokes followed, and Elusive Gentleman turned into Columbia Cute Witty Boy.
He would excuse himself from the table, but promise to return-- each and every time, looking each one of us girls in the eye, smiling.
He promised us he'd "dominate" the dance floor... and that he did.
He spoke Italian to us.
He sang Spanish to us.
He... smiled his sweet smile.
He promised to meet up with me next time he visits Vegas.

We became friends once I returned from my trip.
I saw his profile.
Today is his birthday (as is my father's).
He majored in art history as an undergrad.
His favorite book? The Great Gatsby.
His nickname? SERIOUS nickname everyone calls him? "The Gatsby."

Seems the Universe is hellbent on keeping memorable literary characters in my life.
I'm cool with that.

Caliber

Astrology claims Aries are assholes... pushy, self-centered assholes.

He had these dark, sarcastic, witty comments. Instead of repelling me... they'd crack me up. They drew me closer to him.
Not gonna lie, I was intimidated by him. I often felt like a complete fucking idiot next to him... and I was scared he'd judge me as another dumbshit girl with nothing but vapid shit to say, so I'd be a total mute.
He and his friends would joke about what a misogynist he was... and instead of me speaking up and protesting, I'd just giggle.
I didn't think he was an asshole, I just thought he had a slightly rough exterior. I thought he was detached.

Then I started noticing the little things.
I noticed when he'd speak to me whenever we'd bump into each other, his eyes would light up and his smile would be... really adorable.
I now know he did this because of the recognition. He didn't hate me, so he wouldn't roll his eyes or try to avoid me... he was just being a NICE GUY-- a nice dude greeting a nice girl.
He was just being nice, but this made me fall hard, and irreversibly for him.
Over the years, he just continued to do little things... which showed me he actually had a heart, a quite solid one... and it did nothing to end my crush on him.
I mistakenly thought it was serendipity, but it was really just coincidence.

Then came the horrible day of the rejection letters.
I always talk about this, but it seriously marked a change in my life-- this rejection from every single school.
I was devastated. I was tired. I had been sobbing so hard, my cries could be heard throughout the house. I was a mess, a wreck... I was destroyed.
In the midst of my crying, and sobbing, and confusion... all went silent. Everything stopped... even my heart beat at a slower pace.
Wait.. did he... this says... he just...
Darcy tried... he expressed... he felt bad for me. He randomly spoke up and tried consoling me... just fucking randomly, hours after reading the most difficult news in my life.
The world seriously went silent for me. I sat in awe of what had just happened.

Of course I went back to sobbing violently, but for about five minutes, I sat in complete silence, thinking
Well, FUCK! He... he has a heart. 

Darcy doesn't like me. He never has.
Well, let me clarify, he doesn't like me like that.
He has always been a friend... a good person to me... I'm the one who misinterpreted everything. I'm the one who allowed her imagination to run wild. I created "possibilities" out of random acts of kindness... something I criticize and hate when others do that with me. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he just gave me a metaphorical pat in the head.
Oh, you silly, sad girl.
He taught me a hard lesson in compassion. An "Asshole" Aries gave a "Peaceful" Pisces a lesson in kindness.

Darcy, a self-centered asshole? Nah. Not at all.
He may have been born on a day like today and therefore be considered an Aries... he may appear to be egotistical, conceited, intimidating, distant, cold, or caustic, but he's really sweet, caring, kind, accepting, concerned... all of those pretty, warm adjectives. Much more so than I am.
Not only is he wildly intelligent AND bewitchingly handsome... but he's a good guy... a great guy.

I'm lucky to have met him, so I can at least know such humans do exist... even if there's no chance for me to ever get him, as miserable as the realization might make me sometimes.
I hope he finds someone who inspires as much awe in him, as he inspires in me... a guy of that caliber certainly deserves it.

Orphan.

Today was my Pop's 59th birthday.
Me, being the fantastic, sensible daughter I am, bought him a birthday cake... an ice-cream cake... in this freezing weather. Because I can. Because he loves it.

I tried my hardest to make him smile. I tried to make today all about him.
But he was still sad. He still cried.

I feel horrible. He breaks my heart.
He misses my sister SO BAD. To top it off, he had an argument with her.
"She's mad at me. She didn't respond to my text message."
He was so excited when he was going to blow out his candles, he made me take photos of him with his phone.
He then asked me to show him how to text the photos to my sister.
He sent the photos to both my siblings, and only my brother responded.
My daddy went to bed sad.

What did my dad say to upset D? The truth.
D, after wishing Pops a happy birthday, proceeded to complain about her car.
Dad told her "Baby, the new ones (Jetta's) are so pretty, want a new one? They're cheap."
She responded "If only it were that simple, but I don't have the money to buy one."
Dad: If you were here, and not over there, like some orphan, things would be different. I can buy a new one each month. You don't think I could give you ONE?

D cried. And stopped responding.
She complained to me.
D: Way to stay humble, Dad.
Me: It's his way of telling you that he can have whatever he wants, but he'll never be happy because you're not home. He's not trying to brag.

I don't know what is up with my sister, but all day she has been a bitch.
Me, being the concerned older sister I've always been, checked her.
She did not like this.
I don't care. When I see her acting up, I feel it is MY JOB to check her... to straighten her out.
Very early in her life, I caught her tendency to be cruel... to be one of those vain, obnoxious, insensitive girls who bully others. She would rely on her looks, her ability to easily gain the favor of others due to her physical appeal, and she would go on power trips... like some fucking princess.
As upset as it makes me to slap sense into her, to embarrass her by making her realize what an annoying, mean bitch she's being, I HAVE to do it.

Now that she lives so far away, I have to check her quite publicly, on social networks.
She is getting much more unruly... and so self-centered... egotistical. It is really fucking frustrating me. I just want to hop on a plane headed to Chicago, and shake her.

Watching my dad frown on his birthday... to cry... it hurt me. It made me sad... then mad.
This man works so fucking hard... made his dreams come true: he EARNED all the money we could possibly ever need, so we would never know what it was like to struggle to make ends meet... and my sister CHOSE to leave comfort... for what?
We all know why she left... and THAT is what hurts Daddy.

He has all the money he could ever need... but he doesn't have his little Princess. His babygirl waved a huge middle finger in his face, and spit on his lifetime of effort.

My daddy breaks my heart.

Porque quiero

I can cheat-update, right? Right.

August...
You can't see me right now, but I'm getting all choked up.
You know where I usually spend the first day of August? Mexico.
But I won't hurt myself by thinking about where I could be right now.
Let's talk about parties!

Well... more like... let's talk about crushes.
For once, let's not talk about MY crushes... well, at least not make them the focal point.
I'm talking about guys who have crushes on ME.
Can you believe that shit? Guys like me now? Damn.

The vast majority are members of Kelley's band.
She has brought it to my attention that they think I'm cool.
One of them has been super duper vocal about his crush, and outright told me... that guy who sort of scared me away with his fandom, remember? The other two guys are very low key about their thoughts on me, which I appreciate, since I'm such an awkward girl.
Kelley: They asked me what your type was...
Me: Oh yeah?
Kelley: I said "TALL... and in Germany."
Me: AHAHAHAHAHA!

Two of the guys were jointly celebrating their birthdays today.
While I don't like them like that... I do appreciate them as friends... so, I decided to drop by and say hello.
Originally I wasn't going to go... because I'm awkward as is, but the moment I know someone likes me, I turn into MORE of a weirdo... extra cold, actually.
Please don't like me... I'm unable to reciprocate. Let me save you the trouble.
Then I started to think about MY crush... and how it makes my fucking... year to see his freakin' face, I don't even have to make eye-contact to be content.
As corny/trite/unbelievable as this might sound, I try very, VERY hard to treat others as I want to be treated. So... I sucked up my shy shit, and went ahead and attended the soiree for a bit with mademoiselle Kelley.
Stare at me, high-five me, talk to me as much as you like. Sure, I'm not too down with hugs, but that's because I'm not too fanatical about any type of bodily contact. When I hug you, it means I'm really, REALLY comfortable with you. Sorry... kinda happens when people physically/emotionally/psychologically mistreat a timid, gentle girl throughout her childhood... nothing against you, per se, just against society in general.

Maybe if I start being nicer, bad shit will stop happening to me.

Elbows

Last night I dreamt of JC.
I was resting on the same tree branch I chilled on when I hit the Costa Rican beach... and I was taking a nap. I wake up after feeling someone gently caressing my right elbow.
I remember looking over and seeing JC passing his index finger very gingerly over my elbow.
We didn't say anything... just looked at each other as I allowed him to touch my elbow.
The entire time, the only "feel" to the dream was comfortable melancholy... if that makes sense.

I woke up missing my buddy-- JC.
Fuck, we were pretty damn inseparable. Prior to his Berkeley graduation, I hadn't spoken to him since his infamous Argentina drunk dial where all he did was cuss at me, angrily inform me he had always liked my dumb ass, and called me a "pendeja."
Pretty fucking unacceptable.
I fucked up in not reciprocating his affection, didn't I? I mean... he's not unattractive... he's actually really handsome... like... classically handsome. I can see him playing the role of some... Austen/Bronte character on Masterpiece Theater or something. He's also really smart... really, REALLY smart... even if I did write his college entrance essays for him... but that's only because English isn't his first language. He gave me drafts, and I added the filler. My writing skills helped get him into all the schools of his dreams, but I could not get myself into a SINGLE school on my list-- go figure.

I was too stubborn on liking his brother, and seeing him only as a brother... and now I lost him as my best dude friend.

He turns 24 tomorrow. I'm debating between writing him something curt, like he wrote me, or sticking to my true personality and doing my usual verbose shit.
HBD
vs.
Happy birthday! IWon'tBoreYouWithTheHeartfeltShitIPlanOnWritingBecauseIKnowNoOneCaresButTrustWhenISayItWouldBeLongAsFuck.

Hmm... losing guy friends after they get pussy-whipped really sucks.
A kid who once randomly went down to Hometown, against his mother's wishes, only to surprise me and beg me to join him on his trip to France.
What kind of friend does that?
Never again will I find someone like that dude.

P.S. The winner was: Happy birthday. I miss your face, JC... your personality only once in a while.

27

So overwhelmed by the love, I couldn't find the appropriate words to express myself.

D creeped around various family albums to create this collage for me.
Collage of happy, smiley baby AnoMALIE. Damn near cried with this shit.

Even my Wii got in on the action, with its... very particular way of "motivating" me... that asshole.

Shit, two days later, and I still can't accurately describe my feelings.

These last two days have been lovely... with a few downs, of course, since we ARE talking about me and nothing can ever go smoothly when it comes to ME.
Quite frankly, I'm relieved my birthday's over. It's always a little... uncomfortable to deal with so much attention. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate each and every person for taking the time to think of me for at least two seconds on March 1st, but I'd rather not be the focal point.

I'm now 27, and I must say, it feels "right." I've been claiming 27 for the last two years... I have no idea why, but I always had to correct myself and say my real age.
27. Yup. 27. That's right. Feels good. Hello, AnoMALIE. Twenty-seven.
I am 27, single, still a virgin (this has to be some sort of fucking record, seriously), unemployed (this whole thing with my folks is... well, hard to consider "employment" because I'm not using my brain... or even brawn, at all), and ZERO direction.
I eat, drink, and sleep the gym. I look forward to the gym... and oddly enough, the grocery store shopping trips for asparagus, lean protein, and berries. I'm a motherfucking hunter and gatherer all of a sudden. I just need to turn my room into an actual cave, and you could say I'm back to our ancestral ways... though I'm really fond of sports bras and tight-fit training capris (I've caved and purchased five of these. They are my fucking world... and now outnumber my jeans. I basically only wear jeans to church, and that's only because the guys who go to church are creepy old perverts. I don't work my lower-half to have those lazy bastards stare at it for an entire hour, pitching a tent instead of letting God into their heart. Dirty fuckers. Ok, enough of that rant), none of that naked shit-- not my style at all... even if I were chiseled, Greek-god-style.
Twenty-seven... gym loving, spandex-rocking, gatherer... with NO romantic prospects OR career goals... and I feel like I'm where I need to be.
Is that fucking crazy or what?
This girl no longer gives a flying fuck about... anything (well, besides that whole naked thing... I'd rather stab myself than be caught naked. I do it for humanity, people, humanity)... and she's ok with that.

As I cut my cake, I made one wish. Unlike all the other times I've made wishes, when I'm an asshole and feel like ruining them, I am not going to divulge my wish. This time, I'm keeping it to myself... because this time... this ONE time... I want it to come true. I know it will come true.

Lifetime Moment

First and foremost:
Today is my broski's birthday.
I feel extra emotional this year, since, you know... he's going to be living in the SECOND most dangerous city in the world in a little over a month.
I'm back on that "He might die! I need to let him know how much I love him!" mode.
I missed him a lot today. Had he been anywhere in the vicinity, I would have hugged the shit out of him... possibly even bitten him a few times... 'cause we're barbaric like that.

I'm in a very... loving mood... for my siblings, that is. Overall, these last few days I've felt extremely attached to both my siblings. I just want to squeeze them... and oddly enough, I'm eager to hear their stories-- even if it's just their work complaints.
I think yesterday's wedding has a lot to do with this behavior.

This brings up part two of the post: The wedding.
Good part:
I love the family involved. The girl who got married is the girl I refer to as AnoMALIE05, since we have the same name.
She and her now-hubby are some of the funniest people I know. They're also very welcoming and... well, awesome friends. Their respective families are the same way.
These kids had been dating for... something like seven years? The love and devotion these two have for each other can warm any monster's cold heart. That includes me.

The way he looks at her makes my cynical-ass shut up.
He sincerely worships this girl.

The "Eh..." part:
This was the first occasion some of the MEN of my acquaintance saw me in... about a year?
By "MEN" I mean "Dudes I had a MAAAAAD crush on back in my teens but would only give me a head-bob as sign of acknowledgement."
A good few of them have crushes on my sister (anyone surprised? I hope not, 'cause this is a recurring theme, in case you haven't noticed).
Anyway, as far as they've been concerned, I'm pretty much a dude.
Wellll.....
I'm vindictive, right?
So... I went to this shindig in a tight--but very fucking classy, ok?!-- dress, which had a pencil-skirt thing going on, and a sweetass belt cinching my waist (love my fashion terms? "Fucking classy" "sweetass." Vogue is definitely my bible). I was rocking some five inch Santana heels (that man knows the way to my heart. His style is perfectly synced with mine)... I was six foot one for this thing.
ANYONE who knows me knows I'm conservative AS FUCK in attire... because I'm shy and probably have the soul of some re-encarnated mormon.
But for this occasion, I thought against it.
Fuck this shit. I've worked hell of hard for this body... and I want to show these motherfuckers what they missed out on when they opted for the fucking ghetto, slutty cholas instead of me ten years ago. SUCK MY BALLS, ASSHOLES!
What happened?
The majority didn't recognize me!
It was like a fucking movie, I tell you. Those corny teen movies... the Lifetime movies... those teen dramas where the fat/nerdy/loner chick changes drastically, then all the dudes suddenly start thinking she's awesome.
Ahhhh, come on, guys! How trite can you get?!
Guys were hugging me, kissing me, holding on to my waist as they spoke to me.
I, per usual, was awkward... and I'd bend as far away from them as possible when they'd hold me by the waist... sometimes staring at their hand.
Are you gonna move that or should I move it for you, buddy?
This sort of shit would probably excite a normal girl, or at least make her happy.
But not me. I'm resentful, remember?
I'd find myself getting angry. By the end of the night, when I had finally had enough of these dudes putting their fucking hands on me, I decided to just say goodbye and walk away... leaving a couple of dudes mid-sentence of their "Hey AnoMALIE! What have you been..." as I worked my way to the exit (don't get me wrong, I'd still do the courteous hug-and-kiss thing we Latinos do, I just wouldn't chit-chat and I'd most definitely wriggle out of their grasp).

... the shit I had to do in order to garner other people's acknowledgement as a human being. Marginalized for being "fat"... not up to their fucking standards of "beauty."
Shame on them.
SO yeah, that made me go "Ehhhh..." yesterday (I always thought that moment--"The Lifetime Moment," so to speak-- would be... happier, I guess. Not so rage/tear-inducing).

The bad part:
It was only bad because I allowed myself to get sad.
Seeing so much love... made me sad.
It happens to all of us single ladies.
I couldn't be happier for the married couple, they deserve all the love in the world, but it's still nearly-impossible not to feel sorry for yourself.
The way he stares at her! It's indescribable. It's beautiful. Everybody deserves that...

But don't worry... I ate a box of chocolate-covered "red velvet cupcake balls" (six "balls" per box. They were each smaller than a ping-pong ball... I would have eaten another two boxes, had they been available. WORTH. IT!), I was back to being a complacent bitch two seconds after feeling sorry for myself... because it's impossible to be pissed off after stuffing yourself with CHOCOLATE-COVERED RED VELVET CUPCAKE BALLS!

However... I did wake up with a hideous pain in my gut. I had the balls as well as the linguine to thank for that (it wasn't like I was going to turn down the fucking meal the married couple had paid for. Come on now. It's common courtesy to eat what they serve). I jump-roped like Money Mayweather trying to work that shit off as soon as I crawled out of bed.
And yeah, with that I end the "bad" section of the wedding... as well as this post.

Past 50

Yo, AnoMALIE, wasn't today your mom's 51st birthday?
Why yes, yes it was.

How'd you celebrate it?
By going to a funeral.

...
I know how to party, baby.

My favorite part of funerals?
When the shit-talking perverted-ass men standing outside the funeral parlor check you out as you're walking into the funeral parlor... stare down your cleavage as you stand in front of them... then check your ass when you walk past them.
OF COURSE!
It's the only reason why I even go to funerals, if I didn't make it obvious enough.

...
That right there, was me, being SARCASTIC.
But I DID spend my Friday night at a funeral, dealing with that shit. On my mom's birthday.

Concise Birthday

Today's JC's birthday.
We've always reciprocated on the birthday phone calls.
He sings to me on my birthday, I... agree to visit him when I call him on his birthday.
Whenever possible, I'd go to his birthday party and we'd spend the day doing whatever weird shit he'd be obsessed with.

This year was different.
He was skyping with his girlfriend when I called him... so it was awkward. HE was awkward.
The conversation felt like when you have unwanted guests at the house, and you're just trying to shoo them out of the front door as swiftly as possible.
We kept it short... as in "we talked for two minutes and 57 seconds" short (even his abusive phone call from the airport that one time he was going to take off to Argentina was longer than that... and all he really did was call me offensive names for not liking him the way he liked me. This time it was "How are you?" "Eh, I've been better. You?" "Eh. I'm taking summer school. It's interesting." "Cool.").
...
::single-tear-rolling-down-one-cheek::
Another one bites the dust.
Guys and their girlfriends...

It's not cool... and all joking/sarcasm set aside, it HURTS.
It feels like... I have a sumo wrestler resting on top of my chest... or like... I swallowed mercury.

Hopefully his balls are once again descended when Berlin time comes around... that's if our friendship is still solid by Fall.

But for now, the JC-AnoMALIE Adventures are--sadly-- over. He was my best guy-friend.
... as if I needed any MORE reasons to hate life... well, more like... find no sense in it.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, lasts... especially if it involves me.

Twenty one plus one

2008
What I said:
Man, all these years... I always thought your birthday was in June!
jaja.
Another thing MySpace helps a person out on!

Anyway, hope you have a very happy birthday!

But, hey, if you can: QUIT GROWING UP, DAMN IT!!! Do you know how old that makes me?!
jaja
:]
What I really wanted to say:
Good! THAT much closer to being a little more legit. You're still too much of a baby... but damn, such a good-looking baby. Happy birthday.

2009
What I wrote:
Happy birthday to my favorite braceface in the world!
:D haha
Welcome to the year in limbo... where you're neither a teenager, nor old enough to legally gamble/drink in the US of A.
fun stuff indeed!

here's to you avoiding that swine flu! [we need you to get to the big 2-1 so you can gamble with some real money! haha]
What I really wanted to say:
I hope it sucks dick. I'm laughing because here you thought you were going to whore it up in Mexico and divine justice was served! BAHAHA! Serves you right, slut. Enjoy being locked up in your house, quarantined like the rest of the country. Ouch... side ache from laughing so hard. Love youuuu!
(This was the year H1N1 broke out... exactly on the week of his birthday. He had gone to his hometown in Mexico to celebrate, and he had spent the week prior bragging to me about how shitfaced he [and his buddies] was going to be the entire week. He had also bragged about how many girls he was going to mindlessly fuck. The though had been killing me, then the swine flu broke out, and I spent that entire week laughing-- because he wasn't going to die, but it sure as fuck was going to ruin his plans for debauchery. I'm mean? Maybe... but he started it, by intentionally hurting my feelings like that. He'd get on skype and brag about it for fucks sake! He'd stand up and start thrusting-- "air-fucking"-- when he'd talk about the girls. WHO DOES THAT?!)

2010
What I wrote:
3,2,1 countdown complete! chale, el tiempo si que volo. Now you no longer have to act busy at that one toys r us of liquor stores as the rest of us buy our drinks. :)
que tengas un buen dia. Happy Birthday, braceface!
What I really wanted to say:
I can't believe I'm taking the time to address you publicly... considering my heart is still shattered and it refuses to adhere with anything I try. Thanks for further increasing the difficulty of getting over this by staying over at my house for the weekend. You make things so difficult... but I do hope... I can make you happy. We counted down to this day since the summer of 2007. So many things were going to get started, it's fucked that it worked out this way. Goddamn... why do I love you so much? Happy birthday... please don't go out with her today... please.

2011
What I wrote:
Ma-ri-oh! Well, well, well... look who's slowly catching up to me... bwahaha! A ver cuando le caes a Vegas again, ya que on-line poker no se vale.
Espero y tengas un muy feliz cumple... I hear it's gonna rock :)
What I really wanted to say:
Ma-ri-oh! Well, well, well... look who's slowly catching up to me... bwahaha! I'm fine with you dropping by house now. You're my family. It finally got in my head, and I whole-heartedly accept it. I hope your birthday really IS as amazing as your girl plans it will be. Be happy, kids. I love you, broski.
Happy birthday :)

Today, as you can probably guess, is MGH's birthday... and I'm good.
In the time I've known him, he has never wished me a happy birthday. There was that time last year when I reminded him 10 days later and he went ahead and wished me a happy birthday... but we were in the middle of "the argument from hell" where our relationship exploded into non-existence.
But I... I just can't reciprocate the indifference. I'll always remember the birthdays of those who hold a special place in my heart-- regardless if I don't in theirs-- and I'll always wish them the best... even if at the time I only want to slap them across the face.

He's 22 now, he no longer has braces, and he's happy... with someone else... and I'm OK with it. No hatred, no resentment, no sadness... well, there IS a little bit of nostalgia.
I think back to MGH's childhood, and how everyone always thought he and JC were twins. People would be shocked whenever they'd realize the birthday party was ONLY JC's (JC celebrates in late June, so I was usually around by then).
They're 10 months apart... so it's an understandable confusion.
"Oh my goodness! You guys aren't twins? How much older are you than him, JC?"
JC: Six months.
The people would initially respond with "Ah! Ok!"s... then we'd sit there, waiting to watch their expressions as they'd do the calculations in their head and wonder WTF?!
We loved watching their confusion.
:) Oh, the good ol' days.

Growing up is... a must.
 Feliz, feliz, FELIZ cumpleaños... mi amigo del alma.

Algorta

Three years ago today, I was in Algorta.
D and I were hanging out in our favorite cozy coffee shop. We were each sipping on some of the world's tastiest "café con leche."
I don't like coffee... it messes me up for the most part, but 1. I had to buy a cup in order to use the establishment's free internet and 2. This was exceptional coffee.
Between pintxos and my café... and especially the internet, I was at peace.
Y recordé: Hoy es su dia. Ni aunque pasen los años, ni por estar al otro lado del mar, ni por estar rodeada por el ambiente relajante de este lugar, me olvído de el. Que bueno.

That day in Algorta, I was so tranquil... completely relaxed by the somniferous environment... I could have easily fallen asleep and ignored everything. But I was on a mission. Get on-line. Don't forget.

I was so far away, and it had been a while, but I still wanted to wish him an (equally) awesome day.

***

Genius, hilariously sarcastic, handsome, unforgettable, charming, and secretly kind (this whole time I thought he was heartless... ok, no I didn't). Making girls swoon at the sight of his smile.

Austen never alluded to Darcy's birthday... but I'm pretty sure it would have been today. 

My "son"

Not many people know me.
Well, yeah, they know me as in "Oh, that's AnoMALIE, I see her around from time to time" but not much deeper than that.
There are some people out there who might know:
-I was raised in the ghetto.
-I spend my summers in Mexico.
-I speak a few languages.
-I'm quiet because I'm shy, not because I'm a bitch.
-I love sushi. But I didn't start eating it until three years ago.
-I love black, but my favorite color is actually green.
-I have a pit bull named Tyson... he's really mean and anti-social, like me!
-I don't dance often because I'm shy, NOT because I don't know how. I can school a stripper in the dance department, if I so choose. (this misconception has to be my fucking biggest pet peeve EVER. The girls who know how to dance NEVER criticize me for not dancing. It's always the bitch who moves like an epileptic who tends to accuse me of not knowing how to dance. It damn near makes me homicidal when the spastic bitch of the group thinks she can out-dance me)

For the most part, the general consensus is: at first AnoMALIE appears to be a mean bitch, but she's a quiet, shy girl who's actually pretty nice.

My godson (not the soon-to-be, but the one who chose me nine years ago) knows me.
You're like this for a reason, Godmom... something happened to you...
Without much effort, he figured me out... I didn't even have to say much. He pretty much guessed.
THAT kid knows me inside out. He knows my most secretive, painful stories, and instead of chastising me or freaking out, he just listened... then gave me one of those bone-crushing hugs you imagine only giant mammals know how to give.
Just the way I like it. Don't talk, just... squeeze me and let me feel like I'll be all right.

I've known him since he was months old.
One of my earliest memories of him is me getting bitten on my arm by him and proceeding to bawl my ass off from the pain AND humiliation of getting bit by a baby and not being able to slap him across the room. A rough start, but we've only managed to sync our wavelengths from there.
He's incredible, he's selfless, downright noble... and 21 years old today.

He may be a monstrous beefcake now

THOSE MOTHERFUCKING GUMS! Sheesh!
And yes, we were all drunk here.

But he'll always be my little munchkin.

Is it obvious which child is MY godson?
(the one flicking off the camera, duh!)
(also, MGH is the only little one who looks normal)
(JC is the one who is clearly ADHD)

Now THAT boy I love with ALL of my heart.

26

Best way to describe my feelings about getting older (yeah, I'm recycling photos)?

I would have dropped that screaming baby in a heartbeat!

Nah, it's not so bad.
I WAS feeling like that last night... when the fucking ride through Vomitville was totally killing me (I was so messed up, I woke up to Mom holding her hand under my nose to make sure I was still breathing. Ain't that somethin').
I woke up feeling much better, more like this:

Somebody get me a knife!

I'm not sure how I feel about eating or any of that mess... but I guess I'll play it by ear.
Birthday cake? I... don't think so. The thought of sugar still makes me feel bad.
Birthday festivities? Eh... not sure yet, either.
I thought about getting the re-re-release of Bambi... but that would be old news, since that's what I did on my 21st, on the first re-release of the movie (is that a sign? They keep releasing that movie on, or very near, my birthday).

Anyway, I have amazing friends, and I appreciate everything they do for me. It made me forget how freaking miserable the last week has been (the spider bites, the rejection letter... shitting bricks thinking about getting the NYU rejection letter today--I didn't, but it was still stressful-- all that). I am truly touched (saying that makes me giggle. I'm so immature) and honored.

One thing I WILL bitch about (because that's how I do):
I hate, I repeat, HATE the message "Happy Bday" (in all its forms: Happy Bday, Happy BDay, happy bday, etc). Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that you take the time to think of me for at least a second (honestly, I do. With all of my heart), but you best believe it made me roll my eyes the moment I read it (what's so difficult about adding "irth"?).

Ok, I'll now continue with my day.
(How disgusting... ManU just lost to Chelsea, of all teams, on my birthday. Bunch of bullshit)

-1 Golden Ticket

Note to self #2475839485:
The wall will ALWAYS be stronger than your foot. Please refrain from kicking it, you animal.

I woke up with my left foot feeling heavy.
I removed my sock (so I sleep with socks on. My extremities run a little colder than normal people. I'm kind of a reptile when it comes to that shit. Sue me) and saw what was up.
What I thought was a harmless kick to my hallway's wall, turned out to be a huge injury to my middle toe. I fucked it up AGAIN, almost exactly a year to the day of when it first happened.
This time, however, it was a legit accident. I did not do it out of rage like last time... I was just being a clumsy idiot.

Sweet injury to have, exactly a week before my birthday.
I'll be limping around... looking extra pathetic for my birthday.

OH! (Each time I see that, first thought in my head is Alcohol? Hydroxyl groups are more important than exclamations in my book) Talking about birthday and being pathetic:
It's official, I WILL NOT take part in the mega, hyper awesome festivity that will be the introduction of the Euro Movement to the world.
The stupid thing is actually my cousin's 30th birthday party.
His group of friends did that whole... european alter ego bullshit. He keeps mentioning his "debut" on March... I think twelfth... but he marks it in roman numerals... fucking Superbowl style and shit.
He keeps asking "Will YOU make the cut?"

And nope... it appears I didn't.
My sister did, though.
She was acting like fucking Charlie and his goddamn golden ticket.

I was offended for a few hours.
Then I dusted it off.

It's shit like that which gives me the drive needed to get shit done.
The moment someone is mean to me is the moment my spite levels rise and I SWEAR to succeed at whatever it is this fuck underestimates me on.
In this case, it appears I'm not cool enough (or subservient enough... not sure here). Also, I supposed he's still too pissed at me for that fucking Twitter comment I made on astrology and how people should back the fuck up when criticizing me... because I DO have a science degree, so OF COURSE I understand astrology is FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

Ok, so yeah, I'm not cool enough and there isn't much he can get out of me (like he usually gets from chicks. They usually aid in him making connections with important males because these chicks can lure them into his circle by fucking them or whatever... not that my sister does that... but she does lure boys to come hither because she's a lovely, pretty girl with equally pretty/prissy friends).

SO... motherfucker, I'm gonna make you regret that for ever and ever... and I'm gonna love Every. Fucking. Second.

"If you even dream of beating me you'd better wake up and apologize."
His famous last words to me about a month ago. I never "dreamt" of "beating" him... but sucka, now that you intentionally snubbed me... oooooooo! I will MORE THAN GLADLY beat the fucking shit out of you AT YOUR OWN GAME.
Nothing I love MORE than bustin' egos, homeboy.

Thanks for the motivation. I needed that kick in the ass.
ON WITH THIS MOTHERFUCKING PROJECT!

P.S. How 'bout you or any ONE of your stupid, arrogant friends VISIT a REAL european country to see what that lifestyle's about. It's like me throwing a Bollywood themed birthday bash... when all I know about that shit is what I've watched on a fucking soap opera. Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit.

February 1st

Shhhh! Do you hear that?
Do you?
That's the sound of me, crying, because  my birthday is exactly A MONTH away (I hope there were ambulance/cop sirens going off while people read that... although when I cry, I sound just like a bunny snacking on lettuce... i.e. I'm silent, with the occasional sniffle or sob).
...
....
Holy Moses.

Nah, I'm not crying. I'm just kidding and making a big deal.
I've actually been going around telling everyone I'm 26 for the last month. My brain has been automatically doing that for the last three years.

Anyway, on this day, the person I remember most is an elementary school classmate of mine--Adam-- who turns 26 today.
I only remember this because he was so fucking annoying.
He was my classmate in third and fifth grade, but I was stuck in G.A.T.E. classes with him starting at second grade (when I was still technically ESL with my all-Spanish class. Go figure. My theory is that I was held off in Spanish classes for so long because of my name... it's so ardently hispanic... without having the name "Maria" involved). I had to learn to put up with him because his mom was the P.E. teacher, and that lady was SO legit... I felt bad being a bitch to her son.

The fact that Adam's mom was the school P.E. teacher was crazy, because Adam was the perfect example of a human meatball. He was shorter than most girls, and really, really fat. It was absolutely hilarious to watch him run (he'd only run after girls... that little perv... or to the cafeteria, for obvious reasons) because his legs were so short, but they'd move so fast.
He had the longest mullet I have ever seen... a mullet he rocked all through elementary school-- I'm talking kinder to fifth grade. He'd always be combing it during free time... and talking shit to girls because our hair wasn't nearly as shiny as his (yeah, prick, I bet if I had such a hefty appetite as you, my scalp's natural oils would coat my hair follicles to make them so shiny I could blind a pilot in the sky).
He had round glasses... the type you see on Mrs. Clause. He'd always be pressing them back into his pudgy face.
He also had very, very, very defined dimples... short, stubby fingers... and a REALLY LOUD mouth.
Did I mention he was a prick?

Due to the fact that his mother was the P.E. teacher, none of us could cross him or else he'd convince her to make us run laps... or worse yet, square dance as punishment. He also had the power to cancel Field Day (only THE best day of the entire school year where the school would be divided into the Blue and White team. We'd then compete against each other in a bunch of games for the entire day. God, I loved that day).
I was lucky, because apparently, Adam had a crush on me. I only knew this because his mom told me so when she first met me. I told her my name and she was all excited and referred to me as "Adam's little girlfriend" and when I corrected her (Huh? Who's Adam? My boyfriend's name is Freddy. HAHAHA! Oh, Freddy...) was when she told me that Adam would go home and tell her stories about me... because of G.A.T.E.
Of course, I was unaware of his true feelings because he spent his fucking time being an asshole to me (story of my life). Adam would tell his mom I was so smart and funny... with such cool interests and stories... that he had wasted no time in asking me out. YEAAAAH, RIIIIIIGHT.
In all reality, I lived my life in... not fear, but just dread of seeing this kid. He'd always find the need to correct me... every time. He was a little know-it-all. And he'd belittle my work in G.A.T.E. class, something I took seriously because I was so insecure due to the fact that I was the only hispanic kid in class... so I took people's comments seriously... because they were native English speakers... with American parents who knew what was up. I was just a Mexican farm girl... what the fuck did I know?

My clearest memory is this one time that we did a... is it "vendiagram?" No, no, that was another story... it was a "diorama" (I tell you... I spoke/wrote/read in Spanish, I only went by what I heard in English... I wasn't interested in the actual spelling of things 'cause I wasn't being graded on it). We had to use a shoebox and make a 3-D replica of something. Everyone went for the more obvious shit like "This is my house," "This is a theater stage."
I went for the crazy cool shit: this is an aquarium! (FYI: I had never seen an aquarium in real life. I was ghetto, come on now. I relied on what I had seen on TV and my good ol' imagination)
I painted my shoebox all different shades of blue on the outside. I framed the inside with different ocean photos from "National Geographic" magazines.
I positioned the box on its side, and added the prettiest fishes I could find, of all sizes, at different distances... even dangling some on strings so they could just chill in the middle, in order to create the illusion of depth (No one had given me this idea, it was ALL MINE. I had this artistic shit on lock at a very early age, BUT STILL my parents forced me onto science. Blah. What a waste).
My big "BAM!" was glueing a photo of a dolphin on either side of the box, just... right there, right in your face... where they looked like they were jumping out of the box.
My proudest motherfucking moment right there (sadly, I have no idea where that box ended up. I might have taken it home and wrecked it by stepping on it, in one of my infamous fits of rage or something).
Anyway, this box had rave reviews from my teachers and classmates. All but sorry-ass Adam. He hated on my diorama like it was his damn job. He went as far as to grab my shoebox (which was displayed in the ultimate location: the cafeteria/multipurpose room) and hide (hid? I'm having a tense crisis here thanks to this depressing memory) it! A first grader had found my box between the unused cafeteria tables and brought it over to the lunch lady... who saw my name and stuff, and gave it back to the G.A.T.E. teacher.
Being that I'm a sensitive idiot, this of course made me cry... and garnered him my eternal scorn.
Bastard asshole.

Anyway, Adam did this shit to me all through elementary school and I couldn't do shit because I was too afraid of a couple of extra laps in P.E.
I remember that I accidentally found out his birthday when I was a third grader because he was boasting about it.
Every morning, during announcements, kids with birthdays were mentioned.
This day, they mentioned Adam (coincidentally, it was also a Tuesday. Creepy) and he squealed (choice words, motherfucker) with glee in his seat.
Me, being nice-- and since he sat three desks away from me-- told him he was exactly a month older than me. How cool! :)
And he fucking shot me down! Why do I care? Your birthday could be in seven months and I still wouldn't care. (Jordan Shrug)
His Jordan Shrug was what hurt the most... also the way he looked at me as if I had just asked him for money while stepping on his brand new shoes.
That was probably the hardest I've ever tried not to cry.
I hope you die, you fucking fatass.
He CRIED.
The teacher called me over to her desk, and sure enough, I was in trouble.
I spent that day's recess squatting against the wall and reciting multiplication tables... while he ran around laughing and pointing at me (which of course, made me give him the death stare before the sentimental idiot in me started to whimper and sob). Recess ended with the teacher making ME apologize to HIM... and then seeing him turn around to look at me and smirk as we walked back to class.

That fucking asshole.

And that's why I remember him on this day... and why I think February 1st is a piece of shit.

Alo. Alo? Adios.

Today is Alo's 24th birthday.

Sister and I debated whether or not to call her.
She's our friend... regardless of what she decided to do with her love life.
She'll always be the girl whose stuffed animal we had to hold for ransom over the summer so she'd agree to our massive slumber party:

Rough night for Tony.

 The girl who would take on nopales (cacti) with nothing but a rock, all for the sake of our group's entertainment:

She hella lost that fight.

 The girl who'd jokingly threaten to molest us during our lazy summer nights:

Holding Sister down in oder to proceed to lick Sister's face.

 The girl who'd walk the deserted Hometown streets with us during the lonely days in June:

I MISS THIS!

The girl who'd try the delicious, but deadly, Mexican food a DAY before going on the 30-whatever hour-long drive back home.

Entirely too excited about that torta.

The girl who'd race the rainstorm with us because we would stay too long at the park playing volleyball.

We all lost here. That rain pounded the hell out of us within seconds.

The girl who would help us win heated flip-cup championships, regardless of how shitfaced she may have been:

Muthafuckin' PRO!

Did I mention she liked molesting us?

Shamelessly showing me how she was gonna ride my sister that night! jk

And she'd make us the liveliest girls at the Summer Weddings:

She got me into throwing the peace sign.

She got us all the free Modelo, which I was a little embarrassed about.

still embarrassed...

Ah, fuck it! I learned to embrace/appreciate it. Fuck being known as the drunk table. That shit was F.U.N!

We called.

The voice of a young man answered.
Sister: Is... Alo there?
Guy: Yeah. Hold on.
Sister: (whispering to me) Fuck... I think her husband answered.
Alo: Hello?
Sister and me: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Alo: Awww, thanks girls!
Sister: Why did that dude answer your phone?
Alo: Oh... my brother? He answered... because... it's his now.
Sister: You have a new number and you didn't tell me?
Alo:.... no. I... well, you know... I'm... disconnecting myself from the world for now... you now. I... don't have a phone anymore.
Sister: Hmmm.
Alo: ... a lot of things changed after I got back.
Sister: I see...
Alo: Yeah... I mean... A LOT. A lot of... life-changing events... HUGE life changing events.
Sister: You fucking bitch... you better not be pregnant.
Alo: ... no... no, I'm not pregnant. But... I... got... I'm married.
No shit. 
Sister: Oh. When? Where? Why? Before you left?
Alo: Yeah. Because... well, we wanted to travel... and you can't travel when you're just boyfriend-girlfriend.
Me: SURE YOU CAN!
Alo: ... well... we got married.
Sister: So he went with you to Switzerland?
Alo:... yeah.

I left the room after that. My stomach could no longer take it.
It's weird, but I was getting sick just listening to it all.
How can you do that? How can you give up like that? WHO are you?

After I left, Sister kept talking to her, but was cut short.
Alo: I have A LOT to tell you... but... I have to do it when I'm alone... you know? I can't... really talk right now.
Sister: Your husband?
Alo: Yeah. But I'll call you back when I'm alone. Thanks for the call. Bye.

Her tone of voice... when I think of it... I feel... I want to cry. It's not the little girl I met back in '92. Not the same silly girl who'd always greet me with a "A la de rojo me la cojo!" whenever I'd wear red (a little perverted rhyme meaning "I'll fuck the one in red"). Not the girl from my memories.

I replay what was said, and I want to vomit.

Getting rid of her phone? Not being able to talk freely with her friends on her birthday? What the fuck is that about?
It's just... all wrong. All wrong.

I feel as if I attended the funeral of a good friend. An awesome friend... has disappeared. Not even a glimmer of that girl to be found today. Our Alamo Crew is officially dead.

My brother will never know of this. It will kill what ever is left of his heart.

Birthday Cake

Today is my Pop's 57th birthday.
Like every year, we had dinner together, chatted, and then ate cake.
However, this year we all took it up a notch and had some wine with our dinner (I HATE wine). I also learned something new about Dad: He never had a birthday cake until he married Mom. She made one for him their first year of marriage, and has done so ever since.
Me: Awwww! Daddy! Not even as a little baby?!
Dad: Never. I didn't even know what a birthday cake looked like.
Me: Daddyyyy!! :(
This made me frown, damn near cry (maybe it was the wine?), and I squeezed daddy's face, then kissed his forehead.

It's easy for me to lose my patience with Dad, call him a troglodyte in the middle of an argument... because I forget about his rough childhood.
His entire neighborhood was poor... so no one there ever had a birthday party... and Dad never hung out with kids from other parts of town, so he never got to see a birthday cake (after telling me all this, he went back to telling me his bicycle story and how he never got one/rode one, all sad. Little Dad really wanted a bicycle as a child... proof being he still remembers that shit on his 57th birthday).
How heartbreaking is that? Makes me feel like shit for taking stuff like that for granted.

So, after getting sad and having my heart break a little more for my pops, I just hugged him violently and bit his cheek... 'cause that's how I do.

I love my dad.


Totally off-topic, but still worth mentioning:
This afternoon, as I drove home from gym-time, I saw a text from Mooney:
MGH!!!!!
Me: What he do?
(I rolled my eyes, expecting to hear some embarrassing shenanigan of his or rude comment from him or something. This kid is unpredictable)
Mooney: He's single
(I almost crashed the car on the Warm Springs' bridge... thanks Mooney! jk)
Me: NO WAY!
Mooney: Yep

I'm crossing my fingers I don't get a message from him soon, 'cause I'm done with that shit... although I help him out at the drop of a dime the moment he needs anything.
I'm a sucker like that.
But I'll only help in making him laugh. None of this flirting shit.

2011, you're being a fuckhead right now.

Being Accountable

You know, in the many years I've had this blog, I've never dedicated an entire entry to my best friend.
Something always tells me I'm repeating myself when I'm about to start writing. But I just checked, and no, the most I did was write two sentences apologizing for waiting an extra day to wish her a happy birthday.
Well...
I'm a little worn out by all the studying... which in turn makes me very sentimental, and I'm rarely sentimental (ha!) so I feel it's the right time to make an entry dedicated to my best friend in the whole wide world:
Ms. Kelley... aka Chase.

This girl... I don't know where to begin. She is, seriously, the most amazing person on Earth.
I have no idea what I did to deserve such an incredible person for a best friend. Of the few times we've ever had a problem, I've always been the dumb cunt at fault. I don't know how she still agrees to stick around and attempt to make me a better person.
She is the smartest person I've ever met... it's thanks to her that I graduated high school AND college. I have yet to meet someone who can score higher than her on an exam (someone who does it legitimately. None of this cheating bullshit for which our class was notorious. I did do a little better than she did in Histology lab... but that was because we spent too much of our time chatting about America's Next Top Model and my fascination over our TA's huge ass... and she was also busy giving me lessons on slang terms used for sexual acts... I mean, back then I didn't even know what a "Pearl Necklace" was. THAT'S how difficult I made the task for the poor girl. This was all too distracting for my friend). Kelley's a badass, motherfuckin' genius! :)

Not only do I have to thank her for helping me with the academic aspect of my life (and the fact that I even know how to speak English. My English prior to meeting her was ghetto-tastic, not refined whatsoever), but it's also thanks to her that I retained a lot of my sanity.

Very typical of Kelley, she is constantly encouraging me to follow my heart, not what every other person expects out of me. I discovered my love for writing thanks to her (yeah, that one ex-professor guy piqued my interest in the class, but Kelley was the one to register first and convinced me it would be a fun project), and she helped me understand that it was fine to stick with artsy stuff, even if my parents thought it was a stupid hobby.
You like writing? You're great at it, do it! You like drawing? You do pretty work, DO IT! You like photography? I like your photography, do it!
I feel horrible that she has to be there like my Mom, gently nudging me to move on. It must get annoying.
Not only does she dish out the advice, but she follows it. She loves music, and while I would have given up on it two weeks after starting, she has stuck to it since junior year of high school. She loves singing, composing, and playing instruments... and there she is, getting gigs and getting over her initial sort-of-stage fright. AND all this considering she was a "science nerd" right along with me.

She makes me laugh... hard. She doesn't go for the easy laugh, either, I have to sit there and think. She's super clever, and doesn't get exasperated by my SUPER slow nature... ever... not once... like, sometimes I wonder if she's even human, she has so much patience.
We have too many inside jokes, they're scribbled all over my high school and college notes. They're doodles, one-liners... lyrics... cartoon-strips... you name it, it's somewhere on our notes.
BE ACCOUNTABLE, SHANNA!!
:)

She's also my accomplice when it comes to my crushes.
She doesn't get irritated by my gushing, she claps like a retarded seal right along with me.
I BUMPED INTO MR. DARCY ON MY WAY TO *insert location here* TODAY!!!

Yay! :) Did you talk to him?

Yeah, but I was an idiot.

Oh, AnoMALIE... 
Each time my heart gets crushed, my incessant boo-hoo stories don't bug her-- she hears me out then takes me out to clear my mind.
It's over... MGH and I
I'm sorry :( Wanna go hiking?
My favorite is when she randomly sends me e-mails concerning my celebrity crushes ("I think he's your soul-mate" and then a link concerning James Franco... or Cristiano Ronaldo). Those make me smile.
She allows me to turn into a squealing twelve-year old girl.

She knows every single one of my secrets, and she doesn't judge me... ever.
She goes about her life, wears whatever she feels like wearing, does whatever she feels like doing, and she doesn't give a fuck what others might think of her... while still being friendly to the jerkoff talking shit. She has tried to pass this along to me, but I'm far too irascible. I'll bite a person's head off if they so much as insinuate anything negative about me... that, or cry, both of which get me nowhere and in a shitty mood quick.

But above all, I've always been awed by her incredible strength.
I still remember the day I called her, somewhat irritated with my calculus homework, our senior year of high school. I had skipped school for senior ditch day, 03-03-03, but remembered Kelley was going to go to class. I called her that afternoon and remember thinking her voice sounded weird. When I asked, her response was simple: Well... my mom died. 
She went to school the day her mom died... a day when nearly NO senior attended, went through the motions, and had me calling her that afternoon. Instead of telling me to fuck off-- which I think anybody else would, and rightfully so-- she was right there, helping me with a mundane related-rates homework question. When I asked if she wanted me to stop and give her time to herself, her response was "No, I want to keep busy. I need to keep busy."
We both sat there sniffling and trying to iron out my problem, MY problem.

I'm selfish, mean, catty, and ungrateful when it comes to my treatment of my best friend.
I screamed at her on multiple occasions during lab times. I said some mean, straight up heart-less shit to her that she obviously never deserved. I made her cry when all she ever did for me was try to keep me from crying.
If it weren't for her, I'm sure I'd be someone far worse.

We're quirky together, and while most of the people in my life would advise me to grow up and be more structured, more serious... less awkward and weird, she allows me to be me.
I like weird patterns, improper jokes, cussing, drawing, writing, laughing, and skinny, dorky boys.
She gets me. She knows me. She accepts me.
She's the best human being I've ever come across.
She's my best friend.

Happy 25th, Kelley :)
I never say this enough, but I love you like a sister. I don't know where I'd be without you.

23

Alright, here's my second post for the day. It's going to consist of more cheating, since it's going to be last night in pictures (God, forgive me. I'm just really tired and stressed and I still need to study and I have no time to bother with actual entries. Those shits require actual thought put behind it and I'm in no condition to do so. It's difficult to be clever and "punny" when my mood is so shot)

I couldn't help myself, and I caved. I purchased the hot pink shoes I fell in love with last month. But I let the birthday girl wear them (i.e. Little Sister took them from my closet and I opted against getting her in a chokehold until she tapped out because it was, after all, her birthday celebration).

Moment I stepped in the lounge, I was given champagne... and while I typically hate it, this one was tasty. I never knew how easily this shit buzzes a person.

Had to sober up somehow before the guests arrived. I hate Jamon Serrano. 

More drinking and some Spanish music to get the party started.

At midnight, it was time to celebrate Baby Sister's real birthday. She's no longer such a baby :(

Something tells me this guy might be a little violent with his girls... like maybe... I feel sorry for anyone who ever thinks about giving him head... just sayin'.

Then people started smoking and tried getting me in on the action. "Sorry dudes, I stopped that shit at 23. I take care of my lungs." Are you starting to understand why I was stuck with photographer duty for the night?

I also used my skill to catch minors at the bar. JK, she was no minor, she too was a birthday girl... a 21st birthday girl. She pretty much embodied my mood for the night. "I need a motherfucking drink! And get rugby off the screen! Weren't we just watching the highlights from the Spanish League?!"

Then I drove home and fell asleep like an old lady.

But in all honesty, and keeping true to this week's celebration of "I love my sister week" (no, seriously, it is), I love my sister. We fight... she makes me cry, I reciprocate... but I also defend the hell out of her. Anyone hurts her and I immediately go out for blood, ask anyone. I've done it multiple times... I even flew up to Spain to put her roommates in check the moment she told me they made her cry.
She holds my hand when I'm upset... she cries with me when I don't know what to do... and she hugs me when I'm lost.
No matter how old she gets, she'll always be that little creature I once saw my mom holding inside of our Jeep on a rainy October afternoon. I was busy being a brat, running away from my babysitter... playing under the hole in the porch with my brother, taking turns on who would run under the water. The world seemed to stop the moment I saw the black Jeep make its way into our driveway... and Rafa and I froze in place, watching the car park... and Mom hop out holding a pink blanket. Baby Sister was home.

I love you, sister.