Talk this shit out

How do normal people mediate an argument?
Because my method of arbitration is as follows:

"You talk this shit out, you hear me? Talk. This. Shit. Out.
I don't care how long your break is... go ahead and take separate vacations... do it tomorrow, do it next week... do it soon. Go wherever you'd like, for as long as you'd like... calm down in separate places.
But you talk this shit out right now.
I don't want to hear this crazy shit.
Talk this shit out!"

Me? In denial? No. I'm just practical.
My dad's 60, my mom's 53... I don't need two different families at this point... THEY don't need an extra family at this point... my siblings don't need to hear this shit. My folks need to chill the fuck out, that's what THEY need to do. Homies signed a contract... they need to live up to it and just chill the fuck out (evidently so do I).

How'd it go? They talked this shit out.
I saved the marriage... again... for now.

My mood sure went to shit though.

Yings and yangs can build successful partnerships when they possess a good level of patience... but when they butt heads it's a fucking explosion. Jesus Christ. (Yeah, Jesus Christ had a lot to do with this blow up. What else is fucking new? ... And they wonder why I lack enthusiasm for religion-- the topic has been the fucking BANE of my existence!)

Soul mates?

Today marks my parent's 30th year of wedded bliss...

Dad: Feels like it's only been a day!
Mom: (mumbles) ... under water!

Obviously I inherited Mom's bleak outlook on love and marriage. The woman knows how to crack me the fuck up.

My folks are hardly soul mates... but they know how to deal with each other's bullshit... and trust me, BOTH have some horrible, annoying habits.
Me: Mom, had I been you, I would have divorced Dad ONE WEEK into the marriage. Fuck that shit.
(one week into the marriage, Dad straight up told her he only married her so she could cook and wash the dishes, like ALL women are SUPPOSED to. Total romantic, that man)

I'm not one to put up with someone else's bullshit for the sake of companionship... so... I'll just be alone. Forever.
Unless I find my soulmate... which is improbable... because he's always married or in some committed relationship.

Truth be told, my heart will always belong to him:

Abundance of symbolism.
Don't expect anyone to catch it, per usual.

As a favor

Before I confess this, promise you won't kill me?

Starting today, I'm home alone for the next week.

Mom: Can you do me a favor, AnoMALIE?

Me: What? I'm not going to record your fucking novelas if that's what you want...

Mom: Can you PLEASE not post it on Facebook that you're going to be home alone for the next week?

Me: Mom! I'm not D! I don't post my shit on-line... as long as blogger doesn't count... but I trust my readers aren't going to sneak into my house and murder me... I hope. Right, guys? Though... at this point, I kind of wouldn't even mind if I got murdered.

The folks are once again hitting up Cancun with my Dad's brother's family... and I stayed home because Tyson was still alive when my folks made the reservations. I was staying behind because someone had to take care of the fella. It was too late for me to be added to the reservations once Tyson died.

SO... I'm home alone now.

While my parents left worried-- because I'm once again on suicide watch after being "suspiciously quiet/serious" the last two days-- I am pretty fucking chirpy. I've been dancing and singing all morning.

I don't know what the fuck that's all about, but I sense it's mainly because I always do well when alone. It's much easier for me to relax and be my true self when the outside matches the inside... as in, when I'm as alone in the building as I am in my heart.

It's all good when I'm left to fend for myself-- I fucking flourish. I suspect that's how all misanthropes do... unless they go off and do stupid violent shit so many of them go off and do... those psychopaths.

So... yeah, I'm good. I'm eerily chirpy, to the point where even I'm irritated with myself.

Good times.

Que Circo

I know my bitching does very little to clear my image of being... well, a bitch.
LUCKILY, I tend to leave my bad-mouthing for blogging purposes only... with the occasional angry tweet.
Since I fight the urge to be outright rude and outspoken, I manage to get humbled in a more quiet fashion... no one else really sees me getting slapped into shape.

I know I was frustrated and angry about the Nebraska family staying over, but they quickly changed my mind.
They turned out to be the sweetest, most easy-going people I've bumped into in a very long time.
Their favorite activity of their stay?
Visiting Circus-Circus... the midway.
... ?
I was incredibly uneasy and irritated at first...
I've never met adults who were so fascinated by a fake circus.
Fucking place is full of clowns and balloons... I fucking detest both!
However, once I removed the stick out of my ass... and proceeded to cover my ears with my hands... I started to have fun.
How much money did I spend?
A dollar.
I spent one dollar, one try, on the skee-ball machine... and I won:

This sweet thing still has no name...
NO, I will not call it "Flipper."

Yeah.
Of course, since this is AnoMALIE we're talking about, there was some motherfucking controversy involved:
The stupid kid next to me took my KILLER WHALE instead of handing it to me like the damn worker told him to. Since I'm NOT above fighting a fucking ten year old over a stuffed animal, I fucking complained and threw a hissy fit.
In the middle of my complaining/threats, my cousin scored the same amount of points as I did, and the worker proceeded to hand another stuffed animal... the gray dolphin.
It was a large brouhaha... and I was being an asshole... and I somehow ended up with Mr. Dolphin over there.
I walked the rest of my Circus Circus visit with that dolphin hanging on my arm... my right hand in a death grip on the dolphin's belly. Of course this had people staring... and oddly enough, dumb-ass teenaged boys hollering at me.
Boy: I'll be your teddy bear, girl...
Me: It's a dolphin... you fuck. And if you yearn for me to grab you in the manner I'm grabbing this dolphin... you might be secretly transgender, wishing for a cheap way to lose your dick.

Back in my teen years, the only place I was ever really allowed to hang out was Circus Circus.
It would usually be a large group, of equal boys to girls. How would my night end? I'd be the one girl of the group who'd end up at the arcade, playing either skee-ball, table hockey, or shooting games with the the couple of guys who wouldn't be lucky to hook up with the girls of the group.
I'd have a stuffed animal or two, but none of which were given to me by a guy... no, no, I had to work for the stuffed animal and earn him through my own athletic merits.
Often times, I'd get to see my crush hook up with one of my COUSINS... which sucks more than watching a crush hook up with a friend.
Not once did I get "picked" by my crush... I never even sat next to him. Not once did I get "hollered" at... I didn't even have a guy tell me something nice, actually.

I'm 27... single... no kids... and I was hanging out at Circus Circus on a Monday afternoon... with a stuffed dolphin in my arms... and teenaged boys hollering at me.

Fucked up way Life has worked out for me.

BUT! This is a happy post!
After having this fucked up epiphany, I went back to smiling as I watched my Nebraska family enjoying the casino so enthusiastically... even my dad got in on the action and played some games... shit, Mom and Dad were even holding hands as they walked through the casino (which threw me for a loop, considering how allergic Pops is to PDA).
Yeah, that's right... I hung out with my parents at Circus-Circus... something I NEVER did until yesterday.

Crazy.

Y el chile?

Hey!! So there IS hope!
Just kidding!! Everyone knows I'll NEVER publicize my shit that scandalously (ok, ok, I'll 'fess up to THINKING about that whole ebay thing... not that I'd actually go through with it... but it's always interesting to ponder WHY anyone would pay so fucking much for a chick's virginity. That's just... weird. I'd probably give mine up for a nice smile and a good joke-- that's how much I value that shit). And why would I want to fuck at the age of 70? Imagine the disappointment! Train done passed you by, homie.

Talkin' about fuckin', today is Mexican Mother's Day.
In my house, it translates to:
Roses. 
Carne Asada and Lobster. 
Mangos con limon y chile.
And last, but not least,
Alejandro Fernandez full blast, surround-sound, in the living room.

Tears... there are also a couple of tears... all shed by my mother. My poor mother.
This marks her third year celebrating the day without her mom. Third year I wake up to her bawling her ass off with Alejandro Fernandez songs that remind her of Grandma.
I accidentally triggered a sob-fest when I asked her if there was any chile for my chopped mango.
Mom: Do you remember... that day we shared with your grandma as we ate mangos that one day?
Ah fuck... what did I just cause...
Next thing I know, Mom's sobbing as she starts looking for some red chile in the fridge.

I say Mexican moms have it great in this country, because they get to be celebrated twice...
I never really stopped to think how much it must suck once your mom's no longer around...
turns to two days where you're constantly reminded she's gone.

:(
(this is the part where I'd go around bear-hugging everyone who no longer has a Mommy)

Super(wo)man

Ah yes, the day when the US and Mexico got together to kick some imperialist French ass.

How did this Mexican celebrate (because I'm always down to celebrate anything that has to do with beating the French at anything)?
Hanging out with an ex boyfriend and his live-in girlfriend... and his parents... and mine.
Awkward? Now, why would you say that?

The ex is the guy whose dad and my dad sort of planned for us to get married. Prearranged marriage not so much, since we had the option of not dating... but our dads were stoked with the idea for years... possibly a decade. Then I grew up.
Yes, I liked him... a lot, actually, while growing up. He was my childhood crush since I was eight. However, he's six years my senior, so it was all weird. We played the waiting game (of course, this was after I was 13... which is still gross as fuck when you think about it), he went off to college in Chihuahua (oh yeah, he's 100% Mexican), and I quit seeing him. I forgot all about my crush since I would no longer see him when I'd visit Hometown.
Then I went to college, and thought "Really? Move to go live in Mexico with him? HELL NAH!" and so... the illusion faded.
In like... '07 he came to Vegas on a visa, he let the visa expire, Dad hired him (fuck, uh... act like I didn't just say that)... and still, nothing came to be.
Shit just doesn't work out sometimes.
Plus, my trip to europe made him think I was "unreachable," to quote him... and now, when I occasionally visit Dad's work, I have to share awkward pleasantries with him... because we're still... cool, I guess... since there aren't any hard feelings to be had.

ANYWAY!
Since things didn't work out between us, he was free to roam around and prowl for chicks. About a year ago, a girlfriend he had back in college visited Vegas, and they bumped into each other at a popular Mexican restaurant/club.
She was going to leave the next day, since her Visa was going to expire, and that's when she told him she'd stay... if he wanted her to.
They've been living together ever since.

Kind of a cute story, if you ask me... although being an illegal immigrant sucks balls, and I wouldn't want to pull that move anywhere... even Spain.

OK, so this guy's parents are in town, and since my folks are still really close friends with them, Dad invited them over the house today for a nice little dinner.
My ex... let's call him G. G wanted to have the dinner some other day. Why? Because his girl's day off is today.
Too bad, bro, the dinner's today. Bring her! The more the merrier! Was basically Dad's reaction.

Mom then slyly informed me of the dinner, and told me to be ready by 3.
Since I'm always so prim and proper... I listened to my folks... stubborn-mule-AnoMALIE style:

This looks like a job for Superman!
Er, I mean... it'll take super hero strength not to jump off a birdge today.

Take that, PARENTS! That's what I think of your fucking dinner and making me feel awkward! Let's just add to the vibe!
I don't own a tie, so I just wore a fake one on my shirt. Plus, it showcased my shirking boobs... which I'm quite happy with.
Oh, you meant I was supposed to wear a dress or skirt? My bad. I thought you meant I just had to have pants, shoes, and a shirt on. You know, to not look as disheveled as my heart currently feels.

I celebrated Cinco de Mayo appearing busy on the lap top, NOT drinking beer, and NOT eating any food.
Anything to not be in the room with any of the people for more than two minutes. They were all looking like lovely business people... I was looking like an angsty high schooler.
I just smiled, shook hands, and left the "adults" for them to do adult things.

I don't know, but I suspect if I would have ripped off my shirt, a giant S would have been revealed.

About to reveal my true identity... or just my clavicles.
Such a stripper pose... clearly I'm a Vegas girl.

(it's not that I still like G, it's just that... it was so fucking awkward. When I made eye contact with him, I could just read apologies... he was so fucking apologetic, it made my stomach hurt. All I wanted to scream was "It's OK! It JUST DIDN'T WORK!" We all know how I feel about apologies)

Viva la raza, homies,
Puro pinchi party,
A la verga con las relaciones! 

Racoons

Sticking to the marriage theme going on here (and since it's the early afternoon and I doubt this will give me nightmares later on), I give you my reason NUMBER ONE for refusing, vehemently, to get tied down:

I love how "resealable package" is legible and STILL disregarded.

Seriously... how fucking hard is it to OPEN THE GODDAMN BAG (THAT IS ALREADY OPENED) FROM THE CORRECT, ZIPLOCKED END?!
My dad can be such an animal. It's like I live with a fuckin' racoon... that I can't beat with a broom each time he rummages through my shit and destroys the bags. Yes, he's Mexican, but he knows how to read English... he has lived here for 41 years. I think I'd get the hang of Arabic if I lived in Iran or Syria for 41 years.
People may argue "But not all men are like that," but fuck it... knowing me and my luck, I'll be stuck with the animal who just... uses his mouth to rip shit open.

Living with men... get the fuck outta here (even if they're not like my dad, my experience with living with guys has never been pleasant. The month spent with Sister in Spain had me living with two boys... and both were gross in their own way. The hairy Italian boy would use Sister's loofa and leave his pubes as evidence... and the other guy... that one... he was special. He was a hairy Mexican-Indian mix. He'd shave his entire body and never clean up after himself. Hair would be all over the toilet, the sink, floor... it was a mess. And that was still acceptable. What BUGGED me was how he'd release his load every morning in the shower... and NEVER clean up after himself. I understand it's a necessity to some people, and what better place than the shower, where you can clean up whatever mess you may leave... but not this guy. I'd have to decide: Do I want to run into wet cum... or dry cum today? Nothing like going in to shower in the morning, to grab the shower handle and feel hardened cum. That was nice. Or the time I bent down to grab the soap and realized my ass touched the wet cum on the shower wall... that was REAL nice. He did it EVERY. DAY. Even when he'd hear me scream "AH! COME ON, MAN!" every single day... although, putting it that way, I may understand where the misunderstanding began. Get a better vocabulary, AnoMALIE).

Now that I'm talking about my dad, let me move on to his latest shenanigan:
My folks are going on a ten day cruise in two weeks.
It's the first time for both. Mom didn't want to go, she pouted for a good week after she found out Dad purchased the tickets without her consent (while telling her "Well, SOMEONE'S going with me, whether it's you or someone else. I'm going to be on that boat!"). Mom's argument is "NO ONE MAKES ME DO WHAT I DON'T WANT TO DO! And being on a boat is something I just KNOW I'm going to HATE!" and since Pops laid it on her the way he did, Mom was like "Shit, if I let this man go on his own, God knows if he'll even come back alive. He can't do shit on his own without getting taken advantage of."
So Mom is going for my father's own safety (or so she likes to claim).

Dad invited me... but seeing how magnificently I get along with the man... I turned that shit down without giving it a second thought.
1. I don't want to be responsible for whatever he decides to share. He has a tendency to be SO racist... even against his own kind. I fear I'll jump into the ocean the moment he says something TOO embarrassing.
2. My dad eats like an animal. Case and point being that photo above.
3. Dad is the gassiest man I know. No. Really. He is. That shit rivals chemical warfare.
And
4. I'm going NO WHERE near volcanos... I hear they do bad things to girls like me. PASS!

Married life... gross.

Rubber

Quien los entiende?!

Mom and Dad are gone for the next couple of days. They're on some road-trip that will get them from Spokane to Vegas. Dad decided to buy a truck out there (don't ask me. The man has weird ideas) and so they have to drive it back home. I opted not to go because I'd rather be stabbed in the face, repeatedly, than go on another road-trip with both my parents.
Anyway, I had to wake up at 4:30 in the morning today to take them to the airport. Mom was still shoving shit in her bag, so I told her what crossed my mind.
Me: Make sure you pack some rubbers. I'll be SO pissed if you give me a baby brother at this age.
Mom: What the hell do you think we're going out there for?

What can I say? I'm hell of selfish when it comes to my parent's affection. I already have to fight with a fucker who does this kind of shit:

My bro is 6'1", how tall is the dude next to him?! Anyway, this was two weeks ago. Lucky ass.

And a baby sister who is quite the pretty lady... with her dimples and giant eyes.
I'm just the quiet, good girl... pretty much the wallflower who isn't missed whether she's home or on the other side of the Atlantic.

I need to catch a break somewhere.

Learning process

Today marks my parents' 28th wedding anniversary. Pretty commendable, since I can't even keep a dude's attention for 28 minutes.
It's insane to think my parents would put up with each other for so long, considering they're so different from each other.

Mom's secret?
"Find a guy who loves you. You'll learn to love back... or at least love the babies he will one day give you."
Uh... no, Mom, I beg to differ. I'm not letting ANYONE near my cookie box unless I like them... a lot, and not because I signed a piece of paper saying I was going to stay bonded to him until one of us dies.
"Do you think I loved your father when I married him? He was fat-- I never had a fat boyfriend IN MY LIFE. He was THE ONLY Protestant in the entire town-- I was THE most Catholic girl in town. He was old... who the hell wants an old guy?"
... ??? Wow.
"Hear me out. I wasn't your father's love either. He hated short girls and only dated fair-skinned girls."
What the fuck?! What are you trying to do here?! It's NOT working!
"We had both had our fair share of 'loves.' We had both been hurt by that 'love.' And that's when we both got real. He realized he wanted a hardworking girl who would one day teach his kids good values... and cook and clean for him. I wanted a guy who would have no addictions, especially not drinking. He would also be loyal... and have some sort of faith, unlike the wild animals from Hometown who claim to be Catholic but never step foot in church after making their first communion. Anyway, the moment he showed up in town, he asked around town for a girl with those qualities, they all referred me, I checked out his qualities, and I accepted."
How... not sweet.

This revelation was shared when I was about twenty, I think. Had she told me all this shit at a younger age, I'm sure I would have been more devastated... I mean, come on, I grew up watching shit like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. I think all little kids like to think of their parents "meeting cute." Mom would be walking in a crowded street, Dad bumps into her, makes her drop all the shit in her hands, they make eye-contact as they both reach for the spilled bread/papers/flower/etc and an instant connection is made-- they each think the other is the most beautiful creature they've ever seen (or at least like Mooney's parents: Her mom and my mom were BFFs. Mooney's mom had always had a crush on my Mom's brother. She would admire him from afar and see how he'd date girl after girl. One day he realized he liked her, they dated, then got married. I'd fucking kill for that to happen to me... or not. I wouldn't become a felon over a dude).
Not:
Mom sitting in the tail-gate of a truck as she gossips with a gaggle of girls. Dad, the lone ranger, walks up to the gaggle with Mom's old neighbor.
Mom: Who's this old fatass trying to holler?
Dad: This midget is the chick you've been telling me about? Is this a joke?
True story, folks.

However, as fucked up as this may seem, they make shit work. As disenchanting as it may be, I think their practical way of looking at marriage is what has helped them last so long. They tolerate and respect each other, which is always appreciated by my siblings and I.
I'm glad they took their promise seriously, because I'd be unconsolable if their marriage would fall apart. They may not be madly in love with each other... or have showed each other much affection throughout their marriage... but they're each other's friend.
Mom helps Dad realize when people are taking advantage of his softie-ass-- often times fighting his battles-- and Dad let's Mom know when she's being a stone-hearted, scary witch (Oh my God... what is it with me and my very backhanded "laudatory" entries?) often apologizing for her curt behavior with others.
They're complimentary like that.

Can I make this formula work for me? No way in hell. I let my heart rule my head and that's why everything ends up in a fiery, bloody wreck-- metaphorically. I yearn for boys who could never love me-- no matter how hard I try to get them to even like me-- and I self-sabotage when shit is working out. Plus, the dudes who really like me are... well, there's something always seriously wrong with them (he's either crazy, or a machista, or really dumb), there's no way I'd ever get near them. While it sounds shallow as hell to say that... I just CAN'T get myself to like them... which is why I sort of understand guy after guy after guy who dumps me for the intellectually inferior, fake-tittied, blonde chick who gives great head... but is clearly more attractive than me.
It's a part of (MY) life. I've accepted it, kind of like how my parents accepted not to follow their heart, but their head. It doesn't make us euphoric, but it gets shit done (or in my case, it allows me to wake up in the mornings).

Yeah... I'm not feeling too good, or well (I was just lectured on this shit, and let me tell you: I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. I speak Spanish, give me a fucking break. Ok, add angry to my list, now).

Much better that way?

One week left...
and yes, that's me lamenting over not speaking up and asking him to a beer or something (I say that as if I can actually hold eye-contact with the guy for longer than three seconds. Also, beer? Why don't I proceed to invite him to a strip club and then shoot some craps at the Wynn... I'm such a dude).

I'm not nearly as put together as DINO

Last time I actually saw him was my last semester of college back in '07. I hadn't noticed he was in the class before my geology class (yeah, I took Rocks for Jocks my final semester just for the hell of it... I mean, growing up poor, one grows a strange affinity for rocks, since they're pretty much the only playmates one can find for free 24/7. They're pretty, you can chuck them at people... you can draw on cement with them... all that good stuff. I even have a "pet" rock [that I painted with nail-polish] called "Dino" because its shape reminds me of the skull of like... a triceratops or something) until about the last month of school. Bummer, because I spent the entire semester looking like shit... getting up early when I finally didn't have to (the only class I really needed started at 5PM), sometimes heading to class freshly rolled out of bed and half asleep... basically, not giving a damn. When I finally did bump into him, I remember snapping awake and thinking "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Really, universe? On the day I come dressed like a boy?"
Always a lovely image to be left with- AnoMALIE: the boy.

Anyway, even after all this time of not seeing him, Darcy remains the guy I use to compare other dudes.

-He's alright... but he's not as smart as Darcy.

-Yeah... I guess he's funny... but not as witty as Darcy.

-I guess he's hot... but he doesn't smile like Darcy.

-He's ok, but he doesn't understand sarcasm... how the hell am I gonna work with that? You know who got my sarcasm? Darcy (Or so I think... it's what I tell myself to keep from feeling too bad about being so sarcastic around him-- something I've noticed I can't control around him, and have a tendency to over-do)
I even did that with MGH towards the end of the relationship.
This guy... with him, I only care about drinking, playing video games, and poker... sure, he makes me smile, but he also makes me dumber... I'm not motivated to be smarter, like I am when I think of Mr. Darcy.

Yeah... I know, I sabotage myself... there aren't duplicates to people. But what can I say? My affinity for Darcy was immediate, straight up inexplicable.I get this strange sense of familiarity with him, as if I've known him my entire life. I'm drawn to him, despite having hardly crossed a word with him in person (well, it's not like I've only said "Hi" and "Bye" to him, but still).
This attraction is a little difficult for me to slap back into check. No other dude has had a similar effect on me yet... no offense to the dudes I've been involved with in the last 6 years (y'all were fun, and I appreciate the attention and the memories).

Ok, enough of me being mushy and weird... I promise it'll go away after a few days when my brain comes to terms with the fact that my "Darcy" only considers me an acquaintance. He's just a cool, interesting friend... who kind of only remembers me if he... I don't know if anything reminds him of me, well, besides me being a pain in the ass and writing to him to ask a question (because I was the weirdo who saw something and thought of him... anything Tim Burton-related, or I rode a tightly packed elevator, or someone brought up necrophilia--don't ask--, or I heard something in German, or I see black nail polish... or well, the list is long. I'm a pre-teen at heart, remember?).
The waters had been calm for quite a while, I had accepted my place as an "oh yeah, I know her" girl. It was only recently that everything started reminding me of him and I lost my cool

ANYWAY! I'll quit being pathetic now.
Here's a little something more in my style:

(Mom, talking with my Godmom--who is, coincidentally, my first cousin-- about our upcoming trip to Chicago next month. She's in the kitchen, I walk in to get a drink)

Mom: Yeah, we get there on the 13th. Me, Din, and AnoMALIE.
(listens to Godmom talk)
Mom: No, he's not going... he has to stay and work.
(I notice dad walking towards us from his bedroom. Mom has her back to him. I raise my eyebrow... my universal sign for Shut the fuck up!! that apparently doesn't translate so well)
(Listens to Godmom talk)
(Dad is now directly behind Mom)
Mom: Yeah, it's much better that way!
Dad: Have you cooked anything yet?
(Mom's makes her Oh, Fuck! face and turns around. She shakes her head)
Dad: Let me know when you do.
(Dad walks back to his room. Mom and I stare at each other... I shake my head and mouth "Damn..." as I run my right index finger down my right cheek)

With a dad as indiscreet as mine, and a mother so prone to putting her foot in her mouth... shit. When it came to procreating, they clearly didn't think that one through.
They fucked me real nice.

Dinner

(Dad walks in on my mother and I as we watch the Serbia- Ghana match)
Dad: Que vaz hacer de comer? (What are you gonna cook?)
Mom: Son las 8 de la manyana... (It's 8 in the morning...)
Dad: Dije de comer, no almorzar. En la tarde! (I said lunch--in Spanish it has a weird little, double meaning--, not breakfast. In the afternoon!)
Mom: Nigga Please! Estoy viendo el Mundial. No puedo pensar en otra cosa (Nigga please! I'm watching the World Cup. I can't think about anything else)

Glad to know she has learned a thing or two from me... I thought she was a goner after that one time I tried teaching her how to multiply negatives.

Burned

Some stupid fuck told my dad that I
"Burned out."

Dad now uses that terminology to describe me when referring to my current state (i.e. unemployed, not in school, just RELAXING, taking a breather to enjoy life because I EARNED IT after four years of learning bullshit my folks forced me into).

"Older Brother's at Notre Dame, graduates this summer, goes to Princeton in the fall. TravelinDin graduates in the summer... AnoMALIE... she burned out."

and my diploma's hanging on the dining room wall...

How fucking sad...

(as soon as I find out what motherfucker said that about me, I'm gouging his fucking eyes out)

49ers

Mom and Dad's "Love-fest" has reached a new level.

On... Thursday, Dad and Mom corralled me into the computer room and basically forced me to book them week-long Cancun reservations for the 17th-24th of this month.
My condition?
Let me go to San Francisco that week.

I thought they would just slap me around a little and call me crazy (kind of what I was doing/saying to them) and drop the whole subject...
but they obliged.

??

WTF, yo? What the hell is going on here?

I don't know whether to be happy about this turn of events...
straight up grossed out...
or just... scared.

What is up with my folks?
(at least I now have a week in San Francisco to figure it out and feel better about it, ha!)

Now that's just gross!

Ever since we got back from Mexico... my parents have been very... lovey-dovey, to say the least.

I've seen some things recently that... ew... make me... unable to hold hands with people... that's how traumatized I am (you try and act like everything is fine after finding condoms all over your house/car/hotel room etc... gahhhh).

Last night, when I returned from sweating my ass off (I'm finally getting back into the swing of things at the gym... unlike the first time I went last week, when I had to leave earlier than expected, because I had to barf), Travelindin was laughing her little mock laugh and calling my name out.

Travelindin: Want to hear the most ridiculous news EVER?!
Me: Umm... what? ::lean back, like a dog that sees his owner holding a rolled-up newspaper:: What's going on?? (I've had it with "guessing" and getting "news." I've had enough of that shit! It freaks me out now each time someone has some sort of "news flash" for me. I'm now on the defensive when I hear "Hey, guess what!" or anything of that style)
Travelindin: Mom and Dad are going on a "romantic getaway" in September for a week!!! AHAHAHA!
Me: ... so... ??
Travelindin: Isn't that fucking ridiculous?! What are THEY going to do on a cruise?!
Me: (internally) Don't ask me that question... the answer grosses me the fuck out... I just barfed last week... no need in repeating that episode. (spoken) ... they're going to leave us alone for that week... correct?
Travelindin: Yeah...
Me: So... I can bring whoever I want to the house... or better yet... I can leave the house for that week and not be back until they are...
::Mom looks irritated with my realization::
Travelindin: HEY, JACKASS! You can't leave me alone!!!

Ah yes... finally... this whole "not going to school or getting a job" thing is paying off!
(I can't decide... party at my house... or me leaving to California for a week... decisions, decisions...)

... now I better not go off and hear "You're going to be a big sis again!!" in three months worth... fuck that shit.

Ants in my... box.

My parents are going to be those old people.
You know... the type that:
-Never have toilet paper in the guest bathroom.
-Have food still stuck on "clean" dishes/silverware.
-Give kids ten-year-old candy that is rock hard, and stuck to all adjacent pieces.

The last one leads me to what happened last night.

Recently, I've become addicted to raisins.
Dad had a huge bucket of them laying around, so I took to eating them whenever I felt a craving for unhealthy snacks... like those super good, super sugary tamarind Mexican candies that were once called "Lucas" here in the U.S., but to all us Mexican kids, they're known as "Pelones." Yummm...
Anyway, I've been snacking on raisins.
I did have my complains... particularly, how I'd sometimes get a seed... or what I perceived to be a twig.

Me: Can't these people go through the trouble of removing the damn stem?? Damn! I don't need to be reminded that I'm eating something that should probably only be eaten by deer... in the winter.
Mom: Don't complain... at least they go through the trouble of putting them in boxes for you.
Me: Yeah... but I might as well go outside and grab a handful of dirt... it'd feel the same way on my teeth.

So... even with this problem/complaint, I'd pop raisins in my mouth.

Well, last night I was bored... and craving chocolate.
Trying to be a good, health-conscious girl, I went to the fridge to get some raisins.
I noticed the little bucket was nearly empty, the bottom being visible from various angles.

Yes... I'm almost done with this retarded box of raisins.

I wanted to finish the "bucket" because the raisins were all deformed...as was the "bucket" itself.

As I popped raisins in my mouth, I would be reading my new issue of Glamour (I've grown attached as the years go by. I also find myself being nitpick-y with the writing. I have a hissy-fit each time I find typos... or grammatical errors. I'm so lame). Once in a while, I'd feel this strange crunchiness, but dismissed it as a twig... or a small seed.

Man... I feel like an animal. I don't remember Sun-Maid Raisins ever having twigs or stems back in my elementary school days...

That's when a "twig" fell on the page I was reading.

WTH... why is it... half black... half re... OMG... it's an ANT! A frozen ANT!!

I immediately looked in the "bucket" and sure enough... there were about 10 dead ants... on the bottom of the "bucket," on the raisins themselves... just... I started to see them where I had originally believed to simply be "raisin residue."

Me: MOM!! WHY ARE THERE ANTS IN THESE RAISINS?!
Mom: What???
Me: You guys are gonna be those freakin' old people that have rotting food in their fridge and will never notice! What the hell is this?!
Mom: No... you're lying (don't you love that reaction? Why would I lie?)! Gimme the box!
Me: They're all over the place... that's what I've been crunching on this entire time... no seeds or twigs... mannnn!
Mom: But... your dad drowned them all...
Me: ?!?!?
Mom: Yeah... when he had this in his room, the ants started to invade the box... so your dad put the box in water... to kill them all... then dried the box and put it in the fridge so the ants wouldn't get the raisins.
Me: ?!?!? (my eyebrows were doing more of the talking)

So yes... I've been downing a little extra protein this entire time.
...

Why is it always during lent time that things like this happen to me?

Day 3 of dull(er!) AnoMALIE is half-way through, and I'm holding up real nice (sure, I've almost popped a vein in my brain a couple of times as I hold back the big words I wish to express, but I'm still alive).

Cuss count: 3 (Yesterday I added one more to my count because I once again dropped the F-bomb when I saw Shaq had been traded to the Suns in exchange for Shawn Marion and Marcus Banks. I love Shawn Marion... and I hate the Heat... and Shaq... well... he's... Shaq [sure, I'll confess I loved him while growing up because he was so damn cool... even his Kazzam movie. But come on! When the play named after you is "Hack-a-Shaq," it's kind of... not good]. If it would have been Steve Nash... screw this whole no-cussing thing... I would have gone on a Big-Word-tirade)

25 Years

Ever since Grandpa died, I've entered this "I love Mexican candy, gimme, gimme, gimme!" phase.

Well, on Saturday we visited my aunt who had just returned from her three week stay in Mexico (which reminds me... I have to write an affidavit. That blows).
What did Auntie bring back for us?
JAMONCILLO!

Now, I'm not a huge fan.
When it comes to goat's milk... eh... I kind of... not avoid it... but I prefer cow milk, to tell you the truth.

Whenever I'm in Mexico, I'll probably have a tiny one inch cube of the candy, and then forget it exists.
I don't blame the goat's milk... just the overall consistency of the candy. It's brittle but gooey in a strange way... it makes my palate go "What the fuck is this?"

But oddly enough, I was ecstatic Auntie had brought us some Jamoncillo.
However, when we were going to bring some home, Mom told Auntie we just wanted an eighth of the block, since at the household, only Dad and I eat Jamoncillo when the feeling strikes.

So I ate my half of the eight of Jamoncillo that Saturday (I shared with Little Sister).
Mom set Dad's Jamoncillo in a cupboard... since dad bulldozes through candy like it's his job, Mom wanted to make sure he didn't eat the candy until Sunday afternoon when he wouldn't keep her up at night complaining "Woman, I don't feel too good... my stomach hurts..."

Well, things went down Sunday morning.
Mom wanted to go eat at a restaurant, Dad said:

I don't want to spend money at *restaurant A* or money at *restaurant B* and especially no money at *restaurant C* What's so wrong with a home cooked meal?

This sent Mom over the edge.
Mom hates cooking (something she acquired in her youth, since her Dad thought girls were only good for cooking and cleaning and yada yada yada and because of that, didn't let her go to school like she had originally wanted. I've explained this before, I think).
So what did Mom do?
She went into Little Sister's room where I was studying while watching some extreme sport's show, and handed me the remaining eighth of Jamoncillo.

I ate a little... then put it aside.
Mom was still standing in the room... eventually lying next to me... so I asked:

Me: Umm... is this for me?
Mom: Yes. Eat it all.
Me: I thought it was for Dad...
Mom: No. It's not.
Me: That's not what you said yesterday...

(she's not looking at me... just BMXer Dave Mirra.)

Me: (internally) I knew she liked Bicycles... but damn. (spoken) Are you mad at Dad?
Mom: Yes. (still looking at the television)
Me: Because he didn't take you out to dinner?
Mom: Yes. He wants me to cook! To cook!! I bet he doesn't remember tomorrow's our anniversary.
Me: Oh... ok... should I tell him?
Mom: No!! If he remembers, good for him. If he doesn't... pshhh.

Mom left to the living room to watch her Univision... and she left me the jamoncillo.
I didn't touch it for the rest of the day... because I don't love the damn thing.

Then comes today.
I swore Pops was going to forget the anniversary thing... but as soon as I stepped in the house from school, here came dad with a load of groceries.

Me: Dad! You remembered!
Dad: What?
Me: Your 25th wedding anniversary!
Dad: Huh?
Me: (internally) Fuck! You mean you just went grocery shopping after Mom and I did it yesterday?? Tell me you're joking!
Dad: Oh! Yeah... I'm cooking your mom a lobster dinner tonight. It's better than getting ripped off at some restaurant.
Me: (internally) sick. (spoken) That's cool. 25 years!! (internally) You better let that shit stick in your head!! 25 years today, got it? Say it!!

So I left the kitchen area and ran to Little Sister's room where I left the jamoncillo yesterday.

Fuck... Mom's gonna cheer up and give the jamoncillo to Dad!!

What did I do?
I ate that bitch!

Now my stomach hurts.
Lesson learned: Don't be a greedy bastard!