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! ;)

Freakin' garbage

It appears Dad has joined forces with Mom to make the "Cuss-Free AnoMALIE 2011" campaign.

I was sitting at the dinner table yesterday, attempting to add avocado to my tortilla soup, when I grew agitated by the skin of the avocado. The piece of shit would crumble when I'd be in the process of peeling it off the (very creamy) fruit. It was extremely frustrating to peel because I'd always have to go back and pick off tiny pieces of skin that would refuse to come off. It was a fragile, crumbling piece of shit (see, I still get aggravated just thinking back to it).
Once I'd had enough, I raised my voice and screamed at the avocado that I was crushing with my left hand (because I scream at and beat inanimate objects when I'm angry).
Me: This... (fucking!) avocado is fffff(UCKING!!)reakin' (SHIT!!!) GARBAGE!
Dad: Watch your mouth! Aren't you ashamed of talking like a vulgar cantinera (bartender) when you're around your father?
Me: I DIDN'T CUSS! That's me making an actual effort to keep from cussing. I called it "garbage!"
Mom: I TOLD you you should start watching your mouth! You don't even feel when you drop curse words anymore!
Me: I SAID "FREAKIN' GARBAGE!!" (...I think... right?) That's not vulgar at all!

I sat there getting lectured by both parents over how perfect I'd be if I could only erase the curse words from my vocabulary.
Me: It's not like I curse around children. I don't even talk! I keep the cussing around my friends and nuclear family... I don't even cuss around my aunts or cousins... well, most of the time. That's who I AM!
Mom: Well, I understand the cussing... if used under different conditions. Wouldn't you prefer to be like your father (because Mom cusses her freakin' heart out herself!) and be known as someone who ONLY cusses when they're furious?
Me: I'm fine with being known as the girl who punches and kicks walls when she's pissed. MMA fighters get paid for that shit.
Dad: MAAAAN! YOUR MOUTH!

So, I'm really debating whether or not to even speak anymore.
No manchen. I'm a good girl... with a less-than-ideal mouth... but I only let that out when I'm at ease with my company. I hate being fake with people... and that's exactly what I'd be if I started watching my mouth at all times.
It's BULLSHIT, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Cuss-free Spain?

So, with my birthday less than two months away (I made the mistake of saying my birthday was three months away a couple of days ago. Goes to show how much of my brain I'm really using during this time of the year), I've really been thinking hard about what I want to do to celebrate the aging of my cells.
I don't usually ask for anything (adding weight to Pacemaker's theory that my family and I are actually Jehovah's Witnesses) because I feel shitty doing so. I usually just wait for Mom to bring up my birthday and what I would like to do in order to celebrate. That's when I usually throw out ideas, if I'm ever in the mood for anything (which I'm usually not).

Well... that being said, this year I'm kind of feeling like actually celebrating... out of this continent... for a month or two. I've been hinting at it to my parents, but they don't bite. They haven't asked me shit.
How the fuck can I make this work?

***

In case you haven't noticed, or I haven't said it enough times, I'm kind of a potty mouth. Kind of.
I go through phases where I don't say more than a few "fucks" and the occasional "shit," every other day... but then I have these spells where I will drop a curse word every other word, in various languages, every other second.
I know I'm at my dirtiest when I continuously say "Goddamn" and the Spanish word "verga." I never say "goddamn" unless I'm FURIOUS, or going through my "vulgar prostitute slang" phase (that's what my mom calls it) because it honestly makes me feel bad. I always cower, expecting to get struck by lightening, as I apologize to the sky when I drop that big word. "Verga" is said out of habit, usually after hanging out with dudes for prolonged periods of time. That word's just fun... it sounds funny, and it REALLY irritates my mom.

This leads me to what happened last night as I sat in the living room with Mom and Sister.
Sister wanted to watch me play Donkey Kong Country (I curse the day we purchased that game, because now I swear I hear monkeys everywhere... even in my sleep), so I obliged.
We were all huddled on the couch, watching me try to pass the stupid game (I have no feeling on either thumb, and my right index finger feels broken, all thanks to the death-grip I place on the controller... because I'm Steinbeck's Lennie Small).
Anyone who has had the pleasure to watch me play video games... or any sort of game, really, can see how competitive I get... and when I get competitive... I turn into the vulgar prostitute/catinera alter ego. I will cuss... and cuss... and cuss.
I come up with strange swear-word combinations (my favorite so far, which I have adopted to use in regular conversation, is "Puto hijo de perra" [comparable to "asshole, son of a bitch"] which I one day yelled at a taxi for cutting me off. I was supposed to say "perro, hijo de puta!" [comparable to "bitch, son of a whore!"] but my brain jumbled it all up, and what came out was so poetic, I damn near patted my own back) which no one is safe from, not even Donkey Kong is not safe from this... especially when I keep dying because the fuckface doesn't jump high enough.
Mom was sitting next to me, and she finally spoke up after about half an hour of my cussing crusade.
Mom: Oye, AnoMALIE, estaria bueno si dejaras de usar esas palabrotas para el año nuevo. (Yo, AnoMALIE, it'd be great if you would stop using those words for this new year)
Me: That? My resolution? Hell no!
Mom: It will make you a better person. You just need to take that initial step of stopping.
Me: I love cussing. Don't try and make me change that!
Mom: Let's start a challenge. All three of us get into it. See who can last without cussing the longest.
Me: Now why would I do that? There's no incentive. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much into challenges. I'll just admit defeat and continue to cuss within minutes. I don't care. Will I get anything out of it?
Mom: ... you name it.
(Oh no... here comes the competitive monster in both of us, rearing its ugly head. It's like watching two rams scoot back and aim their horns at each other. We're bad)
Me: Eurotrip part two.
Mom: That's what not cussing for a year is worth to you?
Me: Yeah. But I'd have to go around my birthday, I'm not about to wait a year to go out there. I'll already be too old to get into museums at the discounted student price (I was informed of this back when I was in Bilbao. 26 is the age limit. I was 23 back then, and my response was "Y yo paresco de 26 o que puta madre?" This made me pay full price, obviously. The chick was not too happy)
Mom: No. You'd have to not cuss for a year, then head out there. It'll be good for you. Because recently, you've been saying some "palabrotas" that I never taught you (verga).
Me: Fuck that shit. No.

And that is how my mom nearly got me to quit cussing, and I nearly got my wish for Barcelona part two.
Me not cuss? Pfffffft!

Warning: Under 17? Fuck off (hey, I'm just following orders).

Why? Because I say:
"shit" 23x's
"fucking" 15x's
"fuck" 9x's
"hell" 6x's
"bitch" 5x's
"pain" 3x's (ok, then... I guess this thing's being considered some sort of... fetish thing)
"skanky" 2x's (oh, give me a break! how do they know I wasn't talking about the dance move?)
"whore" 1 time

I wonder if that's for real... or do they have any other words skipped... because I can swear I've cussed more than that (haha... that was a funny phrase).

I'll say it time and time again: I've tried cutting back on the potty mouth... but... I've just come to terms knowing that's just how I am, and how I'll always be.
It's a trait passed down from generation to generation... you know... cause you hear it all the time.
There will always be that one girl in the family who swears like a sailor while the rest of the family is well mannered (although I am well-mannered... I only cuss once I'm comfortable, so people should really take it as a compliment).
My grandma was the cusser in her family, Mom was the cusser in her family, and I'm the cusser in mine. Poor offspring of mine... they're doomed.

At least I can still control myself in front of children (I have caught myself dropping the F-bomb--multiple times-- in front of the daycare at the gym. Baaaad!).

Anyway... nice to know no people under 17 should be reading this thing.
Hahahaha... I'm bad (if you know me... that'll be unbelievably ironic. I'm a fucking lamb, I tell you! I just punch, kick, scream, and cuss when provoked... but that takes effort from the other party's behalf. Seriously... what do you expect from a chick born and raised in the ghetto?).

P.S. Full moon tonight!! Holler! (and here I thought the Blue Moon occurred last month! But it would have been cooler had this occurred while I was in Mexico. Man... now I've made myself sad)

Bleep Bleep Bleep.

I'm a potty mouth.

I'm sure that doesn't come as a surprise to anyone .
I've been told by most that they're pretty surprised when they get to know that side of me.
In creative writing, my teacher was fond of me but he'd always say that "this girl who in person is so shy and sweet has one of the dirtiest mouths I've come across in writing."
Ooops.
I've had a dude tell me "You know, I find a girl with a dirty mouth to be the ugliest thing ever."
To which I responded with "And... who gives a fuck?"

I've had the problem since... I can remember. The first English word I ever learned was at the age of three, and it was the lovely word: "Fuck." I even made a song about it ("Fuck fuck fuck fuck... fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck!")... what did they expect when my Dad watched HBO 24/7? My Mom and Grandma have a foul mouth as well (Mom always called us "Hijos de su chingada madre" which roughly translates to "Son of a bitch" or "mother fuckers" Yeah. Go figure)... I'm pretty sure that's where I get it.

I've tried getting rid of it, seriously, since eighth grade. I've tried to stop cussing when I met this really nice Jehovah's Witness (that worked for a month), I even mentioned it this year in THIS (click) post. Ever since 1999, I've tried giving up cussing for Lent. Has it worked? Hellllllll no. Not once.
I started off OK this year... only cussing while driving or writing. However, I quickly gave up... and went back to my cussing ways. Of course I felt guilty, very guilty, each time I dropped something like "Watch where you're going, you motherfucking asshole!" But I did it anyway... but I did feel like crap each time I said something "bad."

However, Lent has come and gone... and I'm back to my normal self again.
I did notice I haven't been so bad... just while driving. I quit cussing today because of what happened to me while driving to school yesterday:
I have to take the I-215 in order to get to school. It's never that packed (at 12pm)... but I do get idiot tourists from time to time (I get on at the LV BLVD entrance, so it's PACKED with California plates). Yesterday was like any other day.
Many dudes cut me off. Many dudes stopped abruptly. Many dudes drove 15 miles under the speed limit.
My response to everything was:
"Come on! Fucking cock suckers!"
It's just... a thing I say... since sixth grade.
I said it about six times... when on my final "CO!FCS!" I saw a female head pop up from... above the male driver's lap.
I was quiet... sort of laughed....
Well then... I hope she was recovering something she dropped...

I haven't called anyone a cock sucker in the last 36 hours... I'm feeling it's gonna stay that way for another 96 hours.
I may have just been traumatized.

Oh Lent, why must you pain me this way?

Today marks the first day of Lent.

Needless to say, I was a little bit neurotic. I mean, who wouldn't be after 19 hours of not ingesting anything but a sip of water and a vitamin? Add to that the longest school day, and you get... well, a very neurotic AnoMALIE.

However, I can't complain about lent this year as much as I did last. It couldn't suck nearly as much as it did last year. Why? Because Ash Wednesday fell on my 21st birthday. That has been the only day I've ever wished I was born a pagan.

Instead of drinking the rounds and partying till sunup (I didn't even have class the following day!), I fasted (yey, hooray!), went to a super packed Mass, then went to bed. No cake, no drinking, no nothing (but then again, the birthday before that I happened to go watch:

The Passion

with my family. The entire time I kept thinking: Happy Birthday to Me... as I watched two gangster in front of me bawl their eyes out).

So yeah, the only thing I can really be upset about this time is feeling crappy the entire time while in class, at times almost being driven to tears because I'm... well... neurotic (when malnourished!). I didn't even go to church this year (mainly because I had class during the times mass was available), I just got the little ash cross printed on my forehead because my mom couldn't stand the thought of her little AnoMALIE not getting some sort of blessing.

As a way to amend that bad move, I've decided that this year I'm SERIOUSLY giving up cussing. On the real. I do that far too often... to the point where I sometimes don't even know I'm dropping the F-bomb around children under 5. I'm like that one cartoon character on Tiny Tune Adventures (Fowlmouth) that had to be bleeped ever few seconds.

The only times I can now control myself is when I'm in a group where there's a really fundamentalist Christian... or Mormon (I've never been able to cuss around them comfortably) present. Only they can control my potty mouth because I fear making them feel bad (screw the children! j/k).

Aside from that, I also decided to stop gossiping. I find it easier since there are only certain people that bring that characteristic out in me. I'm just going to have to avoid those people for the next 40 days, then after that I think this whole... gossip problem will be resolved (or you know, lessened in degree).

Sadly, the potty-mouth AnoMALIE will be no more... except in my short stories, cause ain't nothing getting rid of that!