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!

Drink up! Merry Christmas!

What have I been up to this past week?

Sweet, sweet lord...
Oh so much.

And by "Oh so much," I mean "I can't remember most of it because it's all a fucking drunken haze."

While I have in my possession photographs from two of my three drunken episodes of the past week (I was smart enough not to bring one for the EBT/CSID outing last Tuesday, I did take some to the drinking events I went to Thursday and Sunday night), I'm only posting photos from Thursday, since it was my graduation party/21st birthday party of one of my buddies.

Tuesday's outing will never be mentioned again after today.
To summarize that day in less than 500 words:
I went out, freaked out thinking they were taking me to The Green Door for a minute, got tipsy off two Cuba Libres (I fucking hate rum), got a little vocal about my true feeling towards EBT (e.g. "Well, I did think you were cool before you started fucking all those girls... like my cousins," "You know... sometimes I just want to fucking erase you from my world... but it's so hard because you're so cute and smart... and you know, I act like I hate you and want to ignore you... but if you wanted to kiss me right now... I'd totally be all for it... you have green eyes? Dude, I thought they were hazel... I love green eyes!" I'm such a slut, dude), EBT gave me "the talk" (no, he didn't tell me where babies come from... although I'm sure he wouldn't have been too bothered in showing me. He gave me the "If I haven't approached you sooner, it's because I'm thinking seriously about you. I'm getting old... you're finally free... let's see where this goes... maybe we can settle down together" talk), and I laughed/cried as I tried to turn him down gently (My last words were "Give me a month or two..." when I really wanted to say "Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!!" ... but he has green eyes!! God, I'm such a moron. I just figured come February, I'll be in London and his ass will not be able to follow me there).
From this day forward, I will say no more on the subject of my outing with EBT on his birthday. It never happened, yeah?

Ok.
So I "recuperated" all Wednesday.
Then came Thursday night.
I'll let the pictures do the talking (no, I won't, I'll have to add captions):

(This here's the view from our suite... it was a fucking awesome suite... number 2253-- aka my age next to my basketball jersey number-- and it was all by sheer luck, the number of course. We got the room free thanks to our Mexican hook-ups... hence why being Mexican is fucking awesome. While we're known for doing the "dirtier" jobs... we'll have some of the best connections thanks to that, and of course, we'll all group together to bring a great night out to fruition. It was a beautiful thing, really, the team work... brought a tear to my eye)

(That's a diagram of where our room was located. See the red dot? Yeah... we were THAT great at hooking it up. 22nd of 23 floors, room facing the strip, smack dab in the middle. Too bad it was a girls night out... we didn't have any guys to impress and then bed because they'd be so turned on by our powerful connections... j/k, guys wanted to come, but we'd never give up the room number. Fuck them if they thought they were going to party with us and our liquor)

(That right there was the first thing "The Girls" did when they saw the view from our room. I, being an innocent goody-two-shoes, was mesmerized by the Bellagio being across the street... "The Girls" just wanted to flash the people on the strip. Hoes. J/k The girl in the far left is blurred because she really went all out when it came to flashing the strip. Nut.)

(Then the drinking began. The girl in the pink was buzzed... singing and dancing on the pillar there... and throughout the night, she bumped the hell out of the slab... to the point where she was bruised the next morning. To the left, you can see the goodies the butlers--yey!! Butlers!!-- left us. Sure, there was plenty of liquor, but they also gave us SO much cheese... I swore off [fancy] cheese the next morning.)

(Now the drinking is getting serious... with our neat-o game of loteria. I, of course, lost this round and had to take a swig of Crown Royal... after I finished off half a bottle of Absolut, one you'll notice is not in the picture, 'cause guess what? It's in my lap! The girl in the pastel pink was a wuss... she had a baby shot of Grey Goose and called it a night. Girl in the pink, being the birthday girl, totally seconded--sp? is that a word? I use it in Spanish, I don't know if it's used in English-- my motion and was getting twizzzted at a much faster pace. The guy in the red was showing us a bunch of neat-o games. He was friends with Pastel Pink, so he kept all the shit tame and lame)

(It's 3:30 AM, Do YOU know where your kid is?
We were busy finishing bottles. Ok, I wasn't plastered-plastered because I had to take care of the children [because I'm the one who's been going to Body Pump the last seven months. I knew that'd come back and bite me in the ass]. As you can see, the girl that completely flashed the strip is missing by now, but that's because she's in bed, trying to sleep while her vomiting will not permit it. The other girls [while they did puke later on in the night] I had to keep from going out of the room, because they kept getting the urge to go to leave to God knows where, and at one point, some dude tried opening the door-- a complete stranger. Needless to say, that sobered me the fuck up... so I started taking pictures like this one)

(It's 4 AM, newbies aren't so fantastic now. I still have to be alert and ready to kick ass if need be, so I stayed awake... sobered up... sort of... while watching cable [Yey!! Cable!!]. Intermittently, the girls would wake up... I just remember having a conversation with Birthday Girl one of the times while watching some sort of extreme sports show... it was skateboarding, park discipline... and Ryan Sheckler was on... and I just remember referring to him as my "16-year-old boyfriend" and then correcting myself by saying "He's 16 here, but he's turning 18 on the 30th..." [how did I know that??] and so, we laughed... then I changed it to some soccer channel... only to see Cristiano Ronaldo was on... and I then said "Now this guy... he's the fucking love of my life!!" to which Birthday Girl responded with "God, AnoMALIE... I didn't know you liked so many guys!" Hello... I'm a girl! Just because I don't go ga-ga over the usual Mexicans we're around DOES NOT mean I don't like guys... it just means I don't like THOSE guys)

(I managed to take a picture of my buzzed self at some point. I stayed awake the entire night-- I'm a good care-taker like that-- but everyone woke up at 7 AM, after Birthday Girl's sister called saying her dad was going to catch her if she didn't come home ASAP [Birthday Girl came because she kind of, sort of, lied to her parents about where she was going to be all night. I did as well, but I'm a fucking pro at it. I was not missed when I didn't come home to sleep that night]. I had to change into some jeans and my Notre Dame hoodie, take my sister's keys, leave my heavily intoxicated sister to take care of Vomiting LVBLVD Flasher, and drive my sister's car to Birthday Girl's home. I only imagine that kind of fast action being taken by a damn sancho when his lover's husband shows up and he now had to make a quick getaway. Anyway, I then received a phone call from Sister saying she was going to meet me at Birthday Girl's home, because VLVBLVDF was bringing her there. Luckily, Birthday Girl lived 10 minutes away from the Hotel/Casino.
And that, my friends, sobered me up automatically, and 100%... and made me come home at 7:30 AM. I stayed awake until 9:15 AM... at which point I said "Congratulations to me!" and fell fast asleep in the middle of Live with Regis and Kelley. I woke up at 1 PM, and then had to act like nothing was going on for the rest of the day... which was one of the hardest things I've had to do as of yet)

Then came Sunday (I was having such a hard time Friday-Saturday... my memory sucked ass... and each time I told myself I was going to blog about my experience, I'd forget. I just wanted to sleep... and kill the creators of Absolut Vodka).
Ah yes.
Sunday.
I took pictures... and video... but I will never, ever, ever post them up.
It was a more intimate setting (I mean, we weren't in a casino playing Loteria with a butler)...
And all the girls in attendance came out of it crying.
I learned these three things that day:

1. Jägermeister fucks me up QUICK.
2. Jäger Bombs are the fucking devil (Chase couldn't stop talking about my blog, and I... couldn't stop talking about my blog).
3. I couldn't have picked a better group of females to call my friends. They're fucking amazing and I'm just upset it took me so long to find them!

Now... even after all this craze and confusion... round two is coming up starting tomorrow... and sweet Baby Jesus, please give me strength to make it through the next week... and then I swear, never again.

I'm allowed to act wild just once in my life... right? What better reason than me saying "Fuck, guys, I totally graduated even after fucking up three classes... I came right back and kicked motherfucking ass!! And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school! I'll die of alcohol poisoning instead." (And no, believe it or not, I did not say that ONCE this weekend... even while intoxicated. Ok... maybe I did say "And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school!" once)
I'll be sweet, designated driver, ex-Catholic School teacher AnoMALIE once again... until I go to London this February and hunt down the Manchester U squad all over England, that is... haaaaa... all bets are off then... ALL bets.

Which reminds me: Merry Christmas (I only got one crappy present this year: an off-teal/grey sweater... with beaded roses all over... that totally screams "I'm a 40-year-old soccer Mom whose husband is totally boning the nanny, but I don't give a fuck because I'm an alcoholic and have a country club membership, and I myself get boned by all the pool boys! Do I need to get some more Botox?" Hot stuff)!!

I don't even need drugs

I'm out of it.

So out of it.

I started the day off by getting in the shower with my sweat pants still on.
When I realized it, I kind of just sat there... and left them on.
Fuck. It.
They needed to be cleaned anyway.
I had forgotten how much I hate the feeling of wet clothes.
After I was out and the pants were in the dryer, I thought about how funny it'd be to take a picture for my blog... but once again, let me reiterate, I'm out of it.

Then, as Little Sister and I had breakfast/lunch (brunch?) at P.F. Changs, I almost gave the waitress a $25 dollar tip, confusing a 20 for one of my singles.
Little Sister caught me on that one... or else, not only would I be out of it... I'd be BROKE and out of it.
I also dropped my chopsticks under the table... I felt like a moron and had to eat my slippery, steamed vegetable dumpling with a fork, like some wanker.

We then visited Mom and Dad at the hospital (more on this later).
Supposedly we were taking Mom lunch, yet I forgot it in the car.
It was cold as shit, it didn't help that we were practically hanging out at Red Rock, but being the good daughter I am, I sent Little Sister to go get it (you didn't think I was going to get it, having a younger sibling at arm's reach, did you?).

I visited Dad from 1:30 to 6, and most of the time... I'd either say "Huh?" each time Dad said something in his groggy voice... or I'd completely ignore him.
I spaced the fuck out for most of my stay (I did accidentally harm him when he asked me to lift him up... he gave me the elbow that had been used to draw blood, how the hell was I supposed to know? I felt like a dipshit when I saw his little elbow bleeding once I put him down).

At 6:15 I left for church on the opposite side of town.
I cut off two cars... one of the times really pissing off one of the drivers who sped up to me to scream some bull... all I did was look over him and do my "What, motherfucker?!" pose (you know, you spread your arms out like a gangster and cock your head up) while mouthing those exact words, making sure to accentuate the "F" by really pressing down on my bottom lip with my incisors... and he left me alone. I guess he was expecting a nice soccer mom and not a spaced out ex-hoodrat.

At church... I don't know what I did... I was zoning out, once again... I didn't follow directions as well as I usually do... I'd remain kneeling for a long while... I'd be the last one to sit down, that kind of stuff.

Coming home I cut off another cholo... he tried catching up to me in his hooptie, but once I noticed it, I sort of feared for my life (and my bottom lip doesn't like it when I so angrily scream "motherfucker" at more than one person in one day) and gunned it until my exit came up.

However, as spaced out and retarded as I may have been, nothing beats Dad when I visited him.
For the first three hours, he was so out of it... that his morphine-induced hallucinations were cracking me up!

1) He told the nurses that he had three daughters (I'm sure Older Brother won't be too glad about that).
2) He was complaining to me about how mean the nurses were, and as he was about to tell me what one of them did to him last night, he just went blank and didn't say a word for about a minute... then he came back and completely changed the subject.
3) When his surgeon came in (this was embarrassing more than it was funny) Dad said "Can I tell you something? When I first met you, I thought you looked like a bum! But now you look so rich and professional!" (God, find me a hole I can crawl into and die!!!)
4) He made a "pee-pee" song he'd say so that Little Sister and I could leave the room while he tinkled (he did it to embarrass us out of the room... with great success). I can't remember it very well... all I know is that he somehow worked the words "changuitas" (little monkeys) and "su papi va hacer pipi" (literally: your dad is going to make pee-pee, but meaning "your dad is going to tinkle").
5) He kept talking about what's going to get people into hell.
6) He asked me about Chase out of the blue.
Dad: And Chase, does she know I'm in here?
Me: Umm... yes, Dad, I told her. ??
Dad: (nods)
Me: ...but only her... (well, in person.)
Dad: Why?
Me: Because I'm not close enough with anybody else... ??
Dad: Ah... ok... yes... it's better if only Chase knows.
Me: ???
7) Once again out of the blue, he says "Man, this stuff (the morphine) doesn't let me cry!! I want to cry!!"

After 5PM he was doing better. He hadn't taken any morphine for about 2 hours... so he wasn't acting all crazy.
He traded "crazy" for "cranky," so I left Mom at the hospital to handle him for the rest of the day.

Party at my house tonight!!!
(yeah... right... whatever. I need to study)

It has begun...

I don't eat when I'm nervous/upset.

Of course, I never really know when I'm upset/nervous.
I'll just notice the adults around me getting pissed off because I turn down everything they offer (have an eating disorder once in your life and they'll never forgive you... even after seven years)... including chocolate... and that's when the angels in heaven sing:

Hallelujah!!!
You're upset, AnoMALIE!

First. we got lost trying to get tot he hospital.
Then my sister got a phone call from Older Brother who was asking us what we wanted from Notre Dame... all the while I'm trying to get directions from Mom... and all you hear is me and Little Sister going at it.

Me: Shut the fuck up, for a motherfucking second!!
Little Sister: You shut the fuck up, bitch!!
Me: Look, you little cunt, shut the fuck up before I fucking punch the fuck out of you!
LS: Why don't you try it? Fuck, AnoMALIE, you're such a fucking bitch!!
Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I'm trying to get directions, you dumb, annoying idiot!! This is more important!
Bro: Dang... what's going on?
LS: AnoMALIE's being a fucking dumb bitch right now... let me call you later.
Me: You shut the fuck up!!

I'm so rational, aren't I?

Anyway, once we found the lobby, I sat from 1PM until 4 PM waiting for Mom to come out of Dad's room because supposedly, she was going to stay with him until they wheeled him out for surgery at 2:30.
As the time ticked away, I was ready to take drugs or some shit to make me pass out and make me stop thinking the crazy shit that was running through my mind.
Finally, Mom came out... and then the waiting game continued until 7:30 when the surgeon came out to tell us everything was cool.
Then we played the waiting game some more until 9 to see my very sedated Daddy.

Now I'm home.
Hungry-ish... kind of cranky... with a headache... and I still sort of feel like I'm having an out of body experience.

But my Pops is A-OK.... even 35 pounds lighter.

Bad Host

So Dad's getting cut tomorrow (the proper word to use here would be "going in for surgery," but I'm in no way proper).

He's been relying on me for moral support.

Dad, you sure about this? You're talking about AnoMALIE comforting you... the girl notorious for crying whenever given the "I'm so disappointed in you" speech... from anyone, really.

He seems to think a BS (in my case, it stands for BullShit) in biology means I'm already working on my residency at some hospital.
With the actual knowledge I have, the most I could probably do for him now is give him a lecture on Calmodulin and CaM kinases.
Since I've never had any sort of procedure done... hell, I haven't even broken a bone (well, the only one I broke was the pinky on my right foot--or was it my left?--, and that shit sucked, but I didn't even go to the hospital for that bad boy... I just sucked it up and had one shitty ass summer)... I really can't give him the proper support of "Don't worry, you won't even feel it! You'll be up and about in three days!"

Anyway, Dad's upcoming surgery has brought many visitors to the house.
I say hello to maybe 20 percent of the visitors.
For the most part, I stay in my sister's room and draw (I should probably be studying for finals, but eh, fuck it) or sneak out of the house to go to the gym. I've only been caught once by one of the visitors as I was sneaking out of the house in my gym clothes yesterday. I made some lame-o excuse about "Oh, I'm running late and this class is long... and I didn't want to bother you guys" then I redirected her to the Milano cookies.
What a gracious host I am, right?
I was given props, according to Mom, for giving our guests "gourmet" cookies.
Gourmet when I give you truffles, yeah? It was either that or give Tyson the cookies... and we all know dogs can't eat chocolate.

I guess this problem with pops has brought the family closer.
My jerk uncle who usually talks shit about my dad to everyone came over on Tuesday, and when I walked in the bedroom to say bye to Daddy before school, I saw my uncle had watery/puffy eyes.

Ok, relax you guys... this isn't Steel Magnolias.

And yesterday, my cousin, the husband of the girl who caught me sneaking out of the house, was caught by surprise when they told him Dad had cancer.

Oh my God, uncle! I thought you were going to have like... your appendix removed!

It was amusing to see him trying to finish the last of his Milano cookie with milk.

This has also brought over almost all of Dad's church congregation to the house.
It's pretty obnoxious... but as long as they manage to control my dad and his freak-outs, I guess I can welcome it... and I put up with the chanting/praying/screaming better than if it were under any other circumstance.
However, I can't wait until this is all over and they quit showing up at the house at all hours of the day... taking up my parking spots or preventing my successful exit from the house because they're blocking my escape routes.

The next three weeks are going to be... maddening... I just hope I don't start writing crazier shit up in here... frustrated out of my mind and all that stuff.
If I do, I won't hold it against you if you ignore me for a second, yeah?

If you like being in a hospital all day, clap your hands!!
::crickets::

I hate being a Debbie Downer.

What a way to celebrate my 200th entry, no?