dipshit optisimt

I had the opportunity to visit Turkey while in Athens.
I was very excited about this trip, especially because I said I'd never visit that country without a male partner... because I've heard too many fucked up stories about girls going out there on their own.

So, as my brother was collecting all of our passport information, he broke the news that we would all be unable to visit the country, because our passports weren't valid for sufficient enough months.

This angered me, but only at myself.
I had put off renewing my passport over the summer because I thought "Well, I have a little under a year, I'll do it the closer the date gets... maybe by then my acne will ease up."
News flash: my acne has not gotten better.
It fucking SUCKS. That's another fucking shitty thing 2015 ushered in-- fucking horrible acne. Like some goddamned teenager, I sit here with swollen, red cheeks.

Holding off this passport renewal made me miss out on Istanbul, and Japan (I had been eyeing a trip for ends of February so I could celebrate my birthday in that gorgeous country)... and now I have this fucking horrible haircut.
It is ALL A FUCKING MESS and horrible mistake because I was too much of a dipshit optimist.

AND NOW, I received a notification that my license is due to expire and I MUST renew in person.
In motherfucking person.
I've never been cool with any of my IDs, but this one I currently have is the BEST I've ever had. I look good as fuck, and I never freely admit that... because I always think I look like garbage.
But now I have a shittastic hairdo that doesn't cooperate and this fucked-up-ass face.

Good shit. Really good shit.
That's sarcasm, by the way.

I'll just laugh at how idiotic I am. It'll be ok.

CrimAnoMALIE

Damn it! I wanted to post every day this month, to keep from ignoring it all like I did last year, and I did a decent job... for three days.

I knocked the fuck out yesterday after shopping.
Well, not really shopping, I just went to Walgreens to get a passport photo taken of me... which, by the way, came out as all passport photos do: like trash. I don't know a soul who has a good passport photo... everyone ends up looking like a criminal.
In my first photo, back in 2006, I looked like a porky, overly excited girl. The photo should not have been allowed, since there are shadows in it, my face is sort of obstructed, I'm smiling like I was just told the best news in the history of the planet, my eyes are semi-closed, and my ears are not visible (did ya know that's one of the points officers inconspicuously check? They suuuure do. You're welcome). It was a shitty photo.
In this new photo, I look like a sad, somewhat scared criminal about to be handed her orange jumpsuit-- a criminal who had been running from the cops for months, chopped her own hair, and dyed it in the bathroom of a motel room. That's what I fucking look like in this new photo I'll be parading for the next ten years. It is a shitty photo.
(Can't say I'm shocked, 'tis the AnoMALIE Way)

All of this nonsense is draining to me. Having to get a photograph taken of me is very emotionally draining for me-- comes with the territory of being psychologically/emotionally/verbally fucked since the age of almost-five.
"Let me take a photo of you" is pretty much equivalent to "Let me saw off this limb from you."
I get my teeth drilled much more willingly than I pose for a photo.

This brings me to the photo experience of my trip.
Since I took both my mother and my aunt to my favorite cities, I went all out taking photos of THEM.
Despite my reluctance to take photos, I enjoy taking photos of others... because I try my best to get their best angle.
This obviously stems from my own dislike of photos of ME, because for the most part, I come out unflattering as fuck. So, when I photograph others, I tell them to trust me, I'll get a good shot of them... I'll fucking stalk them until I do.
So I got plenty of rad shots of these little ladies.
Of myself? I wish I could put my favorite shot on here... it's me at the London Eye. I asked my mother to take a photo of me (imagine that! Imagine how much I liked that scene, where I wanted to be captured IN it!)... and when I looked at it, I almost threw my phone in the Thames.
It is the BLURRIEST MOTHERFUCKING PHOTO EVER.
I looked at Mom and burst out laughing, "What the fuck is this? How the fuck does this even happen? The fuck is this shit...? Man, forget it. You're terrible."

So I must settle for selfies, where my true solitary nature shines in all of its depressing glory.
Surrounded by people, yet still isolated.
C'est la vie.

Las del rancho

"I wish we KNEW we were in the 'Good Ol' Days' before we left them..."

Of course that photo would make me feel a horribly aching pain in my chest.

2008... I made a promise that year and broke it...
I was an asshole and thought I had gotten away with it, since it was really a promise to myself.
But no... todo en esta vida se paga. 

Mis caritas

THOROUGHLY convinced I was put on this Earth to show people what naturally awkward posing is all about:

Am I happy to be there? That's none of your fucking business!
JK!
I was sick... and I think my good ol' buddy G could sense it.
Homie was onto me and my virulence...

95% of the time, I seriously look like this each time I make eye-contact with ANYONE.

I love these kids... though I'm sure my face says otherwise.
I can put money on my exact thought being "Ufff... not sure about that..."

Ahhh, good times.
I'm never going to grow up.

Physics of things

This is what I look like when nothing is bothering or upsetting me, when I'm at a good place, when there is nothing else in the universe that I'd rather be doing.
This is me genuinely happy.

Tyson was still alive...
And I was having an incredibly... awesome day.
My eyes give me away. Always.

Don't think that'll ever happen again.

Happiness is quite possibly my most elusive and terribly fleeting emotion.

Faces Slide Show

So this hair color... it's working for me.

My room is DIIIIIRT-AYYYY!

I'm conveying the "I'm Mexican, you jackass!" vibe much clearer now. No need to throw this look around too often:

You're kidding me, right?
You know that country that's like... six hours south from here? Yeah, more like that. Hello? Bitch.

I also think I look hella Emo... but I dig.

Ugh. Mom wants me to do my own laundry again.
I hate my life!
Leave me alone, Mom!
(SARCASM!)

It's totally growing on me.

I have an enormous mouth... and nose.
Goddamn it, I'm a horse.

I might stay dark forever.

I'm so motherfucking emo, it makes me sick.

I gotta sleep now. Total cheat post.

Photo February

Christ!
I had the most insane dream last night... and now that I re-read yesterday's post, I hell of understand why.
The dream was "insane" in that it was so wildly amazing. The moment I woke up, I immediately became bummed out because I figured it had never happened... and that it definitely wasn't going to happen.
But shit, it was beautiful.
Sure, it made me curse my brain for creating that fictional life... but after my disappointment-induced rage, I proceeded to thank it for the good time... then I asked it never to do that again.

Anyway,
Part of this February mission of mine... you know, my search for happiness and whatnot, is taking a photo every single day of February.

In January, I added a photography-related app, which is meant to make you post a photo a day and it keeps track of your photo on a calendar. I was informed of its existence halfway through January, so I was already failing at that.

On Tuesday, in my infinite road-trip boredom, I checked out the calendar app. Seeing my empty little calendar saddened me, and prompted me to get disciplined to do what I had set out to do: post ONE motherfucking picture a day.

This reminded me of my abandonment of another photography-related app: Instagram. I had the app since October because my sister was on my case about it, but I didn't pay attention to my account until Tuesday's LA trip. What can I say? I do weird shit when I'm bored.

In my snooping, I noted my friends were doing a "photo a day" deal for the month of February... and a list was involved.

Well, fuck! If they're going to tell me what to photograph, I'll join. Half of my fucking work is done-- the most tedious part, actually-- the brainstorming!

Then I noted a problem: a couple of my friends were doing a different list.

AH FUCK! I like this list as well!

So what do I do?

I overachieve and do BOTH ("overachieve" mostly because I'm an impulsive imbecile who just jumps into shit without a second thought, then instead of backpedaling, I go off and do both things).

This moment of impulsive discipline has reminded me how much I adore photography... and more importantly, how it makes me feel: Happy. Complete.
I hadn't felt that shit since High School, when I was first introduced to photography.
I can't describe the feelings it brings up in my being beyond: it's like a motherfucking lightbulb is switched and a light turns on in my heart...
Corny, but it's the truth.
Shit even has me reposting my photos on my Twitter... and I loathe sharing my "work" because I'm so shy about it (don't ask me why. I just am. I can't help but feel stupid. Always have), yet there you have me... showing a bunch of faceless folks my shenanigans.

This photo-stint of mine also made me realize:
FUCK! I LOVE MY iPHONE! THE motherfucking SHIT!

Like how I tried to hide the fact that my E-string is missing?
I'm such a bum!

Seriously, iPhone, you're going to make my head explode with joy.
You can't even tell I snapped that as I looked for dog food at Walmart!

Needless to say, I'm a happy girl right now. I'm smiling a lot... and once again utilizing the creative side of my brain...
and it feels SO. GOOD.

Happy Friday, corazones!

Aaaaaaaa!

So... it appears that little motherfucker I killed the other day (the spider) ended up being the goddamned Spider Emperor or some shit...
I made some spider community VERY angry by killing their damn leader.
My foot injury turned out to be not one... not two... or three... but FIVE spider bites to my fucking left foot.
FIVE. On one foot. The bastards bit THROUGH my sock... and raped the fuck out of my foot.
My right foot was bitten twice.

Needless to say, yesterday I was MISERABLE AS FUCK!
I was so miserable and paranoid, I asked my sister if I could sleep in her room... since the spiders probably wouldn't be able to find me there.
I went to bed around four in the morning, 'cause I swear I felt spiders crawling all over me.
It was terrible sleep... but in the morning, I was relieved to see my foot was less swollen (oh God, I seriously pondered taking a photo of my foot... but I was TOO grossed out by it... I still get goosebumps when I think about it). My sister was pretty upset, though... she woke up with a spider bite on the inside of her right elbow.
What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck do you wear to attract spiders, you freak?! Look what they did to me!
Ooooopsies. She was wearing a hoodie, mind you, when she got bitten.

Still, after all this, I said "Fuck you, foot! I'm still working out, you piece of shit! Fuck the pain!" and I went off to lift to my little heart's content.
Mistake.
Well, I was good, up until the clean and pressing. With six more to go, I started getting tunnel vision, and the music started to sound further away (and I was lifting weak-sauce weight, so this freaked me out).
I tried shaking it off, but half way through some tricep push-ups, I went all... weak... and I couldn't move an inch further because I could feel the puke fighting (and beating) my cardiac sphincter. I felt light headed, and took a ten minute break (a fucking eternity!). I finally called it quits when it came to the lunges. They felt HORRIBLE! Others asked me if I was ok, because I looked like a ghost.
I'm ok... it's just the Proactiv... it's fucking with my pigmentation and turning me into a white girl.
Before getting in my car, I did what is second nature to me, and I barfed next to my car's back tire.
A sweet little forget-me-not for the driver who was going to take my spot.

After vomiting, I felt refreshed... sure, my breath smelled like shit, but I was back to hearing and feeling.
I felt so fantastic, I went off and played photographer with my buddy's band (after showering and brushing my teeth, of course).

My day grew instantly better when I was given this little guy:

He looks so friendly! AND smart!

He doesn't have a name yet. So far, all I know is that I want to make some sort of name amalgamation between Albert Camus and... some other philosopher... not sure who the other person will be. So right now, he's just Albert.

Anyway, hanging out with the BFF and her band made me feel better, and completely forget about my stupid foot.
My favorites?

It has an eerie feel... and I LOVE it!

It was between this one and the one with the gnome :)

I like the feel of this one, too

Aaaaaasterionella!

And many more, but I don't want to be over here like one of those annoying mothers who constantly show photos of their kids to anyone who will look.

I was too busy snapping photos of the guys to remember about my swollen foot.

Notice what's missing from my day?
I kiiiind of forgot to eat.
Is that what spider venom does to a person? Suppress hunger? Some suckers might want to try this out.

Oh, and now, before going to bed, I checked out my foot, and bam! ALL BETTER. Yeah, the middle toe is still slightly swollen, but my entire foot is back to its normal color.
Take that, spiders! Your fucking venom ain't shit! Look at me, only growing more immune to your shit! FUCK YOU!

All right... ok... I'm better now. I had to get that out of my system. I officially LOATHE (not to be confused with FEAR. I don't fear those fuckers. I just hate them and I will NEVER do anything to attempt to save/conserve them. Burn in hell, spiders... except tarantulas... I like those. They're precious) spiders with ALL of my SOUL.

Ok, I need to go to bed... I'm fucked up.

The hospital, a wedding, and a funeral

One of my favorite older cousins passed away two days ago... one of my favorite uncles has been in the hospital for almost a week now... and one of my good friends gets married tomorrow.

This has me... a little... somewhat upset, and looking for some sort of escapism.
It lead me to one of my mom's old photo albums.
Great way to make my mind go elsewhere.

Little Mom

It freaked me out a little. I mean... I look... a lot like Mom. And here I thought I was unique and probably adopted because of my features. I'm a fucking spitting image!
Sadly, Mom didn't pass her creepy-colored eyes on to me. Hers are a creepy brown color... a little honey-colored. I have a scary "is that blood?" brown going on with my eyes. I'm also not a twig like she was. Damn it, Mom! Why?! And while I'm a calm, quiet, and timid girl, you can totally tell Mom was going to be a little Fidel Castro based on that photo...

Then you have something like this photo, where the little lady removes all doubt:

You done messed up now!

Person behind the camera better head for the hills... this woman is damn near close to beating the shit out of him/her. That is my mom's "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" face. I know to get the fuck out of the building when she flashes this look my way... the furrowing of the eyebrows sends chills down my spine. You don't mess with this woman.

Last, I found a photo of her with a boyfriend:

Raise your hand if you think he looks like a douche

While she does not refuse to talk about her ex-boyfriends (although Sister and I beg her to STFU whenever one of them is brought up), she does refuse to show us photos of the guys.
Now I understand why... 'cause they're ugly as fuck. Little conceited jerks. His smug little smile... blah.
I also understand why she'd pray she'd have a big-chested girl when she was pregnant with me. I no longer hold that grudge against her... I kind of thank her now... the power of positive thinking. Thanks, Mom!

Ok... back to being sad and weary for tomorrow.
It's gonna be interesting.

Pen(deja)sativa

So... I'm starting to suspect my nonchalance and blatant disregard for fun is becoming increasingly evident to just about anyone around me.

October's AnoMALIE (WTF am I doing with my upper lip?)

Maybe just a little... maybe?

I randomly found that photo in an album of about 230... and while I hate to admit it, it's the one that probably best captures my demeanor/behavior/feelings of the last month.
What I could have possibly been thinking:
*Yeah... you just chose to tell the wrong story, buddy.
*Why am I here, again?
*Uff... you're fuckin' up!
*I could have been playing poker right now...
*So... the mean is the... and the mode... wait... isn't that the median? And then there's standard deviation... Oh, standard deviation...
*I could be sleeping right now.
*Why do I even fucking try?
*I should probably look into this oral fixation of mine...
*I feel a cold-sore coming on... don't... scratch... lip.
*That. Fucking. Bitch.
*I wonder what they'd do if I just started crying riiiiight.... now.
* Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
But I'd put money on:
*This is THE last time I hang out with chicks! Kiiiill meeee nowwww.

My apologies if I've ever made this face around you. I rarely notice when I do it.

Come November, I'll try to be more cheerful, although that's a long shot, since I'll be crying about Grad School applications and NaNoWriMo.
Yeah, I'm trying that shit. No, I'm not on drugs... although I probably should be.

Fuck the boat!

I've heard people complain about having to watch photos of other people's vacations.

I'm quite the contrary.

I fucking love it.

I was ecstatic on Tuesday when my brother finally got to showing us photos from his trip.

I was so elated, that I was stupid enough to allow my mom to watch along with us.

Everything was fine... except for the fact that my brother steered the ship. I was a little weary over this because he was on my computer... which is automatically logged in to the pages that require a password... like, say... my blog.

Not that I would mind if he knew of the existence of it... no, who am I kidding? I would care, A LOT.

Back in 4th grade he discovered my "journal" and he'd recite some of my entries out of the blue-- for example, doing something as mundane as tossing the football around:

Ruffles: Izzzzzzzzak!

Me: WTF?

Ruffles: Are you going to see Izzzzzzak today?

Me:... uh... it's Tuesday... no, I'm not.

(This was when I had this intense crush on one of the altar boys. I didn't know how to spell his name back then, so I'd just fluctuate in the spelling each time he made it in my journal. We all can guess what the name was)

Anyway, aside from the thought of my brother going through my shit the moment I'd leave his sight, I was cool... we all were.

We saw his safari shit, 

"This was the oldest elephant in the reserve. His wrinkly ass was all like 'this is MY house!'"- Ruffles

His visits to historic mosques,

That chandelier in the Aya Sofia? Mom wants it.

His I'm-a-drunk-tourist-at-the-World-Cup shots

He met the love of my life... CryBaby DosSantos

Set aside our love/hate relationship with Donovan

Even the HDT shots he got for me (this one deserves its own entry some time later).
Then we saw a photo where he was... bustin' some Blue Steel or some shit:

Too sexy for his shirt? Calm down, Zoolander.

He tried to explain his pose.

Bro: It's 'cause I have this friend... Mark. He like... has all these fucking poses on Facebook... they're all serious and shit... but so fucking hilarious. So we were imitating him... here, I'll show you what I'm talking about.

Ruffles proceeds to get on FB, page I was still logged in, and seeing that, he just went to the guy's page anyway.

Bro: A shit... you're not his friend... so... let's see if we can see any photos.

He clicks on the Photos tab... and Mark has three albums I can look at.

The very first album?

"Hossfest: The Many Faces of King Rafa."

Album cover?

I knew that fucking boat would get us in trouble some day!

Jesus Christ...

Anyway, who was over Rafa's shoulder at that very moment?

Mom.

Oh, hermanito... you fucked yourself real nice with this one...

Bro and I sat quietly, back turned to Mom... and using our peripherals to toss "OH FUCK!" looks at each other.

Ruffles acted as if everything was normal, and he clicked on Mark's profile pictures tab.

Mom was silent.

Does she know about the tattoo now? Oh yeah... she knows.
Did she rip Rafa's skin off like she had once sworn she would if she caught any one of us with a tattoo on our body? No.

Needless to say, we are all living in fear right now... ready for a surprise attack.
Will she blind-fold us one night and drive us out to the middle of the desert... only to put a bullet in our head then catch the car on fire?
Will she handcuff us to our bed, rip our tongue out, and proceed with the skin-ripping promise?
Will she feed us GHB, then drive our unconscious bodies to Lake Mead and throw us into the water?
Who knows.
All thanks to Rafa for being the dumbfuck with the boat on his chest... and Sister and I for being dumbshit accomplices.

Thank you, Facebook!

London Town.

Alright... so now that I have time to chit-chat about my stay in Europe, I'll do just that.
What better way to talk about things than with visual aids, correct?
I'll have Henry David Thoreau to show you around.

Today's episode will consist of my England stay, since it was the first place I hit when TravelinDin's Spring Break began.
Ready?
(Fuck, I just realized this one will be the shortest entry, since I only hung out in England for 3 days... well... more like 2... with only one of those days actually being fun)
Ok, so here we have arrived at Stansted Airport... a little too late to be driven in to London (well, at least too late for a reasonable rate), so we decided to sleep at the airport until 7 in the morning. We slept on the floor, below the departure flights sign, right next to the girl's bathroom.
All other locations at the airport had been claimed by other cheapskate students who were on break just like TravelinDin and Clemson (I don't include myself because I'm on break indefinitely), and reach the area quicker than our clumsy selves. We used our bags as pillows... and I must say... it was the most annoying/uncomfortable 8 hours of my life... in which I only slept for 2.
LAME.

Well, at 7, we take the... Easy Bus? I can't remember the name, but it was the cheapest transport into London (aside from having a relative drive you there), and it was raining... surprise, surprise.
The bus driver lady informs us that Victoria Station was closed due to "some demonstration," and Clemson asked "What kind of demonstration?"
Bus Driver: I think... it's a... St. Patrick's Day demonstration...
Clemson: Oh my God... what do they have against St. Patrick's Day over here? What's so wrong with St. Patrick's day?
I guess "Demonstration" is a Brit term for "parade." Way to confuse us, Brits.
Anyway, we were dropped off at some bus stop that was a couple of blocks away from Victoria Station--where we were originally going to be dropped off-- so we had to call my Bro to pick us up.
The weather looked like this:A little worse, though, because it was raining a lot, it was fucking freezing, we were wet, and there was wind. We stood around waiting for Bro to come pick us up for about half an hour.
We were not diggin' London at this point.

Once we were picked up, we purchased an all day ticket for "The Underground" (how cute... Underground... what ever happened to the word "metro?") for... I think it was 5 pounds... aka 10 bucks.
We headed to my brother's flat, and by now, my pants would fall down due to both being too large and the bottom of my pants being so incredibly soaked.
We met the roommates (who were all hungover and had barely gone to sleep after participating in some huge Pub Crawl the entire night), I changed clothes, hung my very soaked pants (poorly) on their heating system thingie, then had breakfast.
Everyone we bumped into at the building were nice, mature people. Huge contrast between the people in my sister's program... probably has a lot to do with the fact that the only people in the entire building are Notre Dame students... so there's no reason for them to be posers... no point in trying to impress others.
Anyway, after getting fed and whatnot, we headed out to meet London.First was Tate's Modern Museum.
We walked over that bridge you see to the left... I think it was called "The Millenium Bridge."
In the photo, we were leaving the museum, my brother's in the brown sweater behind HDT, and we turned right, toward a bunch of bridges.





This is London Bridge... you can't really tell, but HDT's rather disappointed.
No wonder they made that song about the bridge.En suite, we noticed Tower bridge ahead... so much better (Can you see how wet the floor is? The rain was incessant!).
We crossed Tower Bridge and hung out at the Tower of London. No pictures of that because, really, who wants to see something so depressing?
From there, we went to some store, where I purchased some Manchester United keychain that I was very excited about... only to fucking lose it on my way back to Vegas. I'm such an idiot.

Anyway, after that, we somehow got to Parliament Square, and I took my favorite shot of HDT:Big Ben is awesome... astounding... just... I stood there in awe of that ginormous clock. I couldn't stop thinking about Peter Pan, either.
We took tons of pictures there, but I'm only posting this one, since all others have my face in them... including the ONE picture I took of Westminster Abbey.

From there, we walked on over to St. James Park, where I took tons of pictures because you could see the London Eye in the background, there were cute squirrels everywhere... well, it was just awesome. The rain had stopped... so I wasn't even cold.
Anyway, in the distance, I saw this little cottage thing... so I decided that it will forever be known as HDT's home: (white building to the right)We then walked a little further to see, of freaking course, Buckingham Palace.
(Clemson's the girl in the hat)That wasn't even a good shot. I'm actually standing on the cool monument that is in front of the Palace... the very pretty roundabout.
The Queen was in, because the flag was flying high... and as we walked and checked out the gates, some giant hummer limo strolled by, with some rapper, filming a music video.
We pretty much stood there, dumb-founded, at how the hell they ever thought of filming a video there.
As we stood, glaring at the limo, TravelinDin noticed some little kid inside the palace looking out the window closest to us.
"There's fucking little kid in there!!" she said.

I just love how she manages to add that great descriptor in there... when referring to a child.
Anyway, we walked some more... and reached this very pretty church:The exact name I can't remember... but it's a Catholic one.
They were celebrating mass, so Brother and I listened a bit... but not too long, since TravelinDin and Clemson were standing outside drinking their expensive ass Starbucks.
We then decided we were hungry as hell... so Bro took us to a Chinese buffet.
8 pounds... for... tame Chinese food.
Blah.

We ate until the sight of food started making us queasy, and we headed for Trafalgar Square.
Before we reached the square, Brother took us to his school... which was lovely... the old French Embassy that Notre Dame purchased.
We got a very funny inside joke thanks to that... right, TravelinDin? haha.
I met some of Bro's classmates/friends, looked through their books... stared at their aquarium... just... stood in awe for a bit... then headed back out (my brother's such a lucky punk).

Upon reaching Trafalgar Sqaure, we realized we had forgotten something:
London was celebrating St. Patrick's Day...
They had closed Trafalgar Square to hold a "demonstration," i.e. a concert celebrating St. Patrick's Day.
They somehow knew we weren't Irish (call me crazy, but I think it was thanks to my bro's brown sweater that read "Hecho en Mexico"... and the fact that both Bro and I are pretty damn brown in comparison to white people), so they were like "keep walkin'" and pushed us away, as they let some drunken white kids walk in there without a problem.
Alright. Whatever. Fuck you.

Sooooooooo. It was some sort of concert only white people were allowed to attend... white people rocking green.

We then walked a bit more... it got dark... we saw Big Ben lit up, The Eye was also lit, as were other monuments.
We checked out some sort of stable before we called it a day and headed back to the flat.

At the flat, I watched Flight of the Concords... laughed... then fell asleep as if someone had hit me upside the head with a bat.
I only woke up once a group of Brother's friends were in the room, laughing, and making plans to go out.

Bro's Friend: So, what pubs are we hittin'?
Us (Clemson, TravelinDin, and Me): None.
Bro's Friend: Why?
Us: We're leaving...
Bro's Friend: Like... tonight?
TravelinDin: Like, right now.
Bro's Friend: Ah, well... that sucks... I thought you guys were doing the crawl with us tonight.

Yeah, life sucks like that... he was pretty decent looking, too.

So, at 10:15PM we head out to the bus stop... only to see on our ticket that our bus was supposed to arrive at 10:20 PM.
The bus never showed.
We had to buy a 16 pound train ride to the Stansted airport... and we were all pretty pissed.
We hugged Brother goodbye... got a little teary eyed... then left to the airport, where we slept until... 9 AM?
Our plane took off to Rome at 10 AM, and that's how we said goodbye to good ol' England.
(of course, at the airport a ton of stupid shit occured... like, the people working at the cafe began recognizing us, we reassorted our luggage contents, the cunt at the entrance of the security checkpoint worried me by telling me I could only have ONE piece... I had to somehow shove my purse into my carry-on... when everyone else was fucking walking around with a purse AND a carry-on... this in turn made me get in a nasty fit with Clemson... who was being a moron... but I bit my tongue because I think there's something wrong with going off on a girl 4 years my junior, etc, etc)

I'll end it all by saying:
I loved London... even if it's expensive as fuck... even if my problems with Clemson began to escalate from there... even if I only really saw it for a day... even if it was cold and rainy as fuck... even if the stupid cops were racist douche bags... even if the streets were taken over by drunken people of Irish ancestry.

I was in London to celebrate St. Patrick's Day... in the company of kids from a school that have "the fighting Irish" as a mascot.
Fuck. Yes.

Tourist for a day

Just quick jubilant note that I can't live without screaming:
I'M GOING TO EUROPE ALONE!
...
FOR AS LONG AS I WANT!!!

What does this translate to?
I'm fucking staying there until international law allows! (a measly 3 months since I don't have a Visa)
God... I need this... I need this bad.

:DDDDDDDDDD

Anyway,

Recap of last night, with the aid of some pictures:

The girls and I decided to pre-game at a Mexican restaurant.
I had heard a lot about this place, particularly from my Caucasian acquaintances. They have issues saying the name (Bonito Michoacan), so I get a kick out of them asking me if I've ever had any.

No. I hadn't tried--in their words-- "Bo-niddo M-cho-cun" (in case you're wondering, it sounds more like "Bo-knee-toe Me-cho-ah-cahn")... not until yesterday, that is.

I'm Mexican, therefore I find it stupid to eat Mexican food at a restaurant.
In my eyes, no matter how awesome a place might be, I know I'll always have a relative whose food can blow that place out of the water.
Anyway, since it was AnoMALIE04's birthday celebration, we all were given margaritas... that were pretty awesome... and not too large. AnoMALIE04's holding her drink... that she couldn't finish (none of us could. I would have done it... but as soon as I felt a buzz, I started downing water like a camel... so there was no room left for the remainder of the margarita. I'm such a damn lightweight!)I didn't have anything to eat, because I was full from the afternoon (sushi and Subway... no need for more junk in my gut).
I did, however, taste this dessert... called "La Banana Feliz" aka "The happy banana."
We had a good laugh because the waiter (which we've known since we were all in elementary school) said "Quieren que les saque la banana... wait... I didn't mean that!" (which in English, it would have been equivalent to "Want me to whip out my banana..."etc. Mexicans I say!! We are GIFTED!)
At the restaurant, I found out it's basically an elementary school reunion.
All the Hispanic kids I went to school with work there... and so... I was being told of all the drama these kids are having today (lots).
We also had an enormous discount... and they gave us the margarita glasses for free, even if we didn't finish the drinks.
AnoMALIE04 also had a birthday shot... and more dessert on the house.
The guys ringing the cymbals (they had cymbals!) as they sang happy birthday almost made me go deaf.
Overall... it was a pleasant experience... and boy, am I glad I'm Hispanic and now have hook-ups all over town.

Anyway, we then headed out to Tao...
I am now more convinced than ever:
Tao sucks balls.
I hate the place.

The only nifty thing you get out of there is the fucking stamp they mark you with to denote your superiority over the non-locals/poor happy-go-lucky folks who decide to do things on a whim/people who don't have hook ups with the place (please note the sarcasm).
We, as you can probably guess by now, we have the hook up when it comes to VIP, so we were marked like cattle.
Then came the dancing part.
Yesss... The dancing.
Once again, we were all mesmerized by the Go-Go dancers (everyone on the dance floor, really). Not because of their moves (hell no. They perform the same move repeatedly. They don't even shake their ass like a Brazillian girl. Which in my opinion... in order to be a good Go-Go dancer, you must know how to shake it like a Brazillian girl), but because no matter who you are, seeing those chicks on stage just motivates you to hit the gym... hard.
Chase... the project is so on!

But that music...
MAN!
The music!
I would listen to Free Zone DJs a million times over the ones at Tao.
Sure, the DJ's are hotter at Tao (and probably straighter)... don't get me wrong, but... I wanted to climb to their podium and scream at them for their vile use of their turn tables.

Instead, I'd stand there (I was probably one of the tallest girls there... with my six-inch heels. haha. I was taller than a good number of men present) and shake my head when I heard a song I disliked (which was often. They played MIMS at one point... and when I figured out it was him, I stood still).
I also had to use this quite often while dancing:
Guys would be so imposing... after a while, I stopped giving a shit and I just started throwing elbows at motherfucker's backs.
I only elbowed guys, though... the overly-touchy-feely ones (there were maybe three guys that were pretty hot... and I didn't mind them rubbing up behind me) that were just a tad bit too drunk.
I'd push back a girl if she pushed me, but nothing major... and this time no chick groped me or hit on me, which ever so nicely kept "awkward" form having to be used as a descriptor for my night.
One girl did pour her drink down my ass for no apparent reason, though... and that's when we decided to call it a night, because AnoMALIE isn't very nice when bitches start crossing the line like that (and why is it always the fucking stumpy ones who always do that type of shit?). Do they think the tall girl will take pity on the shorty because of her height deficiency, and not slap a deserving bitch (they are correct in their assumption that I won't slap a bitch. As much as I dislike Tao, I wouldn't like to be banned from it for punching some short bitch who poured her drink down my ass)?
Eventually, my patience (fear of breaking rules? Fear of upsetting people?) will run dry and I will have to not only slap, but punch, a hoe.

So, we left the place.
But we headed down to the casino... to play the penny slots.It was my first time gambling (how tragic, I live in Vegas, yet it took me nearly 2 extra years after turning 21 to gamble for a first time), I took out the seven singles I had in my back pocket, and played each soggy dollar one by one.
I had two dollars left in my pocket when I won this much:
I cashed out... since I felt I had won a profit of 1 dollar.
However, since AnoMALIE04 was attached to her slot machine, as was our other friend Sunny, I decided to insert my voucher and play the 52 extra cents I had.
That's when this happened:From there, I won an extra two dollars... played 86 cents.... then cashed out with 1900 credits, aka $19.
Hey, considering I only played 7 bucks... I gained a profit of $12.
Good enough for my broke ass.
AnoMALIE04 had a net loss of 7 bucks... and Sunny a total loss of 15 dollars.
AnoMALIE... as in, me, was the only winner that night.
Nice change of pace for once.
Will I gamble again?
Nah.
I might play a couple of hands of Texas Hold 'Em and regular poker.... but slot machines are just not for me (I kept thinking of my high school calculus teacher as I played... and I felt bad... because he thinks people who play on the slot machines are kinda, sorta retarded... I found myself constantly thinking "Oh my God... I'm admitting to being kind of... sot of retarded. I must stop this immediately!" We had some lady "lurker" who immediately stole my machine once I stood up... and it was like "WTF lady? Chill... this thing is stupid, anyway").

So, I came home in time to catch the end of "Poker After Dark," and called it a night.

I woke up with blistered feet.
I hate heels.
... but I'm still clubbin' some more later on tonight.

I'm bad.

License to *fill in blank*

So... I am now an old lady.

God... that's so upsetting.
At least now, they won't give me so much shit at concerts/clubs thinking I have some sort of fake ID.

Let's inspect the differences between young, teenaged AnoMALIE (Why do I suddenly feel sad realizing I'm no longer a teen?!?!) up top, and the OLD, 4-years later, college graduate AnoMALIE to your right:

- The hair.
Boy... was it messed up for the '04 picture!
I was so frazzled... so irritated.
Ok, I'll confess... I failed the first time I tried... and this second time I was so nervous... and disheartened, that I didn't give a shit about the way my hair looked for this damn test (I thought I was going to fail, anyway).
The first time, I had some paranoid, 9-months pregnant cabrona that was so fucking panic-y.

Bitch, if you're so worried about getting in a wreck, why the fuck are you still doing this job? Why don't you play it safe and stay at a counter? Not in a car with... teenaged drivers. You only make us increasingly nervous with the added fear of killing an unborn baby, Einsten.

She failed EVERYONE that day. How do I know? The lady that passed me told me so.

"You shouldn't feel so bad. Lindsay failed everyone"
Who the fuck is Lindsay?
"...the lady who failed you yesterday."
"Oh... the lady who said I supposedly hit the barrel with my back tire?"
"Yeah, she's just been a little nervous... and grumpy. But she had her baby today, so everything's going to go back to normal."

Yeah... right.

Anyway... my hair was nasty that day... I passed... so I had to grin and bear it (funny, since in the picture, my face was so... relieved-looking with the weakest smiled imaginable) for the cameraman.
The new one though... my hair looks pimp. It's sleek and nice, if only it werent for that pesky little strand of bangs that didn't want to cooperate and decided to slide forward.

- The eyebrows.
Goodness... the atrocity that those '04 eyebrows were!
Don't they make me look mean? Sheesh.
My '08 brows though... I'm pretty happy with them. They make me look calm-ish, right?
Good thing they weren't my usual thick ones, huh, Travelindin? I threaded them thin just for you (I lie, the lady that did them yesterday was so intimidating, I just said "Uhh... just... whatever you think looks nice..." and she did that. Mom's SO happy with them... like if they were on her own face).

- My ears
Both pictures... they're still fucked up and hella retarded looking.
I hate my ears.

- The camera's proximity to my face
Why the hell is it so zoomed in on the new one? Ew. Too. Much. Face.

- The restrictions
2004 AnoMALIE had no restrictions... now... I'm a foureyes that has a restriction. Shit. I'm old.


What I realized while standing in line at the DMV, is that each time I'm going to have to renew my picture, it'll be in the winter... so I'll have some bulky ass sweater on. Booo!
Also... I was tempted to change my height to 5'9"... just for shits and giggles... because we all know AnoMALIE is but a measly 5'8," I'm such a dwarf.

But hey... at least I now have an old-person driver's license... all horizontal like... and without that damn yellow bar that screams at people "I'm not legally allowed to consume alcohol yet!!"

This is the life.

***

To celebrate me waking up early to go to the DMV, I went to work with Mom.
From there, we went to buy suff for work at Sam's Club... and got to enjoy the perks of being a "Business Member."
You get to shop a whopping 3 hours before the general plebes... or I mean, members.
It's eerily quiet in there with only business owners crawling all over the place.

Anyway, when we got back to work to stock the place up with our newly purchased items, Mom freaks out:
"I forgot the Ding Dongs, AnoMALIE! I forgot the Ding Dongs!!"
"Oh..."
"How could we forget about the Ding Dongs, AnoMALIE?"
"I don't know... I wouldn't know anything about ding dongs..."

I didn't pay attention to what I had said... until my 28-year-old cousin, who works there, started to laugh (I told you I was gifted when it came to that type of shit).

I guess I win "understatement of the month" award.
(although... histologically/biologically, I know plenty about "ding dongs." Some of the proper tissue names still reverberate in my head from time to time... out of the blue, obviously... but still. I know plenty... just not... in that other sense)

Part Deux:

School has started up for me, once more (and for the final time! Shit. Ok... maybe not the last time... in case I do go to grad school), and so I fear I must complete this "Where in the World is Henry David Thoreau the Gnome" series ASAP... before I get too caught up in the crying and complaining that is my school life.
Here we go, picking up where we left off... part two, of the two part series of "Where in the World is Henry David Thoreau the Gnome", enjoy:

(So you might note HDT is missing here. Yeah... that. Well, like I said before, girls were scarce in Mexico this summer... so I constantly found myself hanging out with teenaged boys. These boys would be cool to me... but they harassed the shit out of my poor HDT. The harassing got to the point where they hijacked him from me... and then only handed me the hat--hat that was originally glued to his head! I believe the day I took this picture I was walking over to the local "tiendita" aka "little store" to buy the boys a "mangonada" aka blended mango-with-chile-and-limon homemade Popsicles. Why, you ask? How the fuck else would I get my gnome back? I took this picture to keep track of those fucked up three days he was "missing." I took about 7 pictures like that. I looked crazy... but... whatever. The little alley in this picture is where I've bumped into two live snakes before... one was tiny... the other one had me shitting bricks... yet I still walk through that place. I'm an idiot, I know)

(HDT is sitting next to me in my uncle's truck. We had to borrow it to travel to some even-more-recluse town up in even-higher-mountains. While I really dig those rock fences seen in the background--you find some creepy lizards you can play bullseye with-- I mainly added this photo to show how I got my little guy back. See how his hat is all ill-fitted? Those teenaged boys would do that to him... making him look like some... tiny, fat, cholo or something. Pshhh)

(HDT is in the room I spent wayyyy too much time in this summer: the bedroom [and not in the good sense. No, no... I was in there crying... listening to music... forcing myself to sleep... you name it. NEVER was it pleasant in there. Never.]. See that door back there? That was my only form of ventilation! Did I mention we don't have air conditioning over in Mexico? Well, we don't. I had to have the bedroom door open so that the backyard door could ventilate the room... and my grandma slept in there [as did Mom... she slept in the bed with me... so it only made the room hotter]... so do you now see why I would freak the fuck out at night? And don't you love the prison feel those doors give? Yeah... lovely... and Tyson loved smacking his tail on the door... and that would make it so damn hard to sleep sometimes. Anyway, HDT's standing next to my all-time favorite chips: Takis, Fuego con Limon flavor. Mmmmmmm. Yeah. Almost made me forget I hated that fucking room)

(HDT's in the living room--atop the little... what are they called... the old-school wooden stands where you put your television--, posing next to the roses from our garden. This makes me wish the photo was a scratch and sniff... those flowers smell SO damn good--and that lip gloss in the lower right hand corner ain't bad either: Passion Fruit... yumm! He's also standing near my brother's phone... which was pointless to take to Mexico since TelMex has a damn monopoly down there and no other companies get service. There's also my iPod that never left my side... along with 19-year-old Casanova's PSP. He may have been a little annoying with his little "love" overtures [he sang to me once as we were both stuck in the camper of my Dad's truck for half an hour... 80's love songs... as well as "Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks... which only made me wonder "WTF, kid? WTF?"] towards me... but if me being nice to him and doing things like... visiting his house and eating his mom's brownies, meant him allowing me to borrow such wonderful gadgets, then shit, I did it gladly... I even started requesting songs...)

(HDT's lying on the living room floor... next to a dead Garter Snake and the broom stick Mom used to smash its head in. Yes... cruel... seeing as how the little snake was kind of cute. It committed a fatal mistake by entering our house... and it wriggled a little too crazy for Mom's liking and she just said "Fuck you, you ain't getting near my Momma, you tiny mothafucka!" as she was sweeping, and bam, it took one quick blow for Mom to crush the snake's head with the broom stick. Mom has crazy good aim... I get any and all tomboy traits from her, not dad [he only knows about cars and I know jack about cars, except how to change a tire, I'm good at that]. Mom can throw rocks, play marbles, punch, shoot, stab, kill pigs, etc. better than most guys. Mom might be able to teach Bear Grylls a thing or two, shit. After this, Mom took the dead snake outside to this huge anthill and we watched the ants get all excited and bring the little snake into their home... my mom's so cool sometimes. I should have gotten a shot of that, too... but I don't like ants and their dumb little pheromones)

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen... my trip... summed up through Henry David Thoreau the Gnome (yes, named after the transcendentalist AND the Nickelodeon gnome of the late 80's-early 90's... don't think I've forgotten about that guy, he--along with Maya the Bee-- taught me how to play nice with other little kids, as well as like nature... and he made me want to be a vet but then I grew up and said "F' that!").
Took me damn long enough.