Black Mustang

"I'm the black mustang," he texted.
I saw him through his tinted windows, and smiled... hopping out of my parked car.
I had been waiting about a minute, letting him know what part of the mall parking lot I was in.
He nervously stood in front of me, I immediately went in for the hug-- as tightly as possible.

"Jesus Christ... I haven't seen you since... seventh grade!" I said.
The smell of freshly blazed weed overtook my nostrils.
He bashfully kicked at the floor, hands in pockets, occasionally making eye-contact with my overly excited face.
"Oh my god... that is strong," I said as I cough a little.
"I knew it'd be a good idea to blaze before seeing you... you're fucking beautiful, I would have not been able to talk to you at all" he said.

I met up with 5thGradeBoyfriend today... and it was... so good... oddly very good... like... I... didn't even suspect it would feel this good.
He drove out from Arizona for the weekend, unbeknownst to me.
He was incredibly bashful, which was uncommon in the guy I always knew... he was a total bad kid last time I checked. I found myself in the awkward position of trying to make HIM feel comfortable... I was the one with the job of speaking... of asking questions... acting extroverted.
Often times, I'd come to a complete silence because I'd catch him through my periphery just gazing at me... a gaze I've never felt, really... the goofiest, dopiest... most... lovestruck gaze I've ever seen anyone throw my way. It was like live-action Bambi... the twitterpated part.
"Ummm... Hiiiii, *5thGBF*!" I'd say, waving while smiling.
"I'm sorry... I just..." he'd say.
"It's really me... I'm here, in the flesh," I said, grabbing his hand with mine, showing him I was really there.

The way he looks at me... it's... it'll follow me for life. He has always looked at me that way... like I'm... some fucking mirage of his wildest dreams come true... not a lusty dream, just... a calm, joyous dream... if that makes sense. There is no perverse lust in his look... or judgement... it's... such a lovely feeling... I can't explain it... I just, never thought anyone out there would be able to look at me that way... like... I'm being worshipped... like I'm the best fucking thing the universe could have placed in their tracks.
Like I am a motherfucking heavenly mirage, damn it.

I'd look down and blush... smiling when the quiet admiring of my face (and it was just my face... not my tits, or legs, or ass... he'd examine every inch of my face with the most tender glance... Jesus, it gives me goosebumps) would last too long.
"Whaaaaat?" I'd finally whine.
"You're just... so much prettier... I didn't think it could be possible... you're... so perfect. Everything about you is so perfect," he said one of the times.
There was a hint of melancholy in his speech... like his regrets over his bad decisions would get the best of him. The guy carries a lot of sadness... and he's genuinely shocked that I would insist on staying friends with him, on being with him.
"Aren't you ashamed of being seen with me?" he asked.
"Why would I?" I asked.
"Like that white dude. He's clearly wondering what a nice girl like you... in your Audi, is doing talking to a... lowlife like me," he said.
My heart broke.
"I don't give a shit what he thinks. Your heart is kind and kept me sane during a time I felt at my loneliest" I said.

We talked for two hours... in my car, in the parking lot of a mall... my flowery scent mixing with his lingering weed fumes... and that shit felt like heaven.

The way he quietly admired my face... I'll never forget that.

Indifferent gratitude?

This Mexico trip, while being incredibly conducive to the proliferation of my artistic expression, also served to make me aware of a shift in my personality.

It has been a fucked up road for me in terms of controling my self-esteem.
Considering the ridiculously extended period of time spent being told I was ugly... literally getting that shit beaten into me at times, it should come as no surprise that I'm pretty fucked up in the self-esteem department.
I don't understand why exactly I had people calling me ugly as a toddler... I see photos now and think I was quite adorable with my giant eyeballs and whatnot... but the fact that "ballooning" in third grade brought about the merciless fat-shaming for the next 15 years kind of makes sense in my head... I mean, as much sense as bullying and ostracizing the fucking shit out of a girl for YEARS just because she's larger than average can make. Those were my formative years... age five to 25 are goddamn IMPERATIVE in a human's development, who the fuck are we kidding? To think someone-- a gentle, timid girl-- spent those years completely abandoned and only approached to be belittled or shamed or... hurt... and having her grow into an even more timid, awkward, and downright FUCKED UP individual isn't so outlandish.

So I hear I'm ugly and get ignored, only get attention to get publicly humiliated or physically harmed, for roughly twenty years. I hear fat jokes, people oink and moo at me (or actually "Ew" me when I walk by... really... that sound fucks me up to this day... it's worse than getting punched in the stomach, seriously), guys completely ignore me (AND ONLY me) at social events like Quinceañeras and weddings (I might be the only girl from Hometown who never once got asked to dance during her entire adolescence. Today, I still don't get asked because I acquired the fame of "The girl who doesn't dance" as thought that was ever my choice-- to turn someone down), girls avoid associating with me in public because they find it easier to have nothing to do with the one girl guys mock OR ruthlessly ignore. Later in my adolescence guys do begin to talk to me... I am smart, witty, funny, knowledgeable about sports, cool, kind, considerate... I'm a homie... and only that.
I become thoroughly convinced I am the ugliest, stupidest, most disgusting person on the planet... the unworthiest, most-embarrassing creature alive.
THEN I lose weight. A lot of it. THEN I suddenly become worthy. Suddenly I am noticed. Suddenly people want to associate with me. Suddenly people are baffled by my rejection... "You didn't like me six months ago as a fat girl... I'm the same fucking human being on the inside... I am the same shy girl who begged to be noticed and comforted... why the fuck am I suddenly worthy because I dropped 80 pounds? You're telling me being FAT warrants that type of torture?!" It was THE WORST mindfucking of my life.
The suddenness in the change of treatment from others was too quick for me to adjust, for me to accept. 20 years of neglect and hurt... suddenly converting to laudations from others in a matter of six months. I was the kindest, gentlest girl I could be during my years of torment... I graduated on time with a biology degree, FIRST person in my family to graduate college... but dropping 80 pounds was WORTHIER to people than any of that shit.

I refused to accept the claims from others regarding my "newfound beauty." It wasn't me being humble or fishing for compliments... it was me genuinely NOT believing those who spent the majority of my life calling me "ugly."
After a few years, I found myself feeling guilty... arrogant... vain... conceited, whenever I thought positively about my appearance.
"Get over yourself, AnoMALIE."
I'd catch a glimpse of my high cheekbones, or how cool my thick lips looked in a certain shade of lipstick... or how huge and dark my bare eyelashes looked after a shower... and would stop myself cold in my tracks when the thought was positive.
"People PAY FOR THIS SHIT, AnoMALIE! AND YOU WERE BORN WITH IT! You lucky broad!... but... I mean... I'm still ugly... I mean... I can't make it work... and that's just some conceited-ass shit, idiot. Clearly you aren't pretty, or else guys would be all over you. Get over yourself," my conscience would wrestle.

Up until two months ago, I'd still blush WILDLY... activating coldsores... whenever ANYONE would allude to my "beauty." I'D FUCKING GET TEARY-EYED from the embarrassment of a compliment.

This trip to Hometown, I experienced two instances which helped open my eyes to a possible shift in this fucked up, low (more like "nonexistent") self-esteem of mine.
On my third day, I went to the "city" to get my broken filling fixed (I was so furious a couple of weeks ago, I ground my teeth hard enough to break off one of my porcelain fillings). After the thirty-minute procedure, I proceeded to walk around the city with my parents as they did some shopping in various locations. Mom and I were fed up after about an hour of perusing through little shops in the city plaza, killing time as Dad had his boots shined.
Mom decided to grab some barbacoa tacos, while I sluggishly waited, standing next to her with my fucked up, swollen, numb mouth hidden from the general public who were enjoying their morning stroll in the plaza.
"Don't move your face... your right side is paralyzed... you will look crazy the moment you attempt speaking or even smiling... but don't look like a homicidal sociopath," I thought.
Originally, a chick was helping mom with her tacos. I looked away form the taco stand, searching for dad, and when I looked back at my mother, a young, green-eyed man was hastily making his way over to us, quickly asking mom what kind of beverage she would like.
"Uh... a... Coca-Cola," Mom said.
I couldn't help but smile, bringing a hand to my lips the moment I remembered about my half-paralyzed mouth. Mom had sworn-off soda before our trip, I bet her she wouldn't make it through this trip without a drink.
The guy looked over at me, holding out a chair, and invited me to please take a seat.
Fuck... I gotta talk...
I tried my hardest to "smize" (smile with one's eyes) a la Tyra Banks. I held out my left hand and shook it as a negative, immediately bringing that same hand to my lips when I felt a smile escaping as I thought about how dumb I must look with a half-limp smile.
I tried my best to gain my composure, and stood as... "nicely" as possible while my mom finished her tacos. I tried looking "nice" and not intimidating or angry as I stood without moving my mouth (that shit's hard when you're naturally scowling like I am. I need to overcompensate with a permanent smile so other don't think I'm ready to uppercut the shit out of them). I looked around and people-watched for about ten minutes, while listening to the green-eyed guy talk to his coworker about the upcoming dance he so desperately wanted to go to.
When Mom finished her tacos, I finally once again looked over at the young man and serenely watched as he pushed his female coworker out of the way in order to be the one who gave Mom her change. The guy fumbled with the coins for about thirty seconds, dropping and sorting through the 1's, 2's, and 5's, fucking up his math. The commotion made my sight shift to his hands, then to his blushing face.
"Here is your change. And pardon me for the fumbling... A guy gets... nervous," he said after giving Mom the correct change, smiling while briefly making eye-contact with me.
I smiled politely, softened my stance, and calmly walked away.
I did not blush with embarrassment, I did not roll my eyes in irritation.
I felt... sort of sorry for the guy... for letting my presence get to him. He was sweet, and not in the least bit vulgar in his behavior towards us... he was sweetly nervous.
Sweet kid... little does he know I'm damaged beyond repair, totally unworthy of the attention.
I'm dead inside. Well, no, it's more like... I felt tenderness for the kid, for still possessing that ability to feel for someone else at first sight. However, more importantly, his attention did not anger me, or embarrass me, or even flatter me... it just made me feel bad for him feeling I was something out of the ordinary. "Bless your heart!" sort of thing.
And I moved on. Calmly.

This type of... serene... resignation (to loneliness) was my response to all expressions of admiration from people.
A second instance of "blatant admiration" occurred the night of the big patron saint festivity, the 9th.
The evening is spent attending an hour-long mass dedicated to the Patron, and at the end everyone files out and down the hill, eats street food until the sun goes down (usually about an hour of fucking around to one's content, be it drinking tequila straight out the bottle until the world can't stop spinning, stuffing your face with cobs of corn or pancakes or churros or tacos or tortas or cotton candy, or playing various carnival games), then finds a good spot to watch three-hours-worth of live fireworks... really fucking intricate fireworks, set to live music.

View exiting the church.
That two-story house down there with the red "pop-outs" is my much-envied balcony seat.

Originally, I wasn't going to participate in the activities (except church, because I'm a fucking nun), but as I was exiting the church, a cousin whose house is at the foot of the hill (upon which the town's church is located) invited us to watch the fireworks from her roof.

Church on the hill, behind the pyrotechnic "trees"

This meant I would not have to mingle with the drunken crowd, and I'd have the best seats in town.
Just as the time approached for the lighting, rain started to pour, and everyone down below rushed below the stands and proceeded to shiver the night away, watching the workers struggle with the fireworks.
After perhaps half an hour of staring at the messed up fireworks display, I started to zone out. I sat in my chair, under my umbrella, gazing at nothing.

Never too rainy or windy to party.
Meanwhile, I live out my destiny to be the Mexican version of Quasimodo.

After another twenty minutes, I began to feel eyes on me. I felt a guy in a red shirt, standing below, at my periphery, intently staring at my face. The gaze felt hot on my face, but as calmly as I've never been, I looked over and made eye-contact with the culprit: Cos... my childhood friend... the little boy who always kept me company when I'd hang out at "el alamo" with the summer gang (don't get me wrong, those memories are without a doubt the happiest of my life, but not without its share of excruciatingly painful and sad... like when the girls of the group started turning into gorgeous teens and I only ballooned into a fatter, more pathetic nerd, and the girls proceeding to go out without me, disassociating with me so as to not scare away any boys). I love this kid, madly, but with no romantic feelings whatsoever. I love him for having a heart, and taking pity on me at a time when he was a sweet little kid, a 9-year-old with a platonic crush on a weird, funny, kind, chubby, (five-years) older girl who was mistreated by jackasses who failed to appreciate her strengths. When we'd play games that required a partner, and before there was time for me to stand alone for even five seconds, I was his go-to girl, this nine-year-old's first pick. He'd hug me, and sit next to me... and give me random little gifts that his nine-year-old little hands could find-- plastic bracelets, flowers, lightning bugs. This child saved me many, many tears.
He's now a 26-year-old honorably-discharged marine... with severe PTSD that he acquired during his two Afghanistan tours. Townspeople avoid him, because he's "weird" and doesn't talk... often says hello and randomly drifts off, walking away from everyone. He prefers to remain in solitude.
I've never been scared of him, never judged him. I've always loved and appreciated him.
However, this visit I had not seen him whatsoever (since he was not home the day I visited). Watching him watching me... felt... warm, but... cold. He stared, with the same kindness in his eyes with which he has greeted me since his childhood... that same level of admiration. His gaze did not leave my face for... what felt like an eternity (more like five minutes, because it lasted a song and a half). How do I know he was staring AT ME? I was the only person on the roof... everyone else was in the safety of the ground floor-- indoors. I made eye-contact with him for about five seconds, only to make sure I was the object of his cocked head. Once I saw I was indeed the object of his attention, I continued with my activities (filming one of the pyrotechnic "trees" which one of my family members ordered).
I was not being indifferent... I was just... being myself... my quiet self. No blushing, no irritation... just... quiet resignation.

There is certainly gratitude, but...  saudade... because it's undeniably kind of anyone to admire a wreck such as me the way they do, but sad that in no way do I deserve it or can "reward" them for it.
DO they even want to be "rewarded?"
Is indifference truly what I feel... now that I've typed all this shit out and finally analyze it for myself?

Gratitude... but... I don't understand what the big deal is... just carry on, my friend... carry on.

adult playground

So, a little bit of elaboration on last night's [buzzed] post [which took me ten embarrassingly-eternal minutes to type up correctly].
Last night Sis wanted to celebrate her birthday.
So we went downtown to the hipster spot.
Everything was fine, since there were a good number of family members present, and I have an easy time catching up with them. Things were so fine, I was even flirting with my cousin's (whom I refer to as my brother-from-another-mother. The cousin who was able to kick his horrible pacifier addiction as a toddler by having his mom make him believe Baby AnoMALIE didn't have pacifiers of her own, and he very kindly donated his entire stash to Baby AnoMALIE. That story always warms my heart) fucking adorable coworker/friend. (By "flirting," I mean "We were both rooting against USC, high-five-ing each other, then ultimately booing at the end like a couple of maniacs")
The guy is this handsome white boy-- six feet tall, green eyes, dirty blond, chiseled jaw, buff AS FUCK (awesome ass. Broad shoulders, well-formed pecs, small waist, big ass, thick thighs... fucking beautiful, guys, beautiful), sweet, kind, hilarious. Like... an ex-mormon with the good habits, not judgmental of what they consider "bad" habits (shit, he was even drinking with us).
Best of all? He has a total fetish for Hispanic girls, since he grew up on the East side of town.
OH! And even better? Homeboy's four years my junior.
Roar, baby, roar.

As we chatted, we found out we had a ridiculous amount of similarities... bonded over our street cred, sport's teams, schools, gym habits, and even our college majors.
Basically, by the end of the night, I wanted to lick his face (HIS FACE!).
I mean, his presence was appreciated/welcomed by me, I was by NO MEANS bothered by him... at all. My body dug that vibe.

Then the coming-of-age sitcom drama began.
I swear, when this shit happens--and it happens WAY TOO FUCKING OFTEN-- it's a fucking out-of-body experience. I sit back and just watch this happens while internally, my mind is screaming "GODDAMN IT! NOT THIS FUCKING SHIT AGAIN!" and I see the events taking place in slow motion. It's almost comical (actually, it is once I recover from the bit of heartbreak).
I'm vibing with this rad little white boy, when suddenly I catch my sister return to my little circle (she was being a little social butterfly, fluttering between the different circles of groups of friends) and wrap her arms around my adorably perfect white boy.
... The fuck?! NO! This room is PACKED with men... WHY THE FUCK go for the ONE digging my vibe?! YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND BACK HOME!!
While internally I was freaking out, angry as fuck, I had to remind myself to pose a cool exterior... to not let others know how irritated and upset I was over my sister being a sleaze ball.
She then proceeded to slowly kiss the side of his face... repeatedly... while groping him.
WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING JERK?! STOP!
This is around the time I decide to post my entry from last night... to calm myself down and keep myself from body-slamming her to the floor.

So I'm upset... wanting to throw Jenga pieces across the room (the bar we went to has a giant backyard with oversized versions of elementary-school games, like hopscotch, four square, and this awesome giant version of Jenga). I see the hugging and kissing from my sister has yet to stop... and I am doing everything in my power not to scream at her, demanding she stop and go take a cold shower ("and stop going for the one motherfucker with whom I feel a mutual attraction, bitch").
This is where magic happens.
This is where my white boy looks over to me with my sister still hanging on to the side of his face, he laughs, and says:
"Damn... your sister is thirsty as fuck!"
And I burst out into a loud fit of laughter.
"I'm not thirsty!" says my sister. She stops grabbing him... and stumbles away to god knows where.
And I go back to vibing with my white boy.
We did random feats of strength the rest of the night. I carried him ("Look, I don't want to end the night with the back of my head on that concrete right there... bleeding profusely. I don't think you can handle this 205 pound body." I love proving people wrong), and he gave me a piggy back ride (at his lovely insistence)... that sort of fun, little kid shit. (but no one licked each other's face the rest of the night)

I woke up with my abs on fire.
I laughed a lot last night.
That was nice. It felt good.

How YOU doin'?

The summer of 1999 was rough on me.
The previous summer had been incredible-- I was encountering a surge in popularity due to me suddenly hitting puberty and looking sort of different to the people in Hometown (I'm notorious for being pretty constant in appearance. People freak the fuck out when I change). As the year progressed, puberty hit me HARDER and I ballooned.
A girl can never gain weight without others being hypercritical and vocalizing their disgust... because the girl deserves all that berating because FUCK HER for being such a fucking slob... because all fat people are subhuman fucking slobs. They need to be put in their place.(SARCASM, here, ok... just had to place the disclaimer)

SO, while I spent that summer in Mexico continually contemplating suicide and hovering dangerously close to the edges of the town's bridge... I did have a couple of friends.
My best friends were my two cousins I've mentioned previously... the pretty girls.
This close friendship with the pretty girls made me popular with the cute guys... because they wanted me to hook them up with my friends.
This was my initiation to the DUFF Club.
Good fucking times in that club... I dare say I have a lifetime membership. (There's that sarcasm again-- the good times, that is... I'm pretty rock solid about my lifetime status)

Anyway, that summer, a pair of twins seemed to be the most active in seeking my help in coupling them with my friends.
These twins were BY FAR the most popular men in the entire municipality... like most fucking twins.
This constant chill-time spent with the twin boys made me popular because other girls wanted me to put in a good word for them... but also popular with the same girls because they'd proceed to gossip about what a whore I was (this always confused me. One minute I'm a fat cow/pig no one wants to be seen with, and the next I'm a whore... when would I have time to fuck all these guys when everyone was so concerned with publicly ostracizing the shit out of me?).
Like the lonely, sad girl I was, I tried to oblige EVERYONE as best as I could.
The only people who seemed to NOT be ashamed of being seen with me where these twins.
Needless to say, I did get them each a shot with their girls... and I (thought I) formed a close bond with the dudes.

Fast forward to the fall of '99 and how my time only WORSENED as I entered a new school... as a Freshman in High School... an ex-ghetto Mexican-American girl in an affluent, vastly-white school.
The ostracism reach a completely different level, and my only friends were those willing to chat with me on-line.
These twin boys were some of the few who'd still chat with me.
One day, I commented how one of the twins-- let's call him V-- looked like the little boy on Seventh Heaven. I meant it as a compliment, David Gallagher was fucking beautiful, but V took it as the most horrendous personal attack, so he fired right back.
"Yeah? Well, you're Betty La Fea, only the fat version."
Ugly Betty... he called me Ugly Betty (imagine my distress when America Ferrera played this role years later... apparently we look alike, according to EVERYBODY), only he added the extra punch about the weight at the end.
BOOM! Nuclear War.
I let that bitch have it... I unleashed all the built up hatred in my heart and told him every single bad thing about him.
I'm terrible when it comes to speaking, but give me the opportunity to attack you in a written form? I will FUCK. YOU. UP.

Our friendship ended that moment.

I had not spoken to this twin since that incident. I have remained on good terms with his twin, but have gone out of my way to avoid that idiot V-- despite the fact that we're actually 3rd cousins (our grandfathers were very close).

Well, guess who I bumped into this afternoon as I walked out of my hardcore workout? Good ol' Simon Camden (aka "V").
He was on his way into the gym, but throwing something into a garbage can directly in my path, so when I looked up in order to avoid colliding with the can, I noticed him. I stared him in the face until he made eye-contact with me.
Like the idiot I've always been, I greeted him with a giant smile and loud acknowledgement.
"Hey, V!"
He, in typical V fashion, stared at me like he's carefully wafting some unknown concoction in high school chemistry class... looking down at me as if I'm a lowly plebe to his royal highness.
I don't know if he recognized me, but he stopped, and VERY shamelessly maneuvered his entire body so he could check out my ass-- unabashedly STARE at my asscheeks-- and uttered the phrase I will mock for the rest of my life:
How you doin'?

Now, I wouldn't make so much fun of this... had he been JOKING... but NO! He was serious.
He did not look me in the eye... he did not utter my name-- he stared at my spandex-clad ass while dropping the sleaziest line known to humankind... he spoke to my ass.
!
?
!

I laughed, continued walking forward (if he wanted to stare at my ass, what was the point of me just standing there trying to hold eye-contact like a normal, conscious creature?), threw up the peace sign (for real, I did all that... I don't know where I got the self-esteem to be that cool, but I did) and raised my voice loud enough for him to hear me say "I'm doing well!"
I did not look back.
I kept walking to my car (so fucking far away... all these "Beach Body" fanatics are making gym-life difficult), randomly bursting out into uncontrollable, childish giggles... with me occasionally repeating V's line, in the same tone and everything (nice to know my impersonation-tendencies return to me when I'm greatly amused).
"How you doin'?"

Today, the 7th Heaven goody-goody died and arose from its ashes only to become Joey Tribbiani.

Ps. V is now fat.
TAKE THAT, MUTHAFUCKAAAAA!

Where do I fit?

Yesterday I snuck in a day trip to LA with my sister.

The reason for the trip was to accompany my sister to her best friend's baby shower. Since the vehicle used is mine, I pretty much was strong-armed into going.

I'm glad I went, not just because it was a stereotypically beautiful California day, but mainly because it was an incredible opportunity to people-watch. It was MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.
Why the excitement? Because I was somewhat of a fly on the wall, and I was able to watch two families interact without having a bias toward one or the other.

Both families were Mexican... but the different versions of Mexicans that I swear exist.

One was what I consider "traditionalists." First generation, very traditional... spanish-speaking... formal (for parties)... still return to Mexico on a regular basis for vacations. I guess I should call them straight edge.
The other family was the stereotypical Mexican displayed on television sitcoms... the LA Mexican-Americans, what pops into Mexican people's minds (in Mexico) when someone says "Chicano." Lot's of drinking, lots of swearing, lots of tattoos, lots of illegitimate children... teen moms... ex-felons... super dark skin, but unable to speak a lick of Spanish ("Con el pinche nopal en la frente." Roughly "With the fucking cactus pasted on your forehead." As in, you're as Mexican-looking as a fucking cactus). That deal.

It was like having an out-of-body experience.
It was like watching... Mexicans time traveling to their sad future.

The Straight-Edgers weren't saying much mean shit about the LA Mexicans... but they were mostly disgusted... upset, disappointed in the direction the LA Mexicans had gone. The look on their face was like what I imagine one's to look like if given the opportunity to travel a couple of generations ahead to see one's children have turned out to be huge disappointments.

The LA Mexicans were obese... drunk... all the women had children... all the men were covered in gangster tattoos... gaged ears, and more nose piercings than I've seen in any other gathering anywhere. Oh, and not a single one spoke Spanish.

I just sat there... soaking it all in.
I am neither this nor that... mainly because I'm rejected in both circles.
I am too traditional for LA (I get ridiculously frustrated with non-spanish speakers... it surprises me, but that's the way the cookie crumbles for me. LA reciprocates by getting frustrated with me because I'm a goody-goody who likes WAY too many Mexican things), but I'm also too "Chicana" for the traditionalists (I'm too liberal in the church teachings... I have a rebellious streak, believe it or not. I don't give a shit about some day getting married OR procreating... I don't care for "raising a family" and that sort of shit... and I drink and cuss and rough house like a teenaged boy... I'm not very proper).

I was entertained.

Then I went ahead and forgot any part of the adventure that bummed me out by visiting my good ol' now-19-year-old boy for a short minute.
I swear... I feel like... well, I feel bad... doing shit on the down low as though I'm breaking some type of law... Mrs. Robinson type shit. And we haven't even done anything scandalous.

... but he thinks I'm gorgeous and hilarious and a fucking genius... and his eyes twinkle all cute when he finds me in a crowd, as though he has just seen the most valuable treasure. Then he holds me close against his rock hard ABS (let's not get all porn-tastic here) with his muscular arms as if he's scared I'm going to be torn away from him any second, never to be seen again... and that shit is... I've never felt anything like it. It's wonderfully exhilarating and flattering. It's so protective... and I've never been protected. It's the one thing I've always kept to myself, silently... this desire to please, PLEASE be protected... please don't leave me hanging there alone, only to be stomped mercilessly by the heartless assholes who always seem to find me. It warms my heart and makes a gentle smile slowly creep across my face. He makes me feel like I'm worth a fucking damn... worth being treasured.
A nineteen year old. Insane.

1995?!

Uh... Guys... Totally nix the part where I said Homeboy didn't like me.

... He does. A lot.

Guess why...

Take a WILD GUESS why this pretty boy likes me and stalks me...

BECAUSE... He's FUCKING EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!!

What. The. FUCK?!

What the fuck?!

I don't know what to say... At all... I've been like this for the last five hours or so.

When he dropped the bomb of being born March 3rd, 1995... I froze, and initially though "Oh shit! I'm two days older than him! Nice!"

Then he kept talking... About how the groom is a decade older than him... And I froze again.

The groom is MY age.

"This homeboy just... He just... Holy fucking shit! He's FUCKING EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!"

Homeboy got PLASTERED. Everyone at this wedding did-- drinking began at 10 in the morning.

300 BOTTLES OF TEQUILA. THREE HUNDRED! A bottle per attendee!

We walked to church-- drinking along the way.

We walked to the reception hall-- drinking along the way.

Had cocktail hour-- for THREE HOURS.

I'd notice Homeboy staring over at me all the time. Smiling. I would be lying if I said it wouldn't make me giddy.

But he never approached me (though now I know he practically wanted to know my life story from my brother. Apparently everything he talked about with Rafa revolved around me, no mention of D).

Aww.. He hates me...

The party is still going on as I type, but I have been sick as fuck with a runny nose and violent cough all day, and since the reception was in the open of an hacienda, I was cold and getting battered by the weather.

So I decided to bounce out early-- at 1... It isn't ending until 5.

Anyway, Homeboy came over to my table and very drunkenly tried apologizing to the girl next to me. (He called her old-- 40 year old. She's 26. So she was offended and he was trying to make amends)

He tried explaining the issue to me.

"Oh, I know all about it. She keeps harping on it," I said.

And this comment pissed BOTH of them. 

He proceeded to playfully cover my mouth... But in doing so, he'd wrap his arms completely around me (fucking kid knows the allure of his grasp... Damn it!). He'd also force my head up to look me right in the eyes, and place his (tequila-reeking) mouth so close to mine, I'd taste his breath.

He did this about three times, with the excuse of making me "shut up." I have no voice, folks...

He then asked me when I was leaving (fourth time asking me this), and I told him I leave Monday, but D leaves tomorrow. 

"Who cares when she leaves?! When do YOU leave?"

"Monday."

"Why?! What is so important you have to leave Monday?"

"I want to spend New Years in Vegas..."

"No! Stay here! Vegas is boring!"

And he proceeded to play his little arguing game with me... Constantly covering my mouth and overreacting to whatever I'd say.

He proceeded to tell me he was going to take me out to dance the rest of the night (?!), but just as he said that, they ushered us into a different room and I BOLTED.

... I know, I have issues.

Because I love you so much

I'm only doing this because I love you so much.

Last night we partied in San Francisco with my gang and the Bay dude I fancy.

Everything was fine and fun and... well, I was enjoying my very limited time with the dude... I had missed that shit.

He very much admired my brother, and they bonded almost immediately.

Jose: AnoMALIE, do you like how I show off your brother?

Me: Indeed, I do.

We pre-gamed pretty hard in Jose's apartment. He was incredibly charming and sweet before the shots started to fly. His undivided attention was for me. I loved every fucking second.

By the time the group stepped out of the apartment (he lives in the heart of the city... very, very stunning place), I noticed good ol' Mario was a little on the defensive side... as in, he was sort of cornering me and sectioning me off from the rest of the people (seven of us). Most noticeably, he was cockblocking THE FUCK out of Jose-- he didn't allow Jose to be near me.

We proceeded to participate in a pub crawl, where the cockblocking only worsened. 

At one point, when I'm sure Mario noted my exasperation/frustration/irritation, he turned to me and wrapped his arms around me. His hug was so tight around me, I could not move my arms in any direction.

Mario: I'm only doing this because I love you so much!

He then leaned into my mouth. I quickly and VIOLENTLY turned my head away from him, as far as I possibly could.

The entire group looked over at us-- Jose included. They were all shocked... eyes were wide open.

Night ruined. I drank like I haven't done in my life. I threw caution to the fucking wind and drank every single fucking drink that was given to me (that was seven jack and cokes... seven. I had taken three Honey Jack straight shots at Jose's apartment. I was fucking DONE).

Love me? LOVE ME? Bro... no. No... no. No. Not fair. Not fair at all.

He had Skyped with his girlfriend hours prior to this bullshit move, where I even "met" her and chatted with her... then he goes and does this? Dude. No.

So much about this upset me... but I would not have been so irritated had this not occurred in front of Jose, you know, a guy who is interested in me as I am in him.

When I'm alone and miserable... and... infatuated with him (Mario), he hurts me with his indifference and that shit of which I complained so much throughout 2008-2010. Then, when I'm on super good terms with him, where I FINALLY truly see him as my brother and move on... even ask him for help to hook it up with his friend... he gets all clingy. The moment he sees that yes, I have a spark with someone other than him... the moment a decent guy thinks I'm pretty fucking cool and attractive, homeboy gets possessive.

I did dance and flirt and enjoyed some together time with Jose later in the night as we hit a club to "dance off the alcohol," but it was no longer the same. And yes, plenty of times good ol' Mario positioned himself between Jose and I... ruining moments and whatnot. The vibe turned more into that vibe of a couple of bros "respecting" the chick of one of the bros... but the WRONG BRO.

I didn't cry, but I did feel this horrible ache in my chest the more I thought of Mario's actions.

"Dude... why? Why would you do that?" was the only thing running through my head as I tried to get some sleep at four in the morning.

That's some fucked up shit. So fucked up. 

I tried for so long, I cried so much, I TRIED SO HARD to get him to love me... shit, I was even fine with just being USED by him... and he didn't take it, he didn't WANT IT.

He was young and stupid, some might say... but... nah, man, nah.

If I can describe what I felt when he said that phrase to me, when he hugged me so tightly... it would be the image of a plain, cinderblock wall under a spotlight... in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night.

That.

Need

... I just want to scream.
But that wouldn't help-- I'd be screaming at a wall

Don't go girl

Tonight I had three boys at a party tell me they loved me.
Three different boys were paying attention to my every want and need... Were at my beck and call... Were like little playful kittens, trying to flirt their way onto my lap...

One I've like for a few years... and tonight he was right there, at my lap. He pounced on me in the parking lot as I made my way to the party. He was attentive the entire night.
All I had to do was reach out to him... He was laying on his back, head looking for my lap as we both sat on the bed, just us two in the bedroom of the hotel party.
I just had to assure him I was fine with his touch...
But instead I thought of... That guy who doesn't give a fuck about me. That guy no one can match.

Two other boys lay in waiting. Whenever this crush of mine would leave the room, one or the other would make his way next to me. Neither as aggressive as my mini crush, but just as attentive.
When I announced I was leaving, they asked me to stay a little longer.
"But I LOVE YOU! Don't go, girl in the black sparkly TOMS!"
"I love you more, girl in black!"
"I LOVE YOU, ANOMALIE! COME BACK!"

And all I could think was how I wish HE'd say something remotely similar to what these boys were screaming.

Something's Different

It's a conflicting feelings.
What was once familiar is now so foreign.

I was ecstatic to return to the Bay yesterday. I was energized, bouncing in my seat, and stoked to be seeing JC after 3 years. THREE years.

From SFO, we headed directly to Berkeley . I was enjoying every hill, every flower, every damn tree we'd pass. I was even loving the bridges.
Once we parked on the street JC lived in, I started to feel sad... with some excitement. The most paradoxical thing I've experienced so far. How can someone feel sad and excited at the same time? Leave it to me to feel that shit.
Anyway, I did that thing where I focused on remembering every little thing around me... to enjoy the moment, because I knew I'd be returning to this memory in the future, that this would become one of my valued memories.

As we sat outside, waiting for JC to meet us outside of his shared apartment with Em (his girlfriend), I was hoping ever so badly JC would be the same JC as always-- the hyper, silly, kind JC.

He was so pale... So incredibly pale. And our hug was awkward. I... didn't feel joy, if that makes any sense. Often, when I hug people, I feel as if my heart's going to beat out of my chest... or I feel the blood rushing to my face... I feel like I want to hold tight and never let go.
Not this time.
I was hugging... an inanimate object. I hug my pillow tighter than I hugged JC. I feel more emotion when hugging a pillow.
I think about it now and I want to cry.
Was it JC who was lacking emotion? Was it ME? Was it... both?
We small-talked... and we all know how I feel about smalltalk.

JC took us to some burrito place on campus so he and Pacemaker could have breakfast as we waited on Em and their friend John.
I could see it in JC's eyes that he was happy to see me... Like when you look at your sibling who lives abroad... Or your nice aunt... Or like-a-sibling-close-cousin-- that calm gratitude and happiness you feel.
And I was quiet and sad.
Here's my friend who knew me like the palm of his hand for so many years, living this extraordinary life in a country that captured his heart, and there I was... a sad dreamer girl who often contemplates what life would be like without her.

After perhaps half an hour, Em and John showed up.
I hate John.
He's so disconnected and shallow... and boring. He's very good looking... but who gives a shit when I have more fun petting donkeys at farms (not a euphemism. I really did pet a couple of pregnant midget donkeys yesterday) than I do trying to converse with this cute guy? I first met John back in 2010, when JC visited me with his friends and I went to bed frightened this guy would try to murder us all in our sleep. He was a prick then. I tried being nice to him, but he's one of those humans who can't register sarcasm... and shit never ends well when I meet those people. He was also, as previously stated, a shallow guy. He quickly dismissed me as undesirable because I was too fat for a girl, and would roll his eyes each time I talked and acted as if I were made of nitric acid or other corrosive material (though I wish I WERE, I am not. I was just fat and he didn't want me falling in love with him... you know, 'cause he's so good-looking and all).
Yesterday, guess who was all over whom.
Yeah. Not me.
That resentment issue of mine popped out and I didn't even direct a word towards him (don't get me wrong, I also didn't make shit awkward, I just minded my own business and when he'd be talking about whatever fucking boring topic of his choosing, I'd just walk away to snap photos... or shoveled vegetables in my mouth... or sipped my wine... or petted and baby-talked pregnant midget donkeys).
Whenever I'd talk, he would always try and add his two cents, to which my response would be along the lines of "Oh yeah?"
Whenever he'd walk too close to me, I'd be childish and do something stupid, like skip away or come to a complete stop Whenever he'd stand next to me, I'd walk away acting as if it were imperative I stretch my hamstrings at that precise moment.
I'm resentful. Whatever. Moving on.

So, after gathering at the burrito place,we took off to Sonoma and enjoyed our bacchus... Well... some more than others. I'm not a big wino, yet always ended up being the person who was served WAY too fucking much... So I was hammered after three glasses (we drank about 8). This also explains my fascination with the midget donkeys-- one of the vineyards we visited had a couple out back, and me being the animal-lover I am, couldn't resist and I wound up out there caressing/babying the little cuties while the rest of the party went out and did grown up shit like talk about different oaks and shit like that.

In an attempt to sober up, we headed into the town and grabbed some food.
While we scattered to hit up our favorite food groups (some went for cheese, others fudge, others beef, I had nothing), JC and I had a moment where he grabbed me by my shoulders and softly shook me.
"Something's different. You're different. You're more quiet than usual. You're different. Snap out of it!"
It's when I remembered-- I haven't spoken to him since the whole rejection letters of 2011 really fucked me up. Unlike previous years, he wasn't around to counsel me on 2011, to hear me out, and the space between us only grew exponentially worse.
Of course I'm different... the times he saw me I still had dreams and believed my hopeful nature would lead me places. He hasn't experienced the broken AnoMALIE. The dead AnoMALIE.

It was also weird for me to stand there and note how all of our lives have changed since February of 2010.
It was numbing to see how my two buddies, my little brothers, were now grown men with serious girlfriends and futures... yet I was still standing there clueless and alone, like always... just another girl, lost... slipped through the cracks.

I'm different. Yes. Yes I am.

Manos, labios, ojos

This time around, I did not stay in my usual house in Mexico.
It wasn't my hood, so to speak.
I stayed with my aunt, in the more desolate, but secure part of town.
The area wasn't too foreign for me, considering I spent my childhood running around in that neighborhood with my cousins and their neighbors.
One neighbor, I'll call him Josh-- the english version of his name-- has always been my favorite.
Josh is three years my junior. I always treated him like a kid... but kindly. I never discriminated against him due to his skin color (he's pretty dark. Hometowners tend to be on the lighter side, since they've really fought over their "Europeaness" and try to stay as white as possible. There are few people with dark skin in town... and it crushes my heart to see how poorly they're treated for it. It's a trip) or the fact that he is of the poorer families in town. I just treated him like a baby, but always embraced him into our group.
He, in return, would make me giggle... and eventually turned into a huge flirt. This may seem insignificant to many, but for me... considering the rough bullshit I went through in my teens, this meant the world. He was the ONLY boy who did not taunt me, never said a single derogatory word towards me... he actually did the opposite. Josh tried lifting my spirits, and always, ALWAYS threw me a compliment each time we chilled.
He was always crushing on someone. He was lanky. He was awkward. He was funny. He was flirty. He was witty.
I was alone. I was quiet. I was reserved. I was sad. I was fat. I was hurting.

Before the violence erupted in Hometown, shit had been going wrong for about two years. Starting around 2005, the youth started getting into coke HARD. By 2006, every guy who lived in Hometown was a coke addict... it was pretty unreal, not to mention heartbreaking beyond comparison. Josh didn't escape this fate.
Each time we'd hang out, we girls would just look at each other when we'd see our guy friends, acting a fool. Their eyes blood-shot, noses sniffling, and all smiling like... junkies.
How the hell is this going to stop? IS it going to stop?
Then the violence broke out, and it seemed to answer my question. EVERYONE stopped doing coke-- EVERYONE. Those who didn't suffered the consequences: death by cartel.

Our guy friends were now rehabbed, but the damage was done, we no longer enjoyed their presence, and they forever felt the shame of being recovering drug-addicts. We went our separate ways.

Fast-forward to 2012.
Josh is married. He is now the step-dad to two kids. He now lives in the city. He is tall, he is built, he is handsome, he is STILL funny, and he is still a flirt.
I am still single. I am still quiet. I still take a while to warm up. I still wear this involuntary frown. BUT I'm no longer "fat."
We first saw each other my second night in Hometown. He was dropping by to visit my uncles, since he has done that since he was a kid.
I had no clue he was in the kitchen, chatting up my uncles and his parents, so as I made my way to the dinner table-- in my skimpy PJs-- I took a giant step back, completely startled by his presence.
He did the same.
Unable to contain my joy-- hey, it had been a while since I had seen him, and he was pretty fucked up then-- I missed his hand he was reaching out for me to shake, and instead I went for the giant bear hug. He IS my childhood friend, after all. I was overjoyed by how healthy and... happy he now looked, I just did what my heart told me to do.
Josh was startled at first, standing awkwardly in the kitchen as I wrapped my arms around him. As I realized what an idiot I must have looked like, hugging this scared giant in the kitchen, he slowly but firmly returned the hug.
Josh: Holy moly, I... didn't know who you were at first, AnoMALIE! You scared me!
Me: I'm sorry, it's just that I hadn't seen you in so many years...
Josh: You're... you're... you look... wow... you look incredible.
Me: You look great too, man! Look at you! All... not lanky anymore! You're a freaking adult now! Hahaha!

We spent the rest of the nights hanging out on the porch... in the dark... telling stories, laughing... occasionally talking about serious subjects.
He never told me he was married. He always covered his ring when speaking to me.
The gold band would catch my eye, and I couldn't help but look him in the eyes immediately afterward.
Tell me THAT story...
We had numerous moments where we would just hold eye-contact in silence... a quiet sadness completely palpable, permeating the air.
You get me, bro... you always have... but... now... it's final. It's... a done deal. We can't do this anymore. Our time was... will forever be cherished. But it's done. Thank you... for everything.

We adressed this once, and only once... on the night of the fireworks.
It was extremely late, and I had gotten separated from my group. I was walking the dark part of the main street, which was desolate, making my way to the enormous crowd at the foot of the church. I bumped into Josh as he was coming out of his mom's "restaurant," and stopped in my tracks as he spoke to me.
Josh: You dancin' tomorrow night?
Me: No.
Josh: Why not?
He took a step closer to me.
Me: When have I ever?
Josh: Hmm...
He was now directly in front of me, looking down-- this guy is a gigantic motherfucker, I tell you. I could feel him burning a hole through me, even if I was looking down at my boots.
Me: I only danced at the alamo... with you guys... when we were teenagers... remember?
Josh: Oh yeah! Ha! Those were great times.
Me: Yeah. They were.
I turn to my right, to once again start heading toward the crowd.
Josh: To me you were always perfect...
I stopped and looked over at him, shooting him my "Are you talking to me, you fucking psycho? It's midnight... and people can fucking hear you" look.
Josh: You were my dream girl. Sweet. Funny. Smart. Humble... beautiful.
I was still staring at him as if he were crazy... my heart racing up toward my esophagus.
Josh: I'm glad everyone now gets to see the girl I always saw: AnoMALIE.
I was almost crying by now... but completely immobilized... and probably heaving... I don't remember, I didn't jot that part down in my journal.
Josh: You're finally getting the attention I always said you deserved. Everyone now understands AnoMALIE D is one hell of a woman.
My shitty left eye, which was already watery from some allergies, began to cry.
Josh: Enjoy it, AnoMALIE, you are more than deserving of the recognition. Have a beautiful life.

I stood quietly, slack-jawed... heart racing... and crying... in the middle of Hometown's Maintstreet... in the dark... with fireworks booming in the distance... just me and Josh in the shadows.
Me: Gracias...
I turned my back to Josh, and sped walked toward the crowd in the distance... deafened by the sound of the blood rushing to my face.

Centímetros de silencio... palabras no dichas...
Y algo que brilla así de triste entre tus ojos y mis ojos.

SevenTEEN

He has one of the prettiest pair of eyes I've ever seen. His stare is sweet... patient... innocent... kind of like the stare with which so many painters depict Jesus...
His nose is very fine... small... adorable.
He's a good... six feet tall, and he's always wearing a suit... even if it's 106 degrees outside.
He's ridiculously handsome. Like... baby-face handsome.
Maybe because he is a baby?

His name is one of those hardcore Spanish names... the super masculine, telenovela name.
His eyes follow me as I walk away from him, when he thinks I can't notice. He nervously looks away when I make eye-contact and smile.

Jorge Luis likes me.
"That boy thinks you're the most gorgeous girl his eyes have ever seen."
Jorge Luis is seventeen.

It's so crazy, I've cracked jokes about the teenaged usher kid at church for a while now.
The boy's charming good looks stunned the fuck out of me when I first saw him.
"Kid HAS to be from Hometown... he just has that... feel... he's also like... fifteen. I'd hit if he were legal."
He's so sweet and timid. I've caught him occasionally catching glimpses at me when I go to spanish Mass on Saturdays... MOM has caught him stealing glances at me.
I'm 27, there's no reason for teenaged boys to be pining over me... there's no reason for ANYONE to be pining over me. I'm AnoMALIE... the quiet, shy, timid, sad, awkward tomboy.
Yet... someway... somehow, I've managed to captivate the ridiculously handsome sweet church boy, Jorge Luis.

As I was walking out of church, I took a bulletin from Jorge Luis and I heard my cousin giggle. My cousin's the Youth Group leader, so she directs boys like Jorge Luis as they do their usher services at church.
She's also a really loud, blunt girl.
I walked over to her and she laughed even harder.
Me: What up, Meli?
Meli: You just made that boy's day.
Me: Who?
Meli: Jorge Luis. Kid handing out the bulletins.
Poor boy's face was turning red.
Meli: You haven't come to church in a while... he asks me about you all the time. That boy thinks you're the most gorgeous girl his eyes have ever seen.
By now, the boy was still handing out bulletins, but was so embarrassed, I thought he was going to start crying any minute.
I looked over at him and smiled.
Me: Thank you.

Just my luck: as a teenager, I was completely unable to make ANY teenaged boy think I was worthy of a second glance. At 27, I make a 17 year old boy's heart flutter with a simple glance and a smile.
An extremely good looking boy finally likes me... and he's 17 years old.
Just my motherfucking luck.

Things like this are what break my heart... these... misses.
I call them the "See, AnoMALIE! It's possible... but not really possible" occurrences.
Fun.
Not really.
And this is how I know I will always be alone.

End scene.

Red Ruffles

Do you know how I remember you most? 
How?
That day, when we went outside the church's hospitality room to play hide-and-seek, instead of staying inside for choir practice.
Ha. We got in so much trouble for that...
I remember that most because you were wearing this... red lace dress... red ruffles everywhere. Remember that?
God, yes! I hated that dress!

***

I possess this trait... most of the time I find it to be detrimental to my... emotional well-being.
Regardless of how often, or how adamantly I tell myself not to cave to this tendency... I do it anyway.
I believe everyone is... inherently good.
After all the bullshit I've put up with... after all the pain others have inflicted upon me-- at my core-- I still think there's a bit of good in everyone.
How fucked up is that shit?

Don't get me wrong, there are CLEARLY very evil people out there-- horrible people who let the bad overpower and smite whatever kindness existed in their heart...
... but at some point... in their youth, they were good.
Something... or someone just came along and fucked it all up.

I think this is called empathy?
I have a shitton of that.
I warn myself against being too empathetic, and I try my damn hardest to be cautious around others... but I just can't.
If you tell me you're good, I'll believe you're good. If you're a dick to me, I'll believe you're a dick because someone made you that way... and that person was made that way by someone in their past... and so on. Just a vicious chain of unfortunate events.
Now, this doesn't mean once people fuck me over I don't cry or feel like shit... I sure as fuck do, mainly because my subconscious shit-talks and gives me that "I TOLD YOU SO!" speech... but it allows for me to at some point forgive (which I often don't do QUICKLY, but I do, eventually, move on).

***

Recently, I've been thinking A LOT about an ex of mine.
I lost track of him some time during my high school years, when I moved to the white side of town. He moved to prison... after killing someone.

I met him in third grade, when we were all hyper little dweebs.
I was already fucked up... but trying my hardest to getting back to normal.
I'd see this boy, Mario, all the time. He was considered cute, and all the white girls liked him.
I guess I should mention this was when I was getting "assimilated" into English. I was being thrown into all-english classes, with all-english speakers... and no one else around me spoke spanish... shit, no one else had a spanish-sounding name.
I was clearly the black sheep of the herd... and the only reason I'd look over at Mario was because he was the only hispanic-looking kid in his class, the other all-english speaking class, yet he was WAY more popular with his classmates. HE knew how to communicate with his herd.
His popularity did come with a downer: he was popular for being "the bad boy."
He was constantly getting thrown outside of class as punishment.
His class, being directly behind mine, was visible from where I sat. I'd be at my desk and I'd see Mario, sitting on the grass, waiting for his grouchy teacher to finally let him back in class after giving him a stern lecture. Most of the time, he'd listen to her spiel with a smirk plastered across his face.

I'd witness Mario exasperate his teacher at least twice a week... sometimes making eye-contact with him while he was being scolded.
God... how can he stand there and not cry with that crazy lady going to town like that? She damn near slaps him across his smug little face.

Some time during third grade, I went through a phase where I thought I could sing.
Mom signed me up for the church choir, and my now-godmom would take me to practice, since she was in the choir as well.
Lo-and-behold, who else was in the church choir? Mario.
Mario's dad was a guitarist, and he'd bring Mario along to the practices. Mario would sit in the corner of the room, completely annoyed, and he would never sing for Mass.

One day, before practice, after probably two months of staring at each other in school and in choir practice, he intercepted me before I stepped foot in the room.
Mario: Hey! Dad said they're mainly going to work on instruments today. He said I should entertain you outside, since all you do is sing.

Me, being the trusting pendeja I've always been, went ahead and followed him outside.
His younger female cousin was also outside... and we decided we'd kill time by playing hide-and-go seek.
I agreed to play the game even if Mom had dressed me up in the most annoying, itchy, red-lace dress she loved. I had matching red pantyhose and shoes (perfect fucking attire to play hide-and-go-seek... like fucking camo, dude... especially when playing amongst junipers).
We played two games: one where Mario's cousin was it, and the second where Mario was it.
As I crouched on the opposite side of the building form where Mario was counting, my now-godmom found me, scolded me for skipping practice, and dragged me back into the practice room.
I did not see Mario.

The following two years, Mario was my classmate. He also let me in on a little secret:
I like you, AnoMALIE. Will you be my girlfriend? Circle YES or no.
I played hard-to-get... mainly because I didn't find him attractive... even if every girl in SCHOOL was willing to kill for his affection.
I found him to be cool... and a great friend, but he was too much trouble.
His sisters were in gangs... and he'd chill with them... so he was like their little mascot.
Each month he'd get increasingly contentious... mean... dangerous... with everyone, except me.
He was the most gentle, sweet creature to me.
He would drop whatever he was doing to help me out.
He beat my 4th grade tormentors a few times... he also saved me from getting jumped by a couple of 6th graders who hated me for NO REASON.
He was, like his middle name, an Angel.

One day in 5th grade, after much insistence from his behalf, I finally agreed to be his girlfriend-- I circled the "yes."
From that day, he'd shower me with gifts (I still own a pair of green scissors he gave me... I kind of find myself cherishing them... damn near beat my sister one time that she misplaced them), and compliment me every chance he got (the compliment I remember most is "Yeah, well, AnoMALIE is WAY more beautiful than CINDY CRAWFORD! For one, she doesn't have that disgusting mole!" Fucking shit made me blush like crazy as I stood in line at the library).
Boy was wonderful to me, and still, STILL I'd refuse to be any sort of affectionate towards him.
I did call him occasionally.
We had been calling each other since the church choir days.
The call I remember most was one in fourth grade... where we were having a normal conversation and suddenly, I heard his dad screaming at him... and Mario was clearly terrified. He dropped the phone, and I heard it all-- I heard his dad beating him with a belt, and Mario begging for him to stop ("No, Papi, porfavor NO!" No, Daddy, please NO).
I had to hang up the phone and, at school the following day, act as if I did not hear a thing.

Once middle school came around, I had one class with him: english. We were no longer "dating," since summer pretty much implicated we had broken up.
By this point in my life, I was already getting herded into the "nerd" population.
The classmates at the back of class were the few remaining "bad eggs"... and true to form, tried spitting shit into my hair. Mario quickly put an end to that.
I still remember him chastising them the day one of his cronies accidentally threw a spitwad into my hair... day which was, coincidentally, the day following my paternal grandmother's death.
He very gently tapped my shoulder.
AnoMALIE, you have... some paper in the back of your head... may I remove it?
I nearly cried.

***

My last conversation with Mario occurred on our last day of seventh grade:
I was sitting on the cinderblock fence outside of school, waiting for Mom to pick me up. Mom made it a habit to forget me at school.

Mario had stayed behind the moment he saw I was waiting alone for Mom... on the verge of tears.
Mario: I'm moving back to Arizona.
Me: Really? Sucks.

I had difficulty speaking... a huge knot had been building in my throat with the passage of each minute Mom was late.

Mario: Do you know how I remember you most?
Me: How?
Mario: That day, when we went outside the church's hospitality room to play hide-and-seek, instead of staying inside for choir practice.
Me: Ha. We got in so much trouble for that...
Mario: I remember that most because you were wearing this... red lace dress... red ruffles everywhere. Remember that?
Me: God, yes! I hated that dress!
Mario: I never saw you in a dress again...

Mario had managed to make me laugh.

Me: Can I ask you something?
Mario: Sure...
Me: Is that story true... the one about you peeing in class...
Mario: With that racist, stupid, dumb bitch, Mrs. Wright? Damn right it is!
Me: You peed in class?!
Mario: I was a third grader! I told the bitch I needed to pee, and she laughed in my face! I politely asked for permission, and she said "No! If you really have to pee, do it in your pants, tough guy!" I got desperate. I even started to sweat! I wanted to cry! I remember looking at the trashcan, then at that stupid fat bitch laughing at me... then at the trashcan again. I couldn't hold it... so I just... whipped out my wiener right there and pissed all over the rug!
Me: Oh my God...

We noticed two of Mario's thug friends approaching from a distance.

Mario: I cheated.
Me: Huh?
Mario: When we were playing hide-and-seek. I cheated as I counted to ten.
Me: O... k...
Mario: I counted all the way up to ten, but at "three," I peeked at you. You didn't turn back. I turned my entire body, and watched you in your cute little red dress disappear behind the building... and not ONCE did you turn back. You trusted me to not peek the entire time. I had never seen that before.

Mom's black Jeep was fast approaching. I jumped off the fence and dusted my pants.
Me: Yeah... well... I had no reason to doubt you...
I made eye-contact with Mario and smiled.
Me: Thanks, Mario.

I walked West, toward the Jeep with a quick pace, hoping Mom hadn't seen me associating with the thugs.
Mario joined his two thug friends and walked towards the streetlight... to the East.

Hermit Crab

Feeling better.
I let everything blow over.
Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Today's topic: what else? Boys.

Frank (that's what I'll refer to him as, even if his name is Francisco, but let's Americanize it 'cause I can) picked us up at the airport, and took Mom, Pocahontas, and I home. The drive was somewhat lengthy, especially since it was during their rush-hour (their siesta was about to start... shit gets the streets all out of whack. Gotta love Siesta, though). We were driving past their national stadium, got into a little conversation about our soccer fanaticism, then Frank asked about my relationship status.
Frank: Y que dice el novio? Como la dejo venir sola? (so what does the boyfriend think? How'd he let you come out here without him?)
Me: Nada, porque no hay novio. Así esta mejor porque me puedo pasear por todas partes sin preguntarle a alguien por permiso. Single for life! (nothing, 'cause there is no boyfriend. It's better that way, 'cause I can hangout all over the place without asking anyone for permission)
Frank: Jaja, tienes mucha razón. (haha, good point)

I found myself giving the same speech to every new person I'd meet. I wasn't irritated by it, however, since it's understandable to be confused as to why a 27 year old Latina would be single (though before meeting me, they were under the impression that I was a "niña"... which they called me the entire time. Loved it). That shit's just unusual.

Frank and the girls then tried encouraging me to hit the night clubs.
They found it strange that I preferred the company of ten-year-old Emi and five-year-old Val... and that instead of craving the deafening beats of dance music pulsing through my veins at a club, I preferred the feel of the sun on my shoulders as I'd sit in the middle of green fields in the wilderness.
Does this girl WANT to die alone?

There were plenty of good-looking boys out there. Very good looking... of all shapes and sizes.
And yes, I scoped them out-- I'm not fucking blind!
But... the trip pretty much solidified the fact that I just don't give a fuck.

The trip also solidified the fact that I was born in the wrong era.
I'm an old-dude magnet... but not even in the pervy way.
I find that older gentlemen... admire me... in a melancholic way... if that makes any sense. The way they stare at me, not lustfully, but with this sad little smile.... and the things they say to me.
They tell me I'm great, and sweet, and interesting, and smart, and... well, a shitton of wonderful compliments I'd probably kill for just to hear it from a young dude.
I find the words more like... words of encouragement, I guess you could say. They think I'm great, and they just sit and hope that I don't let the bitterness get to me and change me.
You're a terrific girl, they don't make them like you anymore... but young guys don't see it... they won't see it until wayyy further down the road... just sit it out and don't let the frustration change you. If only I were younger...
I usually stare back with my typical bitter-sweet smile... followed by a shrug-- code for:
Yeah... well... what else can I do about it? Sometimes I wish so too.

On Beach Day, an older gentleman took us to the beach.
Dude is 16 years my senior, a school principal and a fisherman.
He took the men to a good fishing spot, while he left us chicks in a shady area.
Prior to hitting the beach, we had chilled at his house and he had watched me eat the food he prepared.
I don't know about other folk, but I tend to eat in silence. That day, I sat alone, in silence, on the patio. I ate my tilapia and drank my coffee as I stared at the star-fruit, mango, and avocado trees. I also took the time to admire the numerous wild orchids sprouting all over the front yard. The only noises coming out of me where the occasional low whistle I'd make to the little toy poodle who'd hangout by my feet.
Once I was done eating, I proceeded to tickle the little poodle... I wasn't about to let that little monster get away from me. Plus, I'm not allergic to dogs... I can pet those motherfuckers as much as I please.

The whole time I sensed the dude staring at me, but he would not utter a word.
His sense of humor was also extremely dry... and he'd use colloquialisms not found in Mexican Spanish, so a lot of the jokes would be lost in translation.
When it came time to heading for the beach, we stopped at a convenience store and I got into a mini argument with Dad because he didn't let me buy a beer.
Dad: That isn't good for your health!
Me: Yeah, well, yesterday you forced me to eat fucking KFC and that shit is DEFINITELY unhealthier than one fucking beer.
Dad: You're embarrassing me!!
Me: IT'S A FUCKING BEER!
As I stormed out of the store and huffed and puffed in the parking lot, the older gentleman walked over to me and asked me if I knew what drink was healthiest, after purified water... which he had seen me guzzling down all day.
Dude: Wine. A glass of wine. You're good.
I angrily got in my car and huffed and puffed some more.
Me: (staring at the back of Dad's head) You embarrass me when you whip out your wad of cash in front of everyone... you don't see me saying shit...
Mom: AnoMALIE, shut up!

At the beach, maybe an hour prior to leaving, the gentlemen came back from their fishing.
Everyone was in the water, splashing around, everyone but me.
I would sit on a huge tree branch and jot shit down in my journal.
The older gentleman was the only other person not in the water, and he first approached me with something in his hand.
Dude: You're a biologist, right?
Me: I guess you can say that...
Dude: What's the name for this little animal?
He opened his hands and out came a cute little hermit crab.
Me: Ah! That's a cute little hermit crab! How'd you catch him?
I looked up at him as I finished the sentence, mainly out of habit, and considering I was highly amused like some autistic three year old, I had an enormous smile on my face. We locked eyes.
Dude: That's the most I've heard you talk...
He tried handing me the hermit crab, but the little bastard (hermit crab) pinched me, so I dropped it.
I chased after the crab... mainly to get away from the guy.
I decided to stay on the shore, collecting shells... you know, be me.
I wasn't sunbathing, I wasn't trying to look sexy for the hot surfers walking by... I was just... being me... living in my own little world, alone-- collecting shells and doodling shit on the sand.

When night fell and we had to leave the dude's house, I went for the firm handshake... but he pulled me in and gave me the biggest bear-hug of my life, completely immobilizing me.
He kissed my left ear and whispered
"You! You're incredible! You just need to speak up!"
...

The consensus was clear:
AnoMALIE, you're tiiight! Now let someone in, don't be a clam!

The girls and Frank invited dudes over, and introduced me... Frank was diligent in his attempts to find me a Tica boyfriend... but all attempts were futile.
Yes, I'd find the boys cute... but my heart was not there. Ever. Nothing.


As I'd doodle my name on the sand... and surround it with hearts, I found myself wondering
Is it really that important to find someone? Do I want to find someone?
I honestly don't know.
I'll just continue to act like I don't care.

Take my hand

EVERYTHING in this life comes back to you. Absolutely everything.
Watch who you hurt today, because tomorrow they might be hurting you.

Today has been one of the longest in... a while.

Remember the boys who made my weekend a shit-fest? The elitist Mexican 21 year olds (hmmm... I might have failed to mention their age. But yeah, they're 1990 babies. Something that only added to my frustration because... I don't like younger little pricks clowning on me. I knew how to count, cut, paste, and wipe my own ass by the time they were born... motherfuckers better back the fuck up before they get smacked the fuck up, to quote the late great Tupac).
WELLLLLLLLLLL...
Jesus, God, The Universe... conspired to give me sweet, sweet revenge.

Ok, so maybe not revenge.... but it certainly offered me these kids' heads on a silver platter.

I could have taken the low road, and watched them squirm... or I could have taken the high road and taught them a good lesson, 7th Heaven-style.
Be a vindictive monster-- ANGRomalie-- and exact revenge on these motherfuckers... or... be AnoMALIE-- the real, genuine, sweet AnoMALIE?


If anything can be taken from my upbringing, it's the fact that I was raised to treat others the same way I'd like to be treated: with respect and dignity... and kindness... regardless of their background.
Be of service to my fellow man.
This is largely responsible for so many of my tears. I get so incredibly hurt when I meet people who don't treat me with the same respect as I do. It's probably the most hurtful thing anyone can do to me... hence the hate and violence I then proceed to display.
I always refuse to admit this, because it's painfully true... and I often find it to be a weakness: I'm nurturing AS FUCK. I'm nurturing to the point I'D like to be nurtured. I will hold your fucking hand until you feel safe to walk away... because that's exactly what would comfort me.

I received MGH's distressed phone call at noon, just as I was going out for a jog.
MGH: Hey. How are you?
Me: Hey, man! You back in San Francisco?
MGH: I'm in SFO right now...
Me: Cool. Didn't even text goodbye. That's cool.
MGH: It's been a long weekend... and it just got longer.
Me: What's up?
MGH: Well, back in the room, Fer and *Troll* gave me their passports to keep in my backpack... and when I got home... I realized... I still have their passports. They were supposed to leave this morning.
Me: Veeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrgaaaaaaaaaa!
MGH: What's worse is that they both have to be in school tomorrow. Fer has a presentation due... if he doesn't show up, he fails and has to repeat the whole year.
Me: You have got to be shitting me. That's terrible!
MGH: I feel like shit. I don't know what to do... we all don't know what to do... and I haven't slept since Wednesday. I'm fucked up and so confused right now.
Me: Holy shit. How about Fer and Troll?
MGH: They're panicking. Their entire family's panicking.

That was my chance right there.
Shrug it off with a maniacal laugh and say they deserved every bit of distress they were currently facing... or step up and help out these poor dudes to get them home safe?
Words can't describe how furious... how much I managed to LOATHE Troll in the course of four days. I'd think of him and my stomach would hurt. As a human being, I saw him as valuable as shit. Such a callous, shallow piece of shit.
However... I had to let my rage dissipate. I had to think... with the ruler of my being: my heart.
How would I like to be treated in this situation? I'm stranded in a foreign country... no passport, no phone, no family... no nothing... what do I do?!
Immediately, the nurturing good girl took charge.
I embraced these poor guys and put myself at their service... the same dudes who treated me like a call-girl/taxicab driver/maid/slave/piece of shit days earlier.
My heart couldn't let me throw these fuckers to the wolves, regardless of how shitty they had treated me or how badly they had made me cry. I just had to help.

The most surprised was obviously Little Orphan Annie's Troll Version. The moment I sprang to action, he screamed my name. The same fucking guy who called me "esa" was saying my real name every two seconds.
Yes, Troll, I WILL help you... and FOR FREE, with zero interest besides getting you home safely and in a timely fashion.
I helped them find MGH (because there was a period of three hours where no one couldn't reach him), a place to stay, and a ride (MEEEEEE!).

All this brouhaha... and what made it worth it? The look of relief in their giant, bewildered eyes when they saw me.
They may be 21, they may be on the verge of graduating from college, they may have more money in their bank account than they'll ever be able to spend... but the moment they realized they were passport/visa-less in a foreign country, completely alone, they turned into terrified five year olds lost in a department store.
It's ok, babes, hold my hand, I'll get you out.
And everything was worth it.
I even gave the damn Troll a blank-slate and agreed to befriend him.

Now I just have to get MGH (more on this guy later... after I get decent rest) home tomorrow morning and this weekend will finally go down in the books as "finished."


When I die, I'm definitely getting canonized and becoming the patron saint of the painfully shy, socially awkward, unattractive, potty-mouthed nerdy girls.

An awesome girl

I am fucking OLD, guys.

Well, granted, I did wake up at eight in the morning after going to bed at four in the morning... and I was out of my house since 11 in the morning.
When I don't have decent "chill" time, I tend to grow tired and grumpy.
AND I only had a ("lunch sized") grilled chicken salad in my tummy the entire day... so... I guess I can consider myself lucky for not being in prison after ripping someone's head off or something similarly violent.
Right. Like I'd be able to do that, being so feeble and confused.

All I could really think all day was:
Bro... two years ago, I would have killed to spend this much quality time with you...
I guess I should say I spent the entire day with MGH-- a drunk MGH, mind you, and we all know how much I fucking love dealing with intoxicated men.

I'd find myself admiring MGH... well, more like, looking at him and contemplating.
This time he wasn't being emotional... but he was trying his hardest to be with me at all times.
He'd bump his hand into mine while we walked, he'd be shotgun every single time I drove (back in the day, he'd usually fight not to be next to me), actually, he'd sit next to me anytime I decided to take a seat anywhere.
He also hugged me a lot.
Naturally, I'd quietly sit there and watch him... and think.
It drives me crazy how it took him SO DAMN LONG to realize that MAYBE I was a good choice.
Now that I remember, these last two times he has visited me, he has gone ahead and told his friends, verbatim, "AnoMALIE's an awesome girl..." No sarcasm, no nothing... just... sincere, random shit (though a couple of times he'd kill it by finishing it off with "it's like... she's not even a girl, since girls are so difficult. She's like... a dude." Thanks?).

What makes me most sad, is when I realize--after asking myself repeatedly-- that no matter how sweet he is being to me, or how clingy, or close, or whatever... I feel nothing. Nothing.
No desire to return the touch, no butterflies, no excitement, no electricity, no disgust, no irritation... just... nothing. Well, it's more like... what I feel when my bro bumps into me. Apathy.
Goodness, these fucking shoes are way too big on me, flipping everywhere... need more room, MGH? Here buddy ...How could anyone wear that fucking hat? Tourists.
And when I'd look at him, whether it was as we sat at the sports bar or as we waited in line at the store, all I could do was contemplate how much I enjoyed this activity not so long ago. Anything involving him would get my heart skipping a beat. And now, I just... couldn't feel anything other than tired and sleepy.

And I still feel tired and sleepy.
Enough contemplating.