hand holding

On Sunday Mom asked me a few questions about Saturday's Mass which I attended alone.
"I don't remember," was my response to all of her questions.
"Then why do you go to church?" she asked.
"Because you make me," I responded.
"Well, that's bad. You should go because it's in your heart," she said.
"I know, but what can I say? It's the truth," I said.

Today, I attended confessionals because yes, Mom pretty much forced me, but also because I haven't done this little ritual in probably over a year... I'm not sure, I don't remember. I figured it'd be good therapy... if all went well.
I haven't had the best of luck during these things... I've been chastised the majority of the time, which frustrates me, because... how am I supposed to feel better when I get lectures like:
Priest: Why are you socially anxious? Do you feel like you're not good enough?
Me: Yes. Sometimes. Since I was a kid.
P: Do you believe God made you the way you are?
Me: Umm... y...es? More of a society thing, I guess?
P: But do you believe that God created us?
Me: ... Yeah?
P: And knowing this, you still feel you're less than everyone else? You think he made someone--YOU--imperfect?
Me: ... uh...
P: You're offending God by saying YOU'RE imperfect. By believing you're less than someone else. You're offending him, saying he messed up.
Me: ... Oh...

Then there's that time I got the glare from hell with the priest telling me I was a criminal... that felt fantastic and made me want to be the best Catholic alive (sarcasm there).

This time around, I was sweating bullets... sweat literally dripping from my pits down to my elbows.
Before the eight priests took their different spots around church, we had to sit through a half-hour sermon from some evangelical catholic man... who, not gonna lie, was pretty fucking great at the whole public speaking gig.
What was the speech about? Suicide.
I sat there trying not to behave like a criminal whose standing in front of a hoard of cops.
WTF... who spoke to this guy? WHO HAS BEEN READING MY BLOG?! (again, I'm just joking here. I know it was a coincidence... but it was weird as shit, this coincidence)
So, after half an hour of listening to this well-spoken, charismatic man, I decided I was going to come clean to whichever priest I got as my confessor. I'd go ahead and tell him about this recent bout with depression and the numerous times suicidal thoughts crossed my mind.
If I get banished, oh well. Just as long as I don't get a glare from hell... or that fucking stupid "MAN UP!" speech, I'll be good.

While I was initially nervous as fuck as I took my spot in line for my favorite priest (the one who a few years back scared me/made me crack the fuck up when he forgot to turn off his mic after Mass and wound up saying "FUCK YOU!" to his homie who was making him laugh. The laughs/curse word echoed through the church thunderously. From that moment, I knew this dude was my people).
Then the savages began entering church-- late. The manner in which some Latinos (especially when in large groups) turn into complete blockheads when given instructions-- how they decide to just... blatantly ignore them-- drives me berserk. My nervousness turned to frustration... and once a cunt who was no taller than 5 feet tall PUSHED me from behind into a bench, I damn near turned violent.
But I relaxed. Somehow, I managed to relax.

As I told the priest my issues, he was calm... and then he did something that... I don't really know how to describe the feeling or the shit that ran through my mind... but... he just... randomly held my hand. Just. Fucking. Randomly. As I kept yapping away.
He released my hand and gave me some council... and after that, I continued yapping some more.
Then he held my hand in the same gentle fashion a second time... and then a third... and then once it was time to go, he gently squeezed my hand for a fourth time.

As previously stated, I have no clue how to describe what exactly I felt... like... in my chest cavity. It was... like... it was... confusion... relief... tenderness... it was... I don't know.
He didn't need to touch my hand... I don't think a priest ever has physically reached out to me during a confession. And the tenderness he did it with... it was... I wanted to cry and smile at the same time.
I'm sure he saw the confusion in my face... because I was puzzled as shit... no way someone would have NOT noticed.

All I could think was "He is... literally holding my hand through this... someone is holding my hand through this... I was just complaining about no one ever taking the time to hold my hand through tough times... getting scolded for 'NEEDING' someone to give me a hand... but now someone's... holding my hand."
The thought made me want to shed every last tear in my ducts... but also smile...
Since this was WAY too public for me to burst into tears, the only thing I found myself doing was smiling... I smiled. A smile with relief I had not felt in a very long time.

It may sound stupid... it may get scoffs out of people... I may be judged... or mocked... but... it just... shows how something as simple and insignificant as holding someone's hand can just... change shit.
He didn't know about my rant... I never mentioned it... but his kind gesture just... meant more to me than anything he could have said.

Hands-- they've punched me, slapped me, pinched me, choked me, pushed me... yet I've always liked them, they've always been my favorite feature on people. They can-- and they have-- hurt me so much, but their ability to heal me is... indescribable.

A gentle, caring touch-- that is more important to me, more meaningful... than any fucking amount of money I could ever posses... more than any trip to any foreign country, more than anything material I could ever be given.
A simple, gentle, supportive touch-- priceless, absolutely priceless. 

3-hour rambles, now in Español!

Holy Week.
Holy Week!

These last two days have been busy. So busy. Church packed.
I'm hitting church for three hours at a time these last two days.
They're only supposed to be an hour-long!
My siblings and I hit up the Spanish Mass with Mom, so she doesn't feel lonely... but MAN! That priest talks and talks and TALKS!
I snuck in a nice little 30 minute power nap today in the middle of his sermon and he was STILL rambling on when I startled myself awake once my arm dropped and my head violently followed.

It's very difficult to keep my cool under such circumstances. Today there was an extra grievance, since fasting is involved. I haven't had a bite to eat all freaking day, and I keep taking glances at the clock, because come midnight, I'm chowing-down on some fucking food.
Very appropriately, tonight I watched the Hunger Games with my siblings... trying to kill time and keep my mind off food...
no dice (now all I can think is what I'd do if I were tossed into such a situation. I hate how my brain does that. I can't just watch a movie or read a book without my mind fucking with me).

This week has always driven me crazy. The people... the customs... it drives me bananas. Yet I still do it, go figure (no, no, I do perform a lot of these out of... the goodness of my heart, I do them wholeheartedly, but the whole sitting through a jam-packed service for THREE HOURS is not something I dig. Never have. Never will... unless it's at the Vatican... and even then, three hours is abusive... especially with this pope. I'd sit for six hours for the previous pope, he was awesome... but this new guy? Nah).

Tomorrow comes the big boy... the mass that is supposed to last three hours...
I don't know how I'll manage. At least I'll be fed, right? And I'm definitely going to the English service. No more Español... I don't want to hear a word about church en Español right now.

I just want to sleep... and eat.
Come on, midnight!

Because he's a human being

Raise your hand if you've ever prayed for the health of a communist dictator...
MEEEE!

Well... that's not his actual title.
I'm talking about Hugo Chavez... and it's not like I wanted to.

I was sitting in church, by myself, getting my weekly visit over with... and for the most part, it was smooth sailing (mainly because this one dude--who also always goes to church unaccompanied-- I have a TINY crush on sat next to me... so I was pretty much forced into staying awake. He's "baby-face cute"... and REALLY religious... which is kinda scary, but hey, I only like to stare at him, ok? It's not like I plan on marrying him or anything... I just enjoy having him to look at once in a while... when he's not in deep prayer or whatever... because when he IS, it freaks me out a little).
There's a part right in the middle of church, where the priest mentions who the mass is intended for. More often than not, it's in remembrance of a deceased person... sometimes it'll be in honor of someone's birthday... and then there are the intentions for the ill.
This time, as I sat there trying to keep my eyes open... and keeping myself from yawning--BabyFace would be SO disappointed if I did either!-- I heard the priest start his speech.
"And let me just... take the time to... pray for..."
Ah, fuck... he's Venezuelan, isn't he? AH SHIT! Please don't tell me....
"Since on the 5th, my country, Venezuela..."
FUCK! He's doing it...
"celebrates it's 200th year of independence... supposedly... a so-called 'independence'..."
Really, God, I'm going to have to do this?
"Let me take the liberty to ask for... peace in my home country. For freedom..."
Phew... I thought I was going to have to...
"And... although many don't agree with what he's doing... and because he's a human being..."
YOU WERE SO CLOSE! WHY DID YOU KEEP GOING?!
"And because he's the president of the country, let's pray for... the president of Venezuela. He has cancer... and... he's a human being... let us... pray."

My jaw was open from the moment he mentioned the "although many don't agree with what he's doing..." and it stayed that way for a few minutes.
I kept looking up at the altar, where there's an enormous mosaic of Jesus, agonizing on the cross...
Oh man, Jesus... why? WHY must I get tested like this?
And as I repeated "Te rogamos señor" (I think in English they say something along the lines of "Lord, hear our prayer" or something like that) all I could think was "I'm really doing this... I'm REALLY doing this... Oh my god... Rafa would be having a fucking heart attack right now."

At least it wasn't Kim Jong-Il... or... Hitler... right? Right.

Thieving brat

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grapefruits

Fuck! Shit! Cunt! Bitch! Ass!

AHHHH!
I'M BACK! And it feels SO good!

I was in church last night from 10:10PM until 2:30AM, I kid you not.
I was the angriest person by the end of the night. Ready to elbow any asshole who got in the way of my exit route.
I was pissed because mass was supposed to be over at 1AM at the latest, but this priest... he rambles on and on and on. It didn't help that the choir was the choir I HATE. The man's some sort of South American... my guess is Argentinian or Colombian, based on the accent I hear him sing in, AND the instruments he chooses to use in services. This man doesn't shut the fuck up (I'm overdoing it now, aren't I?) and he makes everything into a song (you know, like parts that are only supposed to be SPOKEN... there he goes with his fucking rainstick and SINGS. Yes, RAINSTICK. Those shits don't belong in church... they belong in a salsa club, where I WON'T be around to hear them). It frustrates the hell out of me.
Also, there was this guy sitting in front of me with two keloids, each the size of a grapefruit, on his right forearm. It was... it gave me goosebumps and shivers. It was too disturbing to look at.
Well, don't be stupid. DON'T look at them! you might say. But that was impossible. IMPOSSIBLE, you hear me! I've been traumatized for life.

Anyway, let's forget about that stuff since it makes me cranky and my skin still gets goosebumps when I think of the dude's forearm.
Point is: I can cuss again! A successful 40 days of Lent. I finally accomplished what I've set out to do for over ten years.
I'm a hoss!

Happy Easter, motherfuckers! ;)

Mean-muggin' moments

Tomorrow is my last day.
TOMORROW!
You can't see it right now, but I seriously have one of those ear-to-ear smiles going on.

This has probably been the best I've done with the no cussing thing.
I wasn't perfect about it, obviously. I had plenty of arguments where I just let the bad words fly... but for the most part, I was pretty fantastic... once I got over how stupid I felt yelling "CRAPPY APPLES!" (what does that mean? I have no idea. That's just the first word association my brain made one day, and it sort of stuck)

These last few days have been all about church and self-reflection and whatnot, but all I can really think is "AnoMALIE... *NUMBER* MORE DAYS TILL YOU CAN CUSS!"
It's getting me through the irritation of dealing with the hoards of ill-behaved people at church.
Like yesterday, everything was cool... except for this one freakin' kid (about seven years old) sitting directly in front of me.
He stared at me the entire mass. He rested his back on the front bench's back (making sense here?), and faced me dead in the face the entire time.
I did that thing where I acted as if I couldn't FEEL him burning holes through my head, but I couldn't help but laugh a couple of times 'cause all I could think was WHAT THE HELL IS THIS KID'S PROBLEM?!
and then Oh maaaan... three more days until I can flick off little twats like this one. THREE MORE DAYS!
But there came the time when I couldn't relax by thinking about my proximity to cuss-a-thon 2011 ('cause that's how I'm celebrating Easter. Some people hunt for eggs and OD on chocolate... I go on cussing tirades, Tourette's style... a little unconventional, but what can I say? I love my cuss words), so I had to use the missal to cover the kid's face.
I came home and looked at myself in the mirror. Was there something on my face worthy of those terrifying stares? No. He was just a creeper-in-training.

Anyway.
Speaking of laughs:
Wanna see what trend I've started amongst Hometown young girls? This pose:

what the... someone please put the respirator back in her mouth!

This young girl likes to hang out with me during my Mexico Summers. She's... 18 now, but she has been following me around since she was 15. After a week of being around me, she starts talking like me... even walking like me. By the end of summer, she's pretty much a younger version of me (only WAY easier... not that I'm easy).

This is my version, back in '09 (MEXICO! I MISS YOU SO BAD!):

My sister is going to murder me for this...
Then again, my hairy eyebrows and FACE make up for her glasses

We both look retarded (the 18 year old and me, not my sister and me. Sister doesn't look retarded at all), but I did it as a mock-mean-mug. I don't know WHAT the heck 18-year-old was trying to do.

I find it hilarious that a girl would try and copy that face... and NOT give me credit.
I kid! They don't need to give me credit. I don't want to be considered responsible for girls lookin' like stroke victims.

My word of advice? Think of something that irks you, THEN make the face. Don't go off and look like... you're out in space and someone's removed your spacesuit.

Tyra Banks, eat your heart out! (Oh man! I also get sarcasm back! While I do occasionally write it on here, I definitely have refrained from using it while holding conversations. I've been REALLY good with that)

La Tortura

I have found a new favorite church time! 6 AM!
Ok... maybe not "favorite," because I don't plan on waking up that early for... a long-ass time, but it was pretty funny.
Waking up at 5:15 in the morning wasn't so funny... it was pretty damn torturous, but the moment I stepped in church, I knew I was going to have a good time.
Why?
Because of everyone in there. A bunch of grouchy, exhausted Hispanic young adults... sitting next to their beaming parents.
The Mom or Dad looking fresh and ready to roll, totally loving life. "What a glorious day!" radiating from their face.
Young adult female with last night's make-up still on her face... her barrel curls smashed on one side of her head-- whichever she slept on. "What the fuck you staring at?" clearly written across her face.
Young adult male with his blow out (WTF is this? Why are guys doing this to their fucking hair now? Pauly D, you're oddly attractive, but CURSE YOU for making that shit popular!) frizzy as fuck, plain white shirt, eyes half closed. "What the fuck am I doing here?" oozing from his... bobbing head.

I was having a blast looking at all the young people; tired, cranky, confused, pissed... it was awesome... not that I was any better off myself. I looked equally, if not more, disheveled than most of the chicks there. I had on zero make-up, an oversized sweater, and my hair... I only brushed it... so it still had its nappy wave thing going on... it looked like I had taken a break from my dumpster-diving.
I was of the "What the fuck am I doing here?" kids.
My sister... that girl... she spent all day yesterday partying. First tailgating at the UNLV/UNR game, then moving on to a birthday celebration. A day where she declared herself the beerpong champ... yet Mom dragged her ass to church with us at 5:30 in the morning.
She was one of the "What you starin' at, bitch?!" girls who reeked of liquor... I wouldn't be surprised if she had a little bit of vomit in her still-curled hair.

To top it all off! The normally-Spanish mass was being officiated by the pseudo-Mexican priest (Mexican-American who grew up in the states back when Spanish wasn't allowed to be taught in schools... so he grew up understanding Spanish perfectly, but not being able to express himself in his mother-tongue, like many Mexican-Americans I know). He goes through the motions in English, while his translator speaks into the mic for all of us to hear mass in Spanish.
While I'm fine with the translator doing the prayers in Spanish, since I can't even recite the "Lord's Prayer" in English beyond "Our Father, who art in Heaven..." "...Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil" (you know, the parts that are movie/book titles), I ABHOR this man's translation of the priest's sermon... you know, the part which isn't written down for him verbatim... he has to wing shit.
This is bad news, since this man translates English into Spanish like I translate German into Spanish.
Du hasst mich gefragt, gefragt und ich hab nichts gesagt. Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet treu ihr sein fr alle Tage... nein. Me odias... seras... tu... NO. Yey, I'm awesome!
The priest is a very, very intelligent man. I love how he draws everything together in his sermons... it's obvious he aced his essays back in college. Plus, he used to be a chaplain in Chicago, so he has some badass stories. But all merit is lost due to his incompetent, Puerto Rican translator.

First off, the translator does the whole Spanglish bullshit, clearly not having a firm grasp on EITHER language... so he confuses everyone in the building.
He goes off on tangents and doesn't even bother to say what the priest is saying... often changing the subject entirely and saying his own shit.
Priest: He had killed many people... tortured many people... so many, he could no longer remember. He wanted to make amends with the family members of all those he had murdered, and he thought the best way was to accept the death sentence given to him... so he stopped all appeals.
Translator: Y la unica manera de estar bien con dios es rezando. (The only way to be good with God is by praying)
Even the priest looks back at him like "What the fuck is wrong with you, retard? That's NOT what I said."

Anyway, this just adds insult to injury for us angry young adults, dragged to 6AM mass by our parents. We all know this imbecile man is doing a shit job translating... and we have to sit there and listen, unable to tackle his ass off stage.
It's like the Chinese water torture... each incorrect translation being a drop of water on the forehead of our immobilized body.
Someone please slap this idiot!

But, hey, at least I did laugh... a lot.

Burned

Many people think I'm not religious.
I totally am, but I'm just not fanatical.
I am a practicing Catholic, but I respect all religions. I don't feel an urge to convince others to join my beliefs, and I certainly don't damn others because they don't believe in Jesus.
Who the fuck am I to cast judgment?

I became tolerant of religions at a very early age thanks to my folks. Mom's a Catholic, Dad's a Protestant.
All the nasty arguments they've ever had through their marriage have all come down to one thing: religion.
Needless to say, I detest religious arguments. Why can't we all just be good people and get along? Why can't we attempt to be understanding of the differences, and dare I say... admire some of the differing practices? (I know I do, and I try to incorporate certain teachings from various religions, not just of the Christian faith, but also Judaism-- not too hard, seeing how Christianity builds on this-- Islam, and even some Buddhism. There's beauty in all of them, if you ask me)
In order to get respect, you give respect.
That's how it has always been at my house.
However, last night, Dad crossed the line.

We now own his parent's home in Mexico. Along with the home, we own everything his parents left behind.
His mother was staunchly Catholic. She lived to go to mass... she lived to pray.
Just like I draw, or play, or listen to music to pass the time and feel happy, my grandma would pray.
Over the years, she collected prayer books-- books that had been passed down through generations-- and saints.
That made her happy, that eased her fears... that was... her.
After she died, that was all she left behind.
Now, I don't pray often. I don't know many of the prayers known to many Catholics, I'll admit it. But, those books and Saints collected by my Grandma held a special place in my heart. I could close my eyes and imagine her sitting in her kitchen, holding her rosary, holding a prayer book, and having the sweetest smile on her face.

I talk about the prayer books and Saints as a thing of the past because that's what they are now.
Thanks to my IDIOT father.
Ever since his cancer scare of '07, he has become FAR more fanatical. He publicly criticizes Catholicism far more often.
He sits at home and watches some religious channel with a bunch of pastors screaming what they scream... he listens to pastors screaming what they scream (as opposed to music) as he drives... he's screaming what pastors scream when he wakes up, when he's out and about, and before he goes to bed.
I've had enough.
However, I have NEVER told him anything to his face. I have NEVER told him to shut the fuck up because I don't need to hear how GOD is SO great and WHY he is so great. I'm not a heathen. WE ALL KNOW WHY HE'S SO FANTASTIC, now let me eat my fucking pancake already... or LET ME WATCH THE JERSEY SHORE WITHOUT YOU TELLING ME WHY EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THOSE CHARACTERS IS GOING TO GO TO HELL.
I.Don't. Need. To. Hear. It.
Instead of telling him all this mean stuff, I just grab my shit and walk away.
Yes, Dad, Jesus is awesome... can I please finish running this third mile before you preach to me?
I have ALWAYS respected his religion, his church, his "brothers and sisters." (Of course, once they start preaching to me, or attempting to convert me, I walk away... I don't need to hear it and it pisses me off that all they see when they meet me is a "lost soul" who needs saving)

Anyway, now that he's hardcore fanatical, he claims that God speaks to him in dreams. This and That are going to happen because God came to me in a dream and said This and That.
So far, NONE of it has been true. NONE of it. And he tells us his dreams with so much pride... but so far, the ones I've heard are all biggoted in nature.
"Faggots are the detriment of this society... Jesus is near... and he will slay all these faggots and take us to his glorious Father."
etc.
Really? Jesus' mission is to "slay faggots?" REALLY?! Considering there are mass murderers out there who kidnap and rape children, slaughter them and dump their bodies, limb by limb, in a ditch for other children to find... REALLY??

Anyway, yesterday he told my mom one of these GLORIOUS dreams he recently had while in Mexico.
"God spoke to me. I was restless and I could sleep. I felt this dark presence in the house (His parent's house in Mexico. It's haunted, I don't care what you say. People have seen and felt things. Supposedly a little girl was buried under the house sometime in the 1800s, and plenty of people have seen or heard her. I've only felt a sense of suffocation while in that house. My chest gets heavy and I feel deep sadness in that certain area of the house, it is inexplicable and eerie, but that's all). Then I heard Him. 'Behind every saint, there is a demon,' He said. And at that moment, I looked to my left and saw them... all of my mother's Saints... so I grabbed all of them... all that I could find, took them outside, and I BURNED THEM!"
...

WHAAAAAAT?!

"When I came back in the house, it felt lighter. I went to bed. I still couldn't sleep... and towards the headboard, I felt this sense of... darkness. When I looked inside it, I saw them... ALL THE PRAYER BOOKS! I immediately grabbed them, all of them! There were TONS of books... and I went back outside and BURNED THEM!"

....

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?

He told the story to Mom.
I don't know if he was expecting fanatical excitement... clapping... and award ??
Mom: Don't you DARE tell this to your family... any ONE of them. They will HATE you. You had NO right. MORE than ONE person in town would have taken those books from you. More than ONE.
Dad: But they had to be burned! They're evil... they control people... they are given too much religious importance!
Mom: Who are YOU to say that? And you're contradicting yourself here... how can you give SO much importance to something as simple as PAPER... to believe it can have SO much power?

Mom proceeded to tell my sister and I later that night. Sister was outraged... and I broke down and sobbed.

He did all this because of a dream?! A FUCKING DREAM?!
Want to hear what I think, DAD?? DREAMS ARE NOT CAUSED BY GOD! THEY'RE NEURONS AND DENDRITES FIRING IN YOUR FUCKING BRAIN AS YOU SLEEP! DON'T BLAME GOD FOR YOUR FANATICAL BULLSHIT!

That was the last thing we had to remember his mother by. It was her essence. Her soul.

Her own son burned it.
He killed what we had left of his mother.

And if those books and relics are so evil... does he think his own mother is in hell for believing in them?? That sweet, near saintly woman... in hell?
Not ONCE did I hear her cuss, I never heard her gossip, I never saw her angry, she never laid a hand on anyone... she fed the hungry even if she herself was in need. I always saw the most serene smile on her face... and she always gave people random, loving hugs throughout the course of the day.

With the burning of those relics his mother held so dear, Dad waged a war.

FUCK. INTOLERANCE.

Angels and Demons

Top Stories of the week:

1. I was approached the other day in this manner:
"Yo... gimme some good break up songs."
Me: What type? There are different ways of approaching a breakup.
"You know... the 'You broke up with me, but I don't give a fuck because I fucking hate you anyways, you fucking asshole and I'm moving the fuck on without your stupid ass' type of song"
Me: Oh... sorry... all my breakup songs are along the lines of "You broke up with me... but it's ok... I'll keep loving you anyway... because I'm a dumbfuck like that..." type song
"Yeah... that shit won't do."

2. I spent the last week going to church EVERY day... all in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe, who is celebrated today (while I am a follower and I do have her image dangling from my neck in a nice gold chain I've worn since 4th grade... the actual celebration drives me ape shit. WAYYY too many people go to church and act barbaric and DON'T follow rules... etc. It just... exasperates me. For that precise reason, I got my ass up at 4:30 in the morning today and went to the very first mass of the day, which was at 6 AM. Of course, while it went swimmingly for the most part... I got there sort of late and I had to sit in the back with all the men who were sitting there because they were gonna leave ASAP afterwards to some construction site job. Anyway, some of these dudes were... well... being typical Mexicans. One in particular had a thing for leaning into me... like... actually, physically touching me, putting a lot of his weight with his entire left arm all over my arm/chest... and while I'd give him the "WTF is your problem, bitch? Want me to punch you?" look, he gave me the "hehe... it was an accident... for the fifth time..." look. But eh... whatever... at least he smelled nice. haha). One of these days, we got there while English mass was still going on. One of my favorite priests (the one I like getting confessed by) was the one running the show that day, so we (mom, sis, and I) took a seat and listened to the end of it, acting like we knew what was going on and stuff.
Everything was fine and dandy up until the end.
He walked into the... sacristy (?) [That little hidden room where they have the holy water and stuff stashed... where they change into their garb...], he was out of our sight... and that's when it happened:
He forgot to turn off his mic.
The choir was going off singing their song (which I find BORING. I'm not a fan. It's a major reason why I avoid English mass... it's too dry for my taste... the words... the voice... the instruments... the singers... they're so... blah-- and often really mean to us Hispanic people at church... they look at us like we're about to mug their uptight ass) when this super loud... somewhat maniacal laughter overpowered the singer's voice. Everyone looked back at the choir... as if the noise were coming from them... but Little Sister and I knew immediately what was going on...
so we broke laughing... out loud.
We looked around and everyone was freaking out.
Not the typical "AHHHH!! We're all gonna die!" type freak-out... but the "oh... my... God... what... is this... oh... God... what's happening? I'm scared... is this... the end of the world?" type freakout.
The people were frozen in place, looking around wide-eyed, as this LOUD, scary laugh was resounding throughout church.... with the choir lady still singing.
Then the laughing stops... well, from the priest, Little Sis and I are still laughing, tears streaming down our face.
"Ha-ha-ha... FUCK YOU!!" we hear the priest say.
...
o...k... not cool...
And that's when Little Sis and I sort of stopped our fit of laughter and got a little bummed out.

TravelinDin: Dude... he's human afterall...
Me: Dude... I tell this guy my sins... WTF?

"This is not India!" the Priest goes on.
By now, I just wanna go in there to prevent the man from going on and eventually hurting people's feelings any further... luckily, someone beat me to it and the place went silent.
Poor white people (and a family of Indians...) walked out of church pretty upset.
I just laughed for another half hour, then felt stupid wondering if this guy goes around making fun of my sins and stuff...
Poor dude.

3. My remaining grandfather is delusional now. He's going around making up some CRAZY stories about my mom (i.e. that she's cheating on my father so grandpa wants to kill her.... yeah...) and us kids ("They said they were coming to see me... they told me on the internet!" He has never been near a computer...). This has my dad pretty upset. He now wants to exorcise him... because according to Dad, "THIS IS THE WORK OF A DEMON!"

I don't know who's crazier...

Prey pray

I went to confessionals the other day.

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

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

...yeah...

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

Je suis un cheval!

Mom and I are sitting, exasperated, at church while everyone's exiting as the priest is up at the altar baptizing some "young adults."
The priest told the congregation not to leave, but you know, who listens to a priest?
It's 8:40 PM... WAYYY past normal mass hours, but we're still stuck in the building (it's so hard to keep my cool in there lately... although the man's pretty cool and funny, I don't like sitting in church until 8:30 PM when it's only supposed to last until 8 PM. Exciting Saturday nights I lead, huh?).

Rather than exit the church, I take a seat next to mom (I follow directions, so what?).
Next to mom is my friend "Sunny"'s mom and Sunny's nephew. The kid (I think he's 2 or 3) is sitting there... acting like... a dog. He pants, stick his tongue out... shakes his "tail," and all that good stuff (he'd refrain from barking because his grandma would shoot him death-stares with any slight noise coming from him). Mom's equally bored as I am, so she decides to strike up a conversation with the boy.
Mom: So, do you have a puppy at home?
BoyPuppy: ...No...
BoyPuppy's Grandma: No, this kid thinks he's a dog...
Mom: Oh.
BoyPuppy's Grandma: I get angry because he'll act like this everywhere we go! Then Sunny gets mad at me because she's tells me "Mom! Leave him alone! Don't you know all little kids try and act like their favorite animals?!"
Mom: (laughs) Yeah, it's true... at least he chose a small, fluffy animal. My eyes over here (i.e. ME) thought she was a horse when she was a kid.
(EMBARRASSING! Thanks for sharing, Mom!)
Mom: And around that same time, my brother-in-law was more upset because his son thought he was a turtle.

In my defense! I blame it all on the Maya the Bee and David the Gnome (part of the namesake of my Henry David Thoreau the Gnome that travels with me everywhere, very a la Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain, seen here and here) cartoons my relatives would force me to watch as a means to placate me (Ok, so I wasn't SO forced to watch. I'd chose those cartoons over things like Eureka's Castle... Eureka scared the shit out of me with those flexible horns of hers). They made anthropomorphism seem normal.
You can't blame me for having an overactive imagination...
AND my cousin thought he was a NINJA turtle, ok... not some sort of... boring pet turtle. Big difference!

God, those were the days...

Basket case

My patience as of recently has really been waning.

In church today (man, I was reminded why I avoid mass on Sundays... it gets PACKED) some folks sitting to my right were a little too eager to get their money in the basket, and instead of waiting for the basket to come to them-- so that they could pass it on down to us-- they shoved the money in the face of the people in front. That way, the nice people in the front row could put the money in the basket for them (make any sense? I mean, visually, because logically it just means they're fucking impatient retards).

I became irritated, and signed the letters "r-e-t-a-r-d-s" to my sister.
She pushed my hand down.

Sister: Shhh... what if they understand?!
Me: They don't even know how to work a basket!

I'm mean.
Grrr.

And talking about things that go "Grrr,"
¡GOYA! ¡GOYA!
¡CACHUN, CACHUN, RA, RA!
¡CACHUN, CACHUN, RA, RA!
¡GOYA!
¡¡UNIVERSIDAD!!

¡¡Vamos Pumas!! (pardon my super Mexican-ess right now, it just runs in my blood to do this. Although... I never get this excited for UNLV. I celebrate UNLV happiness by being a little more gringa and doing things like... screaming "Yeaaaaaaaah!!" all the time)

My boys made it to the final.
Santos 4- Pumas 5
God, I really need to get into la UNAM.

¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
Si mi corazón azul es,
Y mi piel dorada,
Siempre te querré.

I don't care if they don't beat Atlante (I have a thing for them too, but my heart belongs to Pumas), I'm just glad they beat the unstoppable Santos.

And that's the end of my fútbol talk.
:D

JAMMF strikes again!

Today the jerks at church screamed at a nun (they went as far as yanking her by the arm to sit her down!).
A NUN!

???

I thought they had been cruel to me... but man... they totally crossed the line by screaming at a poor nun.
I have my sins.
I have a potty mouth... I'm somewhat cynical... I talk back... I do shit out of spite... I gossip like a motherfucker... and the list can go on.
So I can see where I might have it coming (karma and all that stuff).

But a poor little nun who's only here to ask for help for her convent (that takes care of sick, abandoned older nuns) that's ready to go buh-bye because of a lack of funds?
How can you scream at her in front of an entire congregation?

Her sin?
She sat on the wrong fucking side of the bench.

WTF? I don't even think an atheist would do such a thing.

Jerks!!

The ALMOST-excommunication of AnoMALIE

Goodness, it had been a while I didn't hang out with my Dad's side of the family.
Yesterday I realized why:
No other large group of people ignores me so well.

Shit… not even when I'm at a concert do I get ignored by masses of people like I do when I make the huge mistake of attending a Dos Santos* family gathering.

Maybe the fact that I was already upset by the time I reached the party had a lot to do with it.
This is why:

I thought that maybe after getting church over with by going to Saturday evening's mass, I'd be able to enjoy my cousin's twentieth birthday party a lot better... instead of having to leave early because I'd have to get up early Sunday morning for church.

I asked Dad to give me a lift to church, and told him that if he did that, I'd let him take my car to the party as a thank you.
Dad's more anal about being on time to things than I am, so he dropped me off at church at 6:20 PM.
Mass begins at 7 PM.

I had 40 minutes to kill… so I went inside the church, took a seat, and began to check my e-mail on my phone.
There were maybe, at most, fifteen other people in the building (the lights weren't even turned on in there!)… when this jackass (who I could tell was part of the orderlies because of the stupid little blue suit and tie he was wearing) approached me from behind.
I moved my legs to the right, since I was sitting at the left-most part of the bench and I thought he was trying to come in through my side to take a seat.
Next thing I know, the bitch gets in my face and says:

You can't talk in here.
Me: I'm talking? (I always knew I secretly suffered from Tourette's Syndrome!)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: No cell phone use is allowed in here.
(points at my phone while looking me menacingly, dead in the eye)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off.
(begins to walk away)
Me: But mass hasn't even started yet!

The idiot leaves out the front doors like he owns the place.

The bastard was probably five foot three (and he was wearing so much cologne that I even "ate" some when I spoke to him. Fucking gross)… yet here he was getting in my face while I sat quietly on the church's shoddy bench reading my e-mail… trying to kill 40 freaking minutes before mass. I was being silent the entire time… the bench made more noise than I did… yet this motherfucker had the balls to give me shit (no wonder people are leaving St. Anne in hoards... they have pricks like this motherfucker getting in your face as you sit quietly on a bench checking some e-mail).

So what did I do?
I switched over to the games on my phone and began playing Bounce Out (but I still kept my phone on silent).

Fuck you, asshole, if you think you're going to boss me around and chastise me like I'm some fucking little child. Bitch, I have more seniority in this parish than your dumb ass does. Fuck you, you little trick. This is what I think about you bossing me around, motherfucker.

It was 6:30 when the asshole comes again, and this time he raises his voice at me.

Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: I told you to turn that off!
Me: (Biiiiiiiiiiiiitch! What the fuck is your problem?!) Am I bothering anyone?
(I look around and see the four people sitting in other benches far, far away from me)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: You can't talk to people while you're in here.
Me: I'm talking to people?? Has mass started?
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: What?
Me: Has mass even started?
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: No, but this is the house of the lord! You need to respect it!
Me: (moron, is this how you treat girls? Maybe that's why you're fucking 40 and still single, you fucking plug of a man) I know that… I'm a catechism teacher. I'm not disrespecting anything!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off.
(He reaches for my phone)
Me: ( Oh helllllllllllllll no, bitch! Touch my phone and I'll rip your balls off right here, right now!) Am I making any noise? Am I interfering with anyone's meditation? AM I MAKING ANY NOISE?!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: What are you doing???
(He starts covering the screen on my phone)
Me: Passing the time! It's 6:30, I'm alone, and this place is empty! It's still dark in here for crying out loud!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: If you think it's so necessary to do that, take it outside!
(He grabs my elbow and pulls. I pull back my elbow as hard as possible--boy, did I thank Body Pump for this-- and I glare at him while holding back the urge to spit in his face like a camel. People are now staring at us... some still kneeling with rosaries in their hand, but none come to my aid)
Me: (Are you kicking me out?! Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck. You!) No! It's cold outside, and I want to sit Right. Here.
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off!!
(He sort of smirks... which kind of irks me... Why do you smirk in the middle of an argument when a chick almost twice your size is ready to wring your neck?)
Me: I’LL DO THAT WHEN I WANT TO!
(I glare until he looks away. I then go back to playing the game on my phone)

At this point, my eyes are watery and my voice is shaking because I'm so livid (come on now, I'm not that much of a badass. I do get pretty upset when I argue with people. I'm a Pisces, I cry!).
He once again makes a grab for my phone, I pull it away, glare at him again (did this guy just want to make eye contact with me?), and scream "Later!"

I was throwing a bona fide tantrum... but I was also kind of fearing for my safety.
It worked for me though, because the asshole walked away… smiling.

The whole time I was wondering if the shit was a joke… or if he though this was a great way to pick up chicks… because he made this attack on me as I sat alone on my bench with the nearest person to me being three benches away!
No way would he have done this to me had I been sitting with at least one other person near me.
Anyway… this little exchange had me furious throughout mass. Various times I found myself biting my bottom lip because it'd quiver each time I thought about this asshole screaming at me (but also I'd get all sentimental thinking about how the other jerks in church didn't do shit when they saw this jackass trying to boss me around. One lady in particular made me sad, because she knows me, yet she sat there and just watched as this bitch screamed at me).

I hate getting scolded, and especially when it's unwarranted.
I'm twenty-two freaking years old. 22!! Why are people still screaming at me like I'm 3? What gives anyone the right to scream at another person as if they're the damn rulers of the universe?

So this had me angry for the rest of the day.
I told Mom the story. She said:

You and your sister have a vocabulary... it sends chills down people's spine, it's so scary! You just look like a trouble maker…

And here I thought I always looked like a scared idiot.

I ask myself:
Why did he pick on me?
Was it my hotpink, kick ass, nailpolish?
Was it my low-cut shirt (don't stare, the Virgin of Guadalupe will not be too happy)?
Was it my magnificent pair of earrings?
Yes... had to be the earrings.

Anyway, I'll just end this by saying the bastard better watch his back next time he sees me... boy, does he have a nasty lecture/punch to the face pending.



*Obviously not my real last name.

Globetrotter Terrier.

Man... I'm bummed out again.

Yesterday my kids (i.e. students, since I'm barren and all) did their First Communion. While, yes, I'm ecstatic that my Saturdays are once again free until September... I'm bummed the hell out. I do believe this is my final year doing this.
I looked forward to quitting when I was 14, but now that I'm seriously thinking about it, I get a little sad... because I do like the ghetto kids that ask me really silly questions. I'll miss (I was gonna say "corrupting their minds" but that might be considered blasphemous under that context) getting worked up when they don't turn in their homework of "Who died on the cross?" or when I get one kid in particular that'll ask me twenty questions a day, or that one little know-it-all girl that I have to avoid each time I ask a question to the class (why is it always a girl?). I'll miss their nervousness at church the day of their first communion (I lie to them and tell them they better know their shit, because the priest is going to divide each class and ask them questions, where the kid he points at has to answer or they'll be sent home without participating in the first communion. Cruel... but you wouldn't believe how well this works! haha-- one of the reasons I'm quitting... I'm an asshole sometimes).

It's a trip to see a kid you thought hated you, and the class, come up to you at the end and ask to take a picture with you... then say something like "You were cool, I'll miss ya man."

I'll miss ya too, gangstahs.
:(

Today my bro also left to Milan. I fought with him yesterday over... I think it may have been my i-Pod charger. I was originally going to stay up with him until 5 AM, when he was going to leave to the airport, but that little spat took place at 3 AM and I got so mad I went to bed and let him hang out by himself (I do that a lot. Like one time, while driving back from Mexico, the 101 in Phoenix was under construction and we had to find an alternate route... my bro screamed at me, and since I was his co-pilot, I decided to go to sleep and let him try to stay awake on his own. Dangerous... but I didn't care, he screamed at me! Fuck him, who cared if we died). I did feel guilty for a while, but then I just got over it and went to sleep.

By the time I woke up, he was gone.
:(
And I don't even think he's bringing me anything from over there... he only buys AC Milan shit... and if I have to chose an Italian team (because my true love is England's Manchester United), I'd have to say Roma, because they have Francesco Totti. Boooooooooooo.

I'm also bummed because, since Thursday, I've been taking care of a homie's 5 dogs. No, I'm not bummed because of that, I just get sad when I have to leave the little things. They're so damn cute and lovable... and attention whore-ish... I leave the place feeling a little sad because... well, I'm leaving them. If only they didn't bark when I closed the door. Even my little sister's fallen in love with them (she likes the ONE dog that doesn't like her... while she's scared of the one that likes her a lot).
I didn't know dog sitting was such a sad task.
:(
...
...
...
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! My brother's a fucking globe trotter while I sit at home! Damn it! That's what has me bummed out.
Asia. Europe (he just called and we found out they gypped him with the exchange rate). Africa...

Once he visits South America, I'm kicking his ass.

Bored? Well, do I have the place for you!

Who needs movies/television when I have St. Anne to entertain me?

I've been in and out of church so often in these last 4 days, that I have no clue what's really going on in the world (I'm in my "Sister-AnoMALIE" mode).
Sure, it's bummed me out (hella. I was in a good mood all of last week... then all of a sudden I feel heavy-hearted and sort of sick. It doesn't help that this morning I woke up knowing AOL had erased all my "Favorites" AND saved e-mail. That shit had me crying for a while. It took me years to accumulate some of those favorites. And the saved mail... well... some shit had been there since 2001), but yesterday just made everything worth it.

So, I'm not fanatical about religion or anything (Mom wishes... she constantly accuses me of being a bad Catholic, but I give her more than a few examples on how I could be worse) but yesterday's mass is my favorite mass of the year. For one, it's done later in the evening... so there aren't as many children crying and running around (I don't hate kids... but I just like to worship quietly... sort of like a monk). Reason number two is that we start off in complete darkness... and that's just pretty rad. Three: we get to use candles! The priest blesses the fire, and we all light our candles one by one using the same flame. It's just awesome... and not because I'm a pyromaniac.

Anyway, lately, the church has really been going down the drain. They don't take much care of it, and the congregation doesn't give much dough for renovations. We don't have air conditioning (it's gonna get real ugly come summer time), the benches are coming apart (that's fun. I feel like a gymnast sometimes when I have to hold myself up using only my toes when kneeling down), and worst of all: there's this one Salvadorian lady who has set up a stand of Pupusas a couple of feet away from the main entrance to the church.
Being that we don't have air conditioning, people prop the doors open... and guess what we sniff in the air? Why, nice "fritanga" air, of course! You smell grease, pork, cheese... and often lard... and it all seeps into church.
Is that AWESOME or what?
HELL FUCKIN' NO.

I didn't have a problem with this lady at first. I am empathetic more often than not. She started selling her Pupusas out of the back of her car in the church parking lot, and that was fine by me 'cause I felt bad for the woman.
Then, all of a sudden, she had a carpeted stand with tables and everything right in front of church. The fucking gall of the woman.
So anyway... this has been going on for about 8 weeks now, and it has really annoyed me. The straw that broke the camel's back though, was when I saw her stand on Friday. According to tradition, we're supposed to fast on Good Friday... and I had been doing just that. Once I got a whiff of the grease though, I can say I felt rage. Ignorant ass woman. However, I don't know who I was angrier with, the woman or the stupid asses who were buying Pupusas. It was horrible to see the people that were fasting... and how their faces turned like those of a torture victim once the air became saturated with the smell of cooking pork.

Anyway! Off that tangent. I've been annoyed, and I just knew they were going to wreck my favorite mass somehow (Yeah, Fritanga lady was there). It was semi-ruined... but the live entertainment I received ended up making my day.
There was drama, suspense, comedy, horror, and even action up in there. Worthy of running against any good movie I've seen recently.

Drama:
The priest's mic wasn't working... so for half of the mass (or the entirety of the darkness) most of us were absolutely lost. We had no clue what was going on... and little kids were freaking the hell out wondering why they were seeing fire at the entrance.
"What is he doing?!"
"I don't know... but something's gonna come out of that dark doorway!"
"I'M SCARED!!"

More in the drama category was this crush of mine... on the old married guy from the last entry. He looked so handsome... in his golden shirt (he had to wear it as part of the "uniform")... just like a trophy. He also read under the candle light... and his voice came out like thunder. H.O.T. Just awesome. Hot, deep voice.
I sat and wondered the whole time:
Could my crush get any worse? This is a married man! Skaaaaaaank!
Will this AnoMALIE drama continue? (Nah... it won't)

Another drama episode was a little girl behind me. She had a thing for crying:
Tennnnnnnnnnnnnngo Hammmmmmmmbreeeeee! Quierrooooooo Cooooooommmmidddddaaaaa!
Everyone heard... and I'm sure after a while, I wasn't the only one thinking:
Someone feed that little girl, already! She' hungry!
How long had this little girl gone without eating? Well, it was around 9:30 pm when her whimpering began, and she had been in church since 5:30 pm.
Poor child... being starved by her parents at such a tender age... and she cried out "I want food" until she fell asleep.

Suspense:
I don't really like fire. My siblings almost burned down our house not once, but twice back in the old neighborhood. Needless to say, I'm not too fond of flames. When we lit our candles, I did my best to keep it close to me, but not nearly close enough to catch myself on fire. However, there was this annoying bratty girl in front of me. The irresponsible mother let the girl stand on the bench, and while I frown upon kids ages 6+ standing on benches, I was more upset 'cause this 10 year old kid had very long, thick hair. Her hair was down past her butt... and she kept standing directly in front of my flame constantly swaying her hair from side to side like in the Herbal Essences commercials. Me, being the careful adult I am, tried my best to keep the flame away from the dumb kid's head... which ended up in me holding the candle at eye level.
So I basically played the Who's-gonna-catch-on-fire-first game. Would I accidentally ignite this dumb kid's mane or would I singe my eyelashes off first?
(I'm glad to announce no one caught on fire... but it gave the mass enough suspense for the rest of the year)

Horror:
The bratty girl sitting in front of me had an equally annoying older sister. Whenever Herbal Essences Model wasn't too busy trying to annoy me, it was her older, teenaged sister picking at her elbow that would catch my attention. She picked at her elbow so often, I found myself wondering:
Well, WTF does she have back there?
And that's when I peeked.

BAD IDEA.

She had, I counted, seven warts (jeez, I still get goose bumps just thinking about it) on the back of her left elbow.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
It was one of those things... where like with a bad train wreck, you just can't keep your eyes away from the carnage.
Horrible. Just plain horrible (some warts were budding off another... oh man... it was BAD)!

Under the comedy category a ton of things could be listed... I see everything as comical. Maybe I can list the Pupusa air invading the church as something comical... only in a Catholic church would you have something like that happening.

And to finish it off, we have
Action:
Ushers help the priest hand out the communion. Most of these people are older ladies (the men are too busy protecting the doorways, I suppose). They go up into the altar in order to receive the communion straight from the priest, and then head back down to hand the communion to the rest of the congregation.
Well, the oldest lady up there (in her mid 70's) must have forgotten there were stairs in her way... because next thing you know, all you see is a golden little ball taking a sweet ass tumble down to the bottom of the stairs.
It was around 10:30 pm, and half of the people there were sleepy... but this tumble woke most of us up.
"Mommy... why did she fall?"
"I don't know... because she's old?"
Well... there goes her hip. That's what she gets for trying to do her own stunts.
***
I'm just glad this week is done with... now these people can go back to their usual behavior of forgetting the church even exists... and maybe Fritanga lady will move her place of business elsewhere.

Beware Fritanga Lady! She looks innocent at first... then she takes over like crabgrass.

Gimme and H...

Ah... it's that time of the year again! The time when tons of Catholics flock to church and Mom and I get our annual fix of people watching.

Mom: Hey... look at *BoyfromsameplaceinMexico*. He's a cutie.
Me: What is he? 17?

(Boy then proceeds with taking "Jesus" off the cross. We were watching... oh man, I have no clue how to say it in English... but I guess it's the re-enactment of the passion... you know, with as little bloodshed as possible. The church youth group set it all up, so of course no one's skin is going to be getting shredded off)

Mom: But look at that... he's strong! He lifted Jesus right off the cross all on his own!
Me: Yeah. Hmm.
Mom: He's a cutie. Didn't you say he was listening in on your conversation the other day?

OK, Mom, I'm not about to start dating a 17-year-old boy.

Me: Yeah. But who cares? He's a kid. I like guys more like that dude over there.

I pointed at this unbelievably handsome man standing near the doors of the gym where this Play-thing was taking place. I saw him yesterday as well. He's tall, with a chiseled jaw, perfectly proportioned nose, broad shoulders and a small waist. His muscles almost bust through his shirt. Big hands (Oh! Those hands!). He's just... man... hot... Mexican version of David Beckham (and because of that, I start blabbing like some cave woman).

Mom: Who? *GuyIpointedat'sname*? Oh, he's *Cousin'ssisterinlaw*'s husband.
Me: Married? You don't say...

I stare some more at the guy.

Me: I'd do him anyway.
Mom: AnoMALIE! It's Good Friday!
Me: You're the one trying to hook me up with a 17-year-old, law-breaker.
Mom: Well, any good Catholic boy... I was just making an example.
Me: Yeah... I'm done with good Catholic boys. You saw what happened with Altar Boy. Now I'm only accepting applications from Agnostics and maybe even a couple of Atheists.
Mom: (scoffs) Well, don't come crying to me when your husband sacrifices one of your kids to the devil.
Me: Those are Satanists...

Yep. That has been what I've been up to these past 2 days. Going insane with how horrible some of these "Catholics" are and then participating in the bad behavior myself by carrying on really crazy conversations with my Mom.
She's trying to hook me up with children, while I check out married men without feeling any sense of guilt (no, I do... but I'm still going to stare at the man if he goes to church tomorrow).

I'm always doing that though. I seem to have a thing for the older crowd (not Dad-old, just... 10-15 years older than me). Why? I don't know. I tell myself I'm destined to be a home wrecker... because it sounds a lot better to me than the whole Freudian thing about lusting after my father. The older guys I dig look nothing like my father... so I blame it on... all the movies I've watched. The actors I like are all in the older crowd. Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Edward Norton, Clive Owen... etc.
This affection for older guys then spills over to my real life, and being that these men are in the "older crowd," they're usually married (however, once the crush is there, I do my best to get over it if I think the guy's attached in any way).

Cursed be you, Hollywood movies! You're turning me into a home wrecker!

Note to Married Man:

Dear Mr. 50-Something-year-old Married Man in church today:
Thank you sir, for squeezing my hand while praying the "Our Father," today. It was enough with you flaunting your Air-Force-Ones at me, and I was even cool with you lifting your left leg onto the... that little cushion we kneel on. I was cool with that, I understand sometimes the little homies need a little venting when smothered by white polyester pants a size too small. But the squeezing of the hand, well, that was just over the top, Married Man. I was honored by the fact that you were cool with holding my hand rather than letting it float in the air as if it has leprosy... like the case is when I sit next to attractive, young, single males ("Mom, you suck for making me hold this girl's hand!").
But guy... you squeezed my hand for the duration of the prayer... which seemed longer than usual... and you increased the pressure of the squeeze in steady increments until the time came when I felt like I owed you at least three of the seven digits in my phone number. Not cool, guy.
-AnoMALIE.

Why in the hell is it always the old men that gather around me... and they're the only ones to "caress" my hand for that part of mass?
I'm going to make a shirt that says: Favor de no tocar... de ninguna forma... ni aun al frente de "el señor," Gracias.

Hmm... or maybe I should just do the normal thing and start going to English mass... where guys aren't as prone to being pervs... right?
Just wishful thinking