cheaters never prosper

Well, I'll be fucking damned...

I'll never complain about my parents arguing, because despite their frustration with one another, they remain loyal... and adhere to the commitment they made, contract they signed: I'm sucking this shit up until one of us croaks of natural causes.

I never knew how tight wound I was as far as infidelity is concerned. I mean, I knew I was a stickler-- it's why I'm single as good ol' dollar bills... well, you know, partly due to that. But yeah, I don't feel capable of sticking with a dude for the rest of my life... at least I haven't felt that way about any of the guys who have shown interest in me (again, because the guys I've always liked have wanted nothing to do with me).

Dealing with this couple has made me fall into some despair, because I had never dealt with infidelity/marriage deterioration in such proximity. I'm just an observer, but goddamn, is it heartbreaking.
I've spent more on the two daughters of this fucked up couple (I don't like referring to them like that, because the girl is such a sweet person... but in the last five days I've seen her transform into a jaded, cynical woman. It devastates me) in the last week than I spent on myself the last half of 2015.

At Disney, I'm pretty sure I was the only person frowning. I couldn't muster the heart to smile because I kept watching this family interact and my mind couldn't stop thinking about the sadness this trip will carry for the kids in the future-- "the last trip as a family we ever took... and it was to Disney."
They'll think of it as "remembering the good ol' days," a time when their parents' marriage "might have" been salvageable in the children's eyes, but to the rest of us observing the scene, it was blatantly... painfully obvious that there was no turning back-- hatred finally entered the heart of the mother.

The wife, Mom, Pacemaker (she joined us and caught on to what was going on without me telling her), and I watching this fucking imbecile man buy HIS LOVER all sorts of Disney shit, while his daughters and wife just wished to own something from the place (I tried buying them stuff, but they adamantly refused because we had already paid for their entry fees and hotel... and we drove them out there. By "they" I mean the wife and kids... the husband doesn't mind taking as much as he can).
This made me SO sick to my stomach... to see this fucking asshole behave this way... but opted not to make a scene... because it was motherfucking DISNEYLAND. The audacity and shamelessness of this piece of shit irked me to the point of giving me a headache that lasted two days.

All this observing has made me incredibly resentful of the man. I go out without inviting him, but I take his wife and kids EVERYWHERE. When he asks me a question, my reply is ALWAYS "I don't know." Always. I am NEVER alone with that guy, ever. Fuck that motherfucker. The good guy I met in CR died the day he decided his wife and kids were a burden... when he decided he "wanted to experience what normal guys" his age experience... when he decided his dick was more important than the self-esteem and comfort of his children.

Fuuuuuuuuck that guy, man. Fuck. That. Guy.

Leve her sleeping

I have been dying to find the time/moment to update this past week.

Jesus. Christ.
All fucking hell is breaking loose, and for once, it's not happening to me-- I'm just standing in the middle of it trying not to get trampled in the madness

I waited too long to update. My father's birthday came and went... that in itself was interesting because I had to deal with his family who decided to drop by unannounced. This visit included one of the cousins with which I'm in the most fucking acrimonious relationship after she failed to invite me to her baby shower IN A TIMELY FASHION. I was trying to be a fucking adult, and swallowed my pride... I was gifting these bitches some of my most prized art pieces (mainly because one of the bitches was part of the collection. The photo session had taken place during happier times), and for the first time, I felt like MAYBE they realized I'm sort of a good fucking person, who gets motherfucking offended and doesn't give them a free fucking pass. It was my "Look, you pissed me the fuck off with your goddamn shitty behavior towards me, I didn't act like it was ok... but I'm fucking over it now... please quit giving me more reasons to want to go to your house and break all the motherfucking mirrors and windows. We're family. I'm a dumb, forgiving bitch. Let's be cool again, I want to laugh with your once more," gift.
And... I think we're cool now. I think? I mean, I did my damn part. I'm done. I let that shit go. I quit. Whatever. There are more pressing issues.

I also received my passport. It took 10 days. Fucking shockingly awesome.
I look like shit, but that was expected, so I'm not even angry about it.

My acne is chillin the fuck out, too. I purchased some new facial shit, and surprise, surprise, I look like a post-puberty female... like... I'm in college or some shit, not some stressful highschool AP classes. This adds to my happiness, so it's all good.

NOW... the drama:
Remember the Costa Rican family I met... almost four years ago?
The family who was incredibly sweet and welcoming... with that one brother-in-law who messaged me some gross, creepy shit on FB before I knew how to screenshot incriminating evidence?
WELL, ok, they're in town. For years, they worked on getting a travel visa to the States, they finally were granted their wish in September, and they arrived last Saturday.
Now, I SORT of figured the couple (who have 14 and 9 year old girls) were having marital problems because about two months ago they had a public fight on FB. The argument was somewhat in code, never mentioning exactly WHAT the issue was, but I just figured someone fucked up.
I never received a message from them telling me the trip was off, quite the contrary, I received messages from both the guy and his wife... where we discussed who was picking them up, and where they were going to stay.
I received conflicting information, but thought nothing of it besides "Man, these people have idiot relatives... how the fuck are we BOTH going to show up to the airport?"
So, they show up last Saturday... and at the airport, I see it's me, and their actual relatives chillin' at baggage claim.
After some discussion, it is agreed they will be staying with the relatives for three nights, and we get them for the remainder of their stay (until February 2nd).
Cool up until then.
We got them back Wednesday night (THAT was some bullshit... they showed up at my house at 1 in the morning, and I wanted to stab motherfuckers for waking me up from my slumber).
I didn't notice anything weird because I left for the gym at the same time they woke up for "breakfast." In the afternoon we all went to a kid's birthday party, where I noticed the husband sat on the complete opposite side of the table from his wife, and as soon as he finished his meal, left to the other side of the HOUSE... leaving his wife and daughters sitting alone at their table (I was a table over, because there was no room with the Costa Ricans).
That night, I was sorting through my recorded shows in my room, in complete silence (because who the fuck talks to themselves when doing that sort of shit?) when I hear the wife completely losing her shit in my sister's room.
The woman was sobbing as violently as I've ever heard anyone sob... and her 14 year old was telling her to chill the fuck out, that she "saw everything."
That's when I knew all shit was about to break loose. I had the option of sitting in my room like a heartless sociopath... or comforting a 37 year old crying mother.

Me: Uh... is... everything ok?
(Might I add, I had a facial mask on because, again, I'm fucking old and I'm trying to fix my fucked up face)
Her, through violent sobs: I guess... you... al...ready... noticed.
Me:... no?
Her: That... th...things... aren't... ok... with... me and... (starts crying out loud)
(I look at the 14 year old, concerned and upset as shit. What the fuck did I just do?! I should have acted like I was sleeping)
Her: He.... leftTwoMonthsAgo (cries inconsolably, loud... not giving a fuck who hears her)
Me: Ohmygod, ohmygod...
Her: I just... I... I feel... I'm so embarrassed.
Me: No no no. Don't be... oh my god.

She continues to cry like a lost toddler... wiping away at her eyes like... a lost little toddler... and I feel a knot in my throat and I hug the poor girl as she stands in the doorway between my room and the bathroom. She starts to tremble and shake from her sobbing, and I swear I'm about ready to lose my shit too... because that is quite possibly the saddest thing to feel-- another human being breaking down in my arms is not something I've felt often... it's usually just me doing it on my own in the privacy of my room, in complete darkness. So I just tighten my hug of her and pat her back gently, telling her it's ok.
We do this for a good two minutes (an eternity), then she finally catches her breath to talk some more.

Her: I wanted to cancel the trip. But he told me "I deserved the trip." I told him we should have told you guys before coming here. I told him we needed to be upfront about it... and he said... that we needed to fake it. Not to bother you guys.
Me: I'm sorry...
Her: One day he just... changed. He told me he no longer felt anything for me... and he just... slept in the living room... then one day, I returned from work, and all of his stuff was gone. He left me and the girls in the house. Out of the blue. He left each one of us a note... telling us how much he loved us and what great people we were... but he left us... no explanation. I have no proof that it's another woman, but someone has changed him... this is not the man I've known for 16 years. And to see how these poor babies have suffered... how they've cried for him, is what hurts me most. How they're here crying, broken hearted, and HE DOESN'T CARE. He has seen them TWICE in these two months. And here, these poor girls are excited thinking our problems will be solved now with this trip... that we'll get back together... and I love him, I STILL love him... and I was a fool for thinking all was going to be well... because he had been so sweet in the airport, and these last couple of days at my cousin's house... but the moment we got here, he changed. He kicked me out of the bedroom last night. Then today at the party he just abandons me with such anger, like I did something to him... embarrasses me publicly like I am the absolute worst. I don't get it!

By now, I'm ANGRY. Things are starting to make sense, and I'm ANGRY... so I quit protecting people and speak up.
Me: Oh... now it all makes sense. Of course he wanted you to put on the act like everything was fine... because he knows HE is the one who did wrong, and if we knew, he'd be fucked... we have NO tolerance for that bullshit. NONE. You don't do that to your kids, you don't do that to another person. He would not have been welcomed here. I figured something was going on because I did see your sister have that public argument on FB once...
Her: That was the night he left the house...
Me: Ok. And then when we were making these plans, he did mention how I had to take him clubbing... and I told him how you and I had agreed that WASN'T going to happen because it was too cold, then he said that it was ok, that we'd just leave YOU sleeping in your room... I found that strange.
Her: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed.
Me: DON'T be. It's not your fault. I flat out told him NO, that it was NOT going to happen. What a fucking asshole. What terrible influences he must be surrounding himself...
Her: I don't know what his problem is... but he's under the impression that he's 15 again... like he's some rich conquistador... RICH WITH DEBT is what he is! He doesn't have a penny to his name! But all these bitches see him with all this shit... that HE OWES. The moment they find out, he's getting dumped as far as their arm can throw. That fat piece of shit.

So there I am, listening to her go from heartbreak to anger and indignation. I tell her to calm down, that all will be well, and that I will no longer force them to put on the act... that she is free to act as she likes... go sleep with her daughters if she chooses, that none of us will judge her for it. As far as her husband, we will NOT be showing him around. FUCK that guy.

And she starts crying again, thinking about her kids.
I tell her she might want to talk to my mother... and that I could talk to my father, so that this fucking idiot doesn't go around with impunity in MY HOUSE, taking advantage of MY SHIT.
So I arrange for her to have a conversation with my mother.

Knowing my mother's backstory, of course she is completely outraged with the revelation, and gives solid advice.
Guess who overheard. The dickhead.
Friday morning the girls wake up fresh as roses, and the fucking piece of excrement is silent... like a fucking dog who nows it did some fucked up shit.

I have no clue if my father knows what is going on, but I have no doubt the fucking cheater is making up stories, trying to cushion his fall from my father's grace... desperate, cheating men do that... they play the victim card-- I fucking know, I've seen them work that angle... the "I'm so fucking angry at you for some made up reason because you just found out what a piece of shit I am so now I'm going to act angry to make you paranoid and guilty."

No, bitch. Not me. I have the screen captures... I have all those fucking winking faces and euphemisms saved. FUCK. YOU.

Indeed, I did feel uncomfortable, downright paranoid when I was first getting his messages.
"Is this... motherfucker hitting on me? WHO does he think he is? WHY would I in any one of his fantasies EVER be interested in him? I'm too YOUNG, SMART, and RICH for that shit... goddamn, I'm to motherfucking PRETTY for his troll piece of shit ass. GET. THE FUCK. OUT.
... but don't be conceited. Just ignore it, AnoMALIE."

I asked a couple of friends for advice, just to make sure what actions I should take... if I was justified in what I suspected, because men have mindfucked me so much into thinking I'M the one who is making shit up. It was agreed I keep the imbecile at bay, but not disclose the information to his wife.
But then this happened... so... FUCK sparing him from anybody else's wrath-- he deserves it ALL. I did nothing wrong, and I never gave him reason to think he had any sort of shot with me... and I'm game for making piece of trash like that PAY. Get read for the heat, motherfucker.

So, guys, I'm having a bitch of a time out here... trying to juggle these poor girls from feeling bad, or seeing their parents belittle one another, comforting the poor wife (who is very much like me. We're equally "sweet" and doormat-y), while letting the POS husband know he's TRASH. (oh, god, I forgot to mention how Thursday afternoon--before the party-- we went to the mall... and I lived the most fucking surreal moment. It was a straight scene from Love Actually, but twisted as hell. We went to a perfume shop, were we watched the husband buy "his boss" a $100 bottle of perfume "discreetly" and then throw a fit when his wife wanted a $30 bottle. The wife later told me how he has been buying a bunch of fancy female shit, and he "hasn't even given me a pencil!" Basically, I am seeing him buy his lover all sorts of shit. It's great. sarcasm)

Let me say this again:
I AM NEVER GETTING MARRIED.

Contener

"Usted es muy linda. Solo pienso en usted, en sus lindos ojos, y su tierna sonrisa. Le digo, si regresa, no creo me pueda contener. "

I love dudes.
They're funny... entertaining, smart, cool, laidback, blunt, etc etc.
As long as they're not attempting to get in my pants, I fucking adore their presence.

... but there's always that lame schmuck trying to get some pussy.
...
....

I'm a good girl. I swear, I damn near emit a heavenly glow... you know, that glow on paintings... on the sad-looking saints... the halo...
As long as I'm not behind the wheel... or doing some other activity that pisses me the fuck off (few, I'm aware), I'm a super good girl.
That halo SHOULD say "Back off dudes, this girl is boring!" but sometimes it gets lost in translation.
Sometimes... I get total creeps that somehow get delusional and think that maybe it's all an act... or that I'm SO sweet/innocent/naive that I'll fall for any type of sweet-talk.
Newsflash, buddy, I'm 27 years old... cute YOUNG dudes haven't been able to crack the cookie jar, you sure as FUCK aren't, at your ripe... what? 45?
My "good-girl glow" attracts these fucking creeps that say some shit to me that pretty much leaves my head spinning... with rage... then sadness.
Do I look like a slut or something?

I say this because this one guy... who I swear was only talking to me because of my folks (well, there's my idiot naive part), totally came on to me. Shamelessly.
I was pretty much speechless.
The fucking man is married... and he straight up... just put it out there.
I'm angry about it. Grossed out about it. Sad about it. Confused about it.
I don't fucking get it.
What about me invites a married man to... declare that shit. "You're very pretty. I only think of you, in your pretty eyes, your sweet smile. I tell you, if you come back, I don't think I'll be able to contain myself."

Come on, man! I'm awkward and quiet and shy and antisocial... I dress like a dude. I'm not a sexbomb, I don't come on to dudes... I don't even like to come into physical contact with people... how does that attract anyone?
I think that screams pedophile... someone whose fucking attracted to innocence... and that makes me uncomfortable.
It's probably my trauma speaking right now... but a grownass man getting like that with Bashful AnoMALIE makes me uncomfortable. I showed nothing but timid respect for the guy and next thing I know he's sending me these lame... private love notes. Get the fuck out of here!
I want to vomit in my mouth each time I think about it...

Like I said, I was born in the wrong fucking decade.
Old dudes love me... old married dudes find me outstanding... while I beg for attention from dudes my age.
I hope to god he was drunk when he sent me that shit... at three in the afternoon.
I feel dirty.
And sad.

Guys! You're supposed to be cool at all times! What the fuck?!

Tres Frescas

I woke up in a very cunt-y mood today.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still happy... not sad at all... even after listening some more to Musketeer's Suicide Mix he gifted me (have I mentioned this before? No? It's a joke I have with my friends. I encourage them to give me their saddest songs... and compare. I tend to love everyone's Suicide Mix... because it appears I LOVE sad songs).
Anyway, I blame the startling way I woke up: I dreamt I lived in my old house in the hood, where a huge sinkhole appeared in the front yard. In the dream, I opened the front door and saw the hole right at my doorstep.
It damn near gave me a fucking heart attack.
I'm surprised I didn't wake up screaming...though I did sit upright wayyy too fucking fast and gave myself a massive headache.
After that, I caught myself getting very worked up in the shower (seriously, who pisses themselves off while they shower? Only I, the motherfucking Hulk), due to reading a certain person's tweet... a dude who happens to be my relative... and... he's such a two-faced moron... it gets difficult to keep my mouth shut sometimes.

And now that I mention people who irritate me... plus the difficulty I have when it comes to keeping my mouth shut... AND being in a cunt-ish mood, I'll go ahead and vent something that has been bugging me for a little over two years.
It's about Pacemaker.
Something about Pacemaker's DAD, which... is kind of fucked up.
I'll write it out because... no one really knows her, unless they go to my Facebook and looks for my friend with the moon-shaped head and skin of alabaster.

Place: Hometown
Time: Late July, Early August-ish 2009
Occasion: Wedding

It was the dance portion of the wedding, I was being a petulant child, begging to be taken home. The dudes present were getting a little restless... a little obnoxious... totally stereotypical drunk Mexican.
Dudes were making scenes, like breaking bottles or loudly asking a girl what the fuck her problem was for not wanting to dance with him. Shit like that makes my heartbeat get out of control... because I get ready to knock a motherfucker out.

Backstory: In Hometown, it's customary to slap a girl across the face if she refuses to dance with you. Knowing this, and knowing how I HATE dancing to that garbage music... and how I pretty much hate the dudes from Hometown, I'm always ready to HURT any motherfucker who dares to try and touch me. READY (it's kind of like watching a cat do that creepy thing where it arches its back and hisses at you... that's pretty much me at a Hometown dance. AND I ONLY go to watch the "first dance." That's. It.)!

A couple of tables down, we (Mom, Sis, and I) notice one of our female cousins making a scene.
A waiter is standing next to her as she throws three bottles of Fresca to the floor while screaming "NO! NO GRACIAS!"
WTF?
THOSE ARE PERFECTLY GOOD BOTTLES OF FRESCA! What's wrong with her?!
NOW what's wrong with that psycho?
People at the dance looked over for about thirty seconds... then we continued with the typical dance-watching.
Maybe five minutes later, Scene-Making-Cousin and her 16 year old daughter walk over to us and take a seat next to Mom.
SMC: *Mom* Do you know that man over there?
Mom: Who?
SMC: Man sitting three tables down from where I was. White hair, fucking small... flea-sized eyes,  fatass belly...
She continues to describe the guy. Who was he? Pacemaker's dad.
Mom: Oh yeah, he's *Pacemaker'sDad*
SMC: Ok, that's what I thought. Isn't he still married? Is he recently divorced... or separated?
Mom: Nnnno. He's still married. Not separated or anything, as far as I know. Right, AnoMALIE?
Me: Yeah... as far as I know.
SMC: Ok. Because that fucking RIDICULOUS, OLD PIG is trying to get with my daughter! He THINKS MY DAUGHTER will pay attention to him... that three fucking sodas are going to win her over.
Me, Mom, and D: whoa...
SMC: That idiot had the gall to send my daughter fucking drinks, and told the waiter to ask her if she would dance with him. And now he's just sitting there staring at my daughter with that... disgusting salacious look in his... rodent-looking eyes. HE EVEN BLEW A KISS AT HER. RIDICULOUS!

So... we awkwardly sat there for what felt like seven hours, until we all decided to get up and go home.

Now, whenever I see anyone from Pacemaker's family, I feel like I'm going to giggle, but I also feel sad.
That's just some shit I could have lived without knowing.

I hope no one has that type of dirt on MY family... sheesh.

Shredded

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the shredded manicure for which I dang near died yesterday:

Since I can't flick (flip?) off the camera...

Worth the swig of acetone, I say... maybe two.
Those fingers are ready to come out and play tonight... although I might not.
I heard it's Latin Night at Firefly* (I swear... each time I hear someone call it "Fireflies" I feel like doing the world a favor and ripping that person's tongue out. LEARN HOW TO READ, RETARD! Since when does an asterisk make a sound?!), and sadly for me, that's where this friend of mine decided to throw her birthday party.
Oh my gosh... a Latin Night at a Tapas bar? How odd!
Yes, I'm Mexican... but I HATE being surrounded by latinos. Well... I don't hate hate, but I don't exactly enjoy it. I always end up in a terrible mood.
The men tend to be pushy and rarely understand no means NO. They're pretty freakin' persistent.
The girls are catty, and there are over a dozen things I'd rather be doing (like washing dirty dishes with my own tongue) than giving catty girls any more fodder. Also, since I AM a hot-blooded Latina, the moment one of these cats tries messing with me or my loved ones I don't respond with equal cattiness, I go straight for the jugular and I DO fight.

Sigh.
Hooray for tonight.

Funny note:
I had to get my eyebrows threaded today. I ended up going later than usual because my mom has a knack for driving my car instead of hers (she doesn't want her Lexus to get dinged up--she's a TERRIBLE driver-- so she drives my poor thing. Bambi gets all the abuse from the runaway shopping carts and asshole passengers who open their car doors too wide--you have NO idea how hard I fight the urge to stab those imbeciles. Each time I see a new dent on my vehicle feels like a screwdriver is getting shoved transversely through my throat). I had to wait for her to return home at two in the afternoon.
Once I got to the eyebrow place, the wait was LONG. Supposedly, it was going to take me half an hour before getting the work done (it actually took 55 minutes), so I had to make myself confortable.
I took my place on the furthest chair available, and I began tweeting like a teenager (Don't believe me? Look! Those are too many tweets for such a short time span. All I needed to do was mention what I was hungry for-- The Cupcakery's "Trip to Graceland" cupcake, if you were wondering. I've been dying to taste it for the last month. It's torture).
I noticed an older asian lady kept giving me the evil eye (you see, the seats are arranged so that two rows are on the left side and two rows are at the right. The sides face each other, so often times, there's that awkward eye-contact-with-a-stranger moment)... but since I'm respectful of people, I didn't care and kept tweeting with reckless abandon.
Suddenly, the body of a gentleman standing up took my attention from my phone.
It was the old lady's husband. She was sort-of screaming at him in Mandarin and he was just bowing his head. He then took the seat directly behind her, completely out of my sight. When I noticed that, I saw the old lady stare me right in the chest, then look me up and down.
WTF? Calm down, lady! There isn't much I can do about these girls. I just developed this way.
I felt self-conscious and lifted my shirt's collar as far up as possible.
Way to make me feel dirty.
But I did laugh at the thought of that poor man getting scolded in public for looking at other girls' racks. And yes, the lady saw me smirk.

For shame, men! Not in front of your ladies! And in a beauty salon? Rub one out before heading out with your lady... you'll do us all a favor.

Kicked out

I don't normally post twice in one day, considering I have a difficult time coming up with ONE entry a day... but this just... made me feel so weird, I had to share:

I made a grown man cry today.
A grown man who is also my father's best friend.
It was 100 percent unintentional.

Backstory:
Dad came to Vegas back as a teenager and lived with his dad's sister.
Dad knew no one other than that family, and he didn't speak a lick of English.
Dad spent his time fixing his car, as well as the neighborhood's cars... because there was nothing better to do back in the 70's in North Las Vegas... especially for an immigrant.
One day, he was at a scrap yard looking for car parts, but he was having difficulty finding a certain part.
Dad was walking aimlessly, when one of the workers started harassing him, accusing him of stealing and calling him by some derogatory terms.
Dad had no idea what was going on, and he had no way of defending himself. That's when another Latino came to Dad's rescue... a Mexican-American kid about Dad's age who was browsing around and heard the commotion.
From that moment on, Dad and A (the Mexican-American kid) became inseparable.
In his twenties, Dad moved in with A... where they made their bachelor pad a party central. They drank for days, and these homies would smoke weed 'til... they could eat a horse.
Then A got married and started his family.
Dad left for Mexico, met Mom, and got married. They decided they'd live in Mexico, and only visit the US to have their (anchor... jk!) babies.
Once Mom was about six months pregnant, my folks decided to head for the US. Dad went for help from the only person he knew: A.
My folks lived with A, his wife, and their two kids.
Mom would babysit the two kids (she has some hilarious anecdotes from those days), cook, and clean (all while pregnant, like any awesome Mexican lady) in order to pay back the hospitality.
Mom and Dad lived with A until Mom gave birth to Rafa. That's when my folks decided they would stay here, and raise their family.
My parents found a place to call their own, and when Rafa was about six months old, they finally moved out of A's house.
We would visit A at least once a week, we'd go on camping trips to Utah at least twice during the summer, and we treated each other like family for years.

Around the time when I turned ten, the visits stopped... A's marriage disintegrated... and A went a little rogue.
Still, we D's cherish the memories shared with A and his family, and we remained eternally grateful for the kindness they showed my folks during the rough transition of moving to a foreign country. That's the kind of stuff you can never forget and will always appreciate.

Ok, now on to today and how I made this poor man cry:
Dad has stayed in contact with A, and he has visited him about once a year.
Last week, A let Dad know that he needed him to help fill his pool (is that what it's called? When you get rid of your pool by covering it with concrete).
Dad has been doing the concrete job at A's house these last two days.
Today, Dad finally asked A what his deal was in no longer visiting us.
This is where A started to cry.
A: Wanna know why? It's because of your daughters!
?!!?!
Dad: What?!
A: They kicked me out of your house!
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Dad: WHEN?! THOSE BRATS!
A: When I go, they never come out of their room. That is THEIR way of kicking me out. They don't care to know me... they DON'T know me. Sad, because you and I are not "friends"... we're BROTHERS!
Dad: Oh... yeah, we are... but... don't let that get to you... the girls do that to everyone. If you were to drop by more often, they'd hang around... eventually. Don't feel bad about that.

Dad told me this as I was making some dinner.
I laughed... then I felt terrible, when Dad told me how A was BAWLING.
Whoa, my "slights" elicits this response from grownass men? CALM DOWN! It's only me.

I know the guy... I DO. I know what part of Mexico his family hails from (Chihuahua). I'm in contact with his only daughter (we took some college classes together, as well). I know his ex-wife's mom is a lesbian. I know his three kids are Jewish while he is a non-practicing Catholic. I know his ex-wife only ate lox. I know he and Dad would smoke weed like Cheech and Chong (something A's kids know NOTHING about). I know how he met Dad.
I could pick him out of a crowd like I can pick out Waldo, for crying out loud!

I treat him like I treat any other adult who visits my folks: I greet him at the door, shake his hand as I smile, and I excuse myself to another part of the room.
What can I talk about with a 50-whatever year-old man I see once a year? I don't even smoke weed, so I can't even talk about that.
I'm sorry, A!

So now I'm embarrassed and sad over  hurting this man's feelings.

Men... women may be crazy... but you guys are such pansies (says the girl who cries because she's not invited to be part of a bridal party).

3 Ts

At first, I was proud of any high school graduate, but after 10 years of going through the motions, it's getting pretty painful.
I've gone to 4 high school graduation parties in just the last two days.
The parties are best described with the 3 Ts:
1. Tacos
2. Tequila
and
3. Talking.

The tacos are awesome... especially when that trustee Taquero Man is hired.
Then it hurts like hell after a couple of hours.
Putos taquitos de Al Pastor and Carne Asada! So good... but ahhhhh! I feel like a baby alien is ripping apart my intestines with a ninja star.

And the tequila... no lie, my mom has been drunk these last two days (such a fucking pain. She's up at the crack of dawn watching the World Cup games and once someone scores, she starts doing her gayass Mexican Mariachi scream that only sounds like someone broke in the house and is trying to slit her throat... it's fucking alarming to wake up to that shit, I tell you). I've been DD, with my shit-tastic night vision... and get this! I have been driving my mom's car, which is fine... except that motherfucker's speedometer is NONFUNCTIONAL.
The little lady better not keep this up.

And finally the talking. The talking!!
My mom will never shut her trap at these parties ("OMG, you're *Mom*'s daughter?! How are you so quiet?!" Maybe... if she ever SHUTS UP!). Mom can have a conversation with a rock! So, when there's ladies she knows at these shindigs, she forces me to sit with her and listen to their conversations. Since these conversations revolve around the old days, or upcoming weddings, I'm usually bored with nothing to do. I can people watch for only so long before I start giving people the wrong impression.
I swear to God, that bitch looks at me again, I'm gonna beat a bitch up! Tryyyy it! At least I'll be entertained.
Hey, don't move... don't move... but I think AnoMALIE's checking me out. She's been doing it all day. Babe, you're 17 (or in today's case, 42... which was... I puked in my mouth when he tried hollering. Then he kept walking back and forth past me and inching closer until he finally rubbed up against me and I looked him in the eyes and gave him my best disgusted look. That shit DOES NOT fly with me), why would I be giving you the eye? I already knew how to divide by the time you were born (or in the old man's case, he was already jacking off to photos of Sasha Montenegro, or whoever the fuck was popular back then, by the time I was born), that means NO.

Yeah, I know, I complain a lot... and it always seems like I'm doing a ton of shit I don't feel like doing, but what can I say? If I like you, you can probably get me to lick a New York sidewalk.
I care that much.

Ah, to be Mexican!

40+ NOT welcome

Operation "I'm Happy!" is in full swing, and so far, so good.
I did have a minor relapse on Thursday, however, it was only because I had to go to a funeral.

Now that I mention the funeral, let me just put this out there:

If you're over 40 years old and your highest level of education reached is below high school: DON'T YOU DARE holler at me.

I was standing next to Mom and TravelinDin as Mom gave her condolences to the son of the dead lady, when the guy next to him spoke up.
Creepy Guy (totally in his 40's, he was the only man NOT wearing a suit. Fuckin' bumming it with a hoodie): *Mom* is that you?!
Mom: Yes, it's me *Creepy Guy*
CG: Well, don't just stand there, hug me!

(sis and I stare at each other, and decide to start walking away)

CG: And who are these beauties?
Mom: Them? They're my daughters.
CG: Very gorgeous girls! Beautiful! Amazing! Gorgeousss!

(Stupid ass TravelinDin's head was in the clouds or some shit, as she stood in my way, impeding me from rushing out of the building and getting the fuck away from that creep)

Mom: Well, you're telling me. They're my daughters, of course I'm going to agree.

(Mom starts walking away and DUMB SHIT sister wasn't moving! I was getting ready to punch her)

CG: Hey, Mom (he said it in Spanish, the equivalent of "mother-in-law")!
Other dude standing by: Shhh! Shut up, idiot.

I wanted to vomit. It didn't help that the little fiasco occurred inside the chapel, at a very audible volume.
Fucking crazy bastard. I don't know what about me screams "Don't have a job/tact/future? Holler at me! I'll take you!" But... if that type of dude is my only hope for marriage, then God, please kill me! I'll slit my own throat if that's what I have to look forward to. No.

Aside from this uncomfortable encounter, I did bump into the girls involved in the Bellagio Weekend Fight. Instead of ignoring them or downright fighting them, I decided to mend fences. I hugged them and chatted for about 20 minutes, then went on my merry way.

Being nice is... nice.
:)

la playa

I leave for Cancun tomorrow.
This trip has been in the works since... shoot... October? November? I can't remember... but I just thought it was never going to get here.

I will come back tanner...
and probably more miserable than I already am.
I could almost put money on it.

:T

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...

Go-fight-win!

Note to self: Don't ever wear UNLV hoodie to a hospital.

Apparently, not only is my UNLV sweater warm and awesome... it also attracts old men.
Annoying, man.

I let the first one slide.
Actually, the first comment directed at me thanks to my sweater amused me.

I was riding down the elevator when this adorable old man in a wheelchair and his huge (as in, many of them) family crammed into the elevator where it was only me and Little Sister.
As this old man's grand kid pushed the wheelchair into the elevator, the old man saw my sweater and in this sort of weak voice said "UNLV?? Booo!"
I had to smile... the man was just too cute (he reminded me of the late Pat Morita).
The man's older sons apologized to me... I just shook my head like "nah, no problem."
Then they started talking about how awesome Apocalypto is.

...OK?? Is it ok if I start talking about the awesomeness of Mr. Miyagi?

I was cool with that elevator ride... even if it was with an old man who apparently hates my university (I guess I didn't take offense because I can't wait to get the hell out).
Then came the second man who got in my face because of my sweater.

Once again, I was in the elevator, but this time I was going up to Dad's room.
Some guy that looked like a hardcore NASCAR fan in his mid-40's rushed into the elevator, looked me straight in the eye and screamed "UNLV!! YEAHHH!!"

???
O...k...

I'll admit, I kind of feared for my life at that instant and tensed up.
I was ready to knee the shit out of anyone in that fifteen second ride to Dad's room.

Then came the last old man that got in my face.

I was walking out of the hospital (at least I wasn't in the damn elevator this time) and walking past the cafeteria when some dude that was hidden from my view thanks to a Christmas tree screamed "U-N-L-V!"
For a second I wondered if maybe I knew this booming voice...
Then I wondered why the fuck nurses don't get more in the faces of nimrods who think it's a great idea to be hollering down the lobby of a hospital.
I stopped to see if maybe the moron was my cousin or some distant uncle since so many seem to be running around the place (the hospital staff finds it funny how so many folks come see my dad. I believe one time they refered to us as a "wedding party" because it was 12 of us waiting around... but what can you do? We're Latinos, we're supposed to do that).
It wasn't.
It was some huge, robust man in his late thirties with a goatee that sort of looked like a fat (pardon me, I mean, ROBUST) Brett Favre. RBF gave me the... what is it... "heavy metal" sign? when I looked over at him.

I won't wear this sweater anymore.
I believe Wednesday will be my last time sporting the sweater... it will never see the light of day after that Molecular final is done and over with.

Mexico fever level: Orange.

For the first time in seven years, I woke up on the second day of July and I was still in Vegas.
:(
This time last year we were speeding down some highway in Chihuahua staring at all the cow carcasses by the side of the road (you can see them at all levels of decomposition. My personal favorite is when they're all bones, but there's still some skin on them. I hate it when they're fresh and you can tell worms are eating them from the inside because they're all bloated and smelly).
We'd also just had a huge argument with the people in charge of giving us car permits at the border... them and their stupid idea of having us travel back to Vegas just so Mom could bring her wedding certificate. Fucking jackasses.
Note to the wise: Don't ever cross the border the day of Mexican Presidential elections... it's all crazy and the people working government jobs try and act like they're not corrupt, and in turn, they just become bitches to U.S. citizens.

Anyway, instead of being on the road and daydreaming about being lazy in Mexico and playing volleyball until my joints hurt, I'm sitting at home... doing what else? Writhing in pain and throwing up.
Yes. I have a wonderful life... and a fucking terrific gag reflex (what the fuck is up with me throwing up so much? The eating disorder that had my ass in check back in the day was anorexia, never bulimia... I shouldn't be doing this).

However... in less than 20 days (shit, I hope, I hope, I hope!! School better not get in my way. Fucking grad pack) I'll be a happy camper... doing all this in Mexico:

1) Watching lightning storms (from a safe distance, of course, and preferably under a roof where no metal is near).
2) Listening to roosters in the morning (Mexican roosters never annoy me as much as U.S. roosters do)
3) Running in the rain (when there isn't lightning or thunder. Thunder frightens the shit out of me)
4) Swimming in rivers/oligotrophic baby lakes (so much fun... as long as there aren't tadpoles in there. Those bitches scare me)
5) Hiking! (you know, in dangerous cow trails that can possibly get me killed... because I'm stupid like that)
6) Shooting at empty soda bottles... only to complain about how loud the guns are (yeah, I'm a wimp like that)
7) Climbing trees (as long as there aren't ants crawling all over the place. What a way to ruin the fun)
8) Riding horses! (Horses!!!)
9) Sitting outside after a rain storm late at night... with the smell of wet dirt, no mosquitos in sight, and the sky clearing up to reveal the bright stars Vegas would never permit me to see (::sigh:: man... I miss this so bad)
10) The Full Moon Ritual... (we are part Native. We do our thing... although we just sort of invented it out of boredom)
11) Walking the Plaza at night in the nearby town... raspado in hand... checking out the scene (because rarely do I check out the guys... they're all younger than man... and if that's not it, they're shorter than me... or dumber than me-- and that my friends, is pretty hard to out-do me on, my stupidity).
12) Playing:
A)Volleyball! (Man... Oh man! Take me there! Now!)
B) Hide-and-go-seek in the dark with the other young adults (haha. There are about four kids under 14 though, so it's not that bad)
C) Tag with those same young adults (and 14-year-olds)
13) Treating a group of 7 to a bomb ass Mexican dinner for only 25 bucks (that always astonishes me).
14) Watching Mexican television (this is more of a guilty pleasure, since I tend to miss most of the television action cause I'm out and about at the nearby towns grocery shopping... or visiting my dentist... or eating. I really only watch the 11 AM-2 PM programing)
15) No Internet!! (Unless I travel to the above mentioned towns and visit one of the creepy Internet cafes. Paying a dollar an hour... but I do it anyway... even when the creepy old dude next to me is playing solitaire and checking me out when I'm deep in concentration while writing back to friends via Myspace)
16) No phone! (fuck you, phone! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!)

This list could go on and on... I love everything I do over there. Sure, some of the people are... pretty bad... and they love talking shit, but that's why I never give them the opportunity to find me in some sort of compromising position.
I play it safe, enjoy the scenery... and stay out of trouble (yeah, I'm a goody-goody... and what? I enjoy being sober and watching the drunken chicks make asses of themselves as they cry over some guy that's ignoring them--totally not the case if the female's sober, those cases suck. It's awesome for me... better than soap operas, if you ask me. I also love it when those same chicks get caught by their very embarrassed moms who slap them in public and call them hoes... it's just... fantastic. It's even better when those inebriated girls use the excuse of "But Mom! Everyone was like that!" which gives me the opportunity to raise my hand in protest and say "Upppp-up-up! Not me!!" Oh, I'm enjoying these memories).

Even with all the modernism going on over there, going to Mexico is still like traveling back in time (both in a good and bad way).
It's amazing... and it helps me stay sane (and also appreciate living in the U.S. After three weeks in Mexico, I start missing all the typical Vegas-y things... even the weather).

Man, I have a very bad case of Mexico fever... I don't know if I'll make it till Mid-July... I wanna go nowwww!

P.S. Totally off-topic: I was going to blog yesterday about some creepy dude that was petting my back throughout mass on Saturday... but I opted against it... because... I felt kind of bad... for the weirdo guy (I did think it was a kid that was touching my back... until I had to turn around to shake people's hands and I came to the realization that it was only a 40-something-year-old man that was sitting behind me. Quite mortifying... and creepy). But yes... I can now add that to my list of "weird shit to happen to me," and "Weird things older dudes have done to me in church." Why do I attract those types of people... why?!

Am I the only one, or what?!

Fuck, man.
I didn't get out of it.
Curse you, once again, Latino blood!

I must go back to the court room tomorrow... and I can't talk about this. It sucks balls.

I will say this, though: Best dressed motherfucker out there? Me!

Screw tomorrow, I'ma be normal AnoMALIE in my chucks, jeans, and... not "tee-shirt" but not a dress shirt either (I went with a dress shirt today... and it was a semi-bad idea because I looked like I was ready to take off my blazer and start salsa dancing or something). Everyone else was doing it, so why can't I? Screw looking decent, I'm AnoMALIE, damn it! I only dress up for weddings!

P.S. I have a serious problem with the older crowd! Out of everyone there, I found myself checking out the one dude with salt n' pepper hair who was checking out my Barak Obama book (yes, I started reading it before I was informed of this jury B.S. so I wasn't just trying to look smart. I would have brought in my Molecular Biology textbook in that case)... it was him I was checking out and one of the D.A.'s... who was so unbelievably hot, in all his smugness.
Judge: Do any of the here present know, or are acquainted to *Name of D.A.*?
Me: No (but damn, would I fucking love to!! Yeah, I'm talking about your cocky ass over there smirking)

P.S.S. A dumber crowd I believe I've never met in my life... ever, ever, ever.
What grown adult doesn't know how to form a line in chronological order? OMG!

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!

Why don't you try: 40 Kicks?

Note to all Old Men:

Unless you're getting into your Bentley, do not-- I repeat-- DO NOT hit on me and expect me to smile at you... or be in any way courteous. You will get a scowl and quite possibly a digit... my middle one.
For old, flirtatious men in Bentleys: Not only will you receive the above mentioned treatment, but you might get the addition of some verbal abuse. Douchhhhe Bagggggggs.

I don't understand what goes through these men's heads. How do they think that they, some 50+ year old men, can get any sort of positive reaction from (normal) 20-something-year old girls when they try to flirt? How in the hell is that appropriate... or even appealing to anyone? Why not swing that built up... whatever the fuck you're feeling, to a woman closer to your age range? I'm sure they're in much more desperate need of your Neanderthal-esque love overtures than I am.
Are you lonely and you want someone to talk to? Cool. Just don't fucking lick your lips while speaking to me... don't wink at me after saying a word like "pole"... and don't cup your (sometimes not so) imaginary breasts whenever you see me.

I only mention this because for maybe the tenth time, a man much older than my father shamelessly hit on me and my friend (my friend and me?) as we walked out of Target. It was appalling. Made me a little angry because he felt it necessary to get in our face about it. He reached for us (me, because I was closer to his... pedophile-ass) and then proceeded to make hand gestures and all that shit when we walked away. God knows what would have happened if he landed a hand on me. No one touches me... much less a sick ass old man.
I hate old perverts.

That's the last fucking time I wear a Rolling Stones shirt...

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