snap snap

My selfie game is NOT strong.
If you look through my photos, you will hardly see any with ME in them.
Comes with the territory of growing up all psychologically fucked up, I suppose. I'm not a fan of looking at myself (actually, I have a hard time looking at anything that has to do with ME. I can't look through my sketches, or read through my stories... I feel weird... so I just sketch/paint/write and once I'm done, I put that shit away, out of my sight. Always have done that... I should probably talk to a therapist about that).

I'm amused by the people who are the contrary-- people who LOVE selfies.
These folk entertain the shit out of me. They give me so much to ponder.
Just like I'm a weirdo for refusing to take photos of myself, some folk are complete weirdos for that compulsion to constantly snap a photo of themselves.
My sister falls into this category... the selfie lovers.

Since I've pretty much lived alone for nearly three years now (I say this because I hardly see my parents, since they work such long hours, then just fall asleep when they get home. I see them for three hours a day, max), I haven't been in the presence of someone who is always taking photos of themselves.
I've been in the company of people who never get off their goddamn phone... texting and reading shit on their internet/apps. It is SO MOTHERFUCKING infuriating. And I better change the subject before I grow too irate just THINKING about it.
I've been in the company of people who constantly take photos of others or their food... not as irritating as the internet thing.
But people who snap photos of THEMSELVES? No, man, I haven't-- until I went to Chicago this last time.

It was creepy... and irritating... and sad, to sit there and observe just HOW OFTEN my sister would be snapping a shot of herself.
She used to be a hardcore texting-and-driving offender... but now she's just a selfie-taker-and-driver.

Sister waiting for me to buckle up so she can drive me to her favorite burger joint.
Me: Dude... are you... taking a photo of yourself?
::I stick my finger into her one cheek that has a dimple::
Sis: Yes. Leave me alone.

Three minutes later, waiting in traffic at a red light.
Me: Dawg... really? How much has changed in the last five minutes that requires a photo?
Sis: Shut up.

An hour later, sitting at our table, drinking a beer. Sister is contorting her lips into an odd, chubby sideways smirk thing... I don't know what to call it. It's not ducklips... but... "cute bored girl" bullshit of some sort.
Me: WHY do you do that with your lips? Your lips don't look like that naturally. Why does anyone have to know how bored you are with my company?

I would grow furious after two days of this shit. I kid you not when I say that girl takes a minimum of EIGHT selfies A DAY. And it's not like it's a photo-shoot session... but eight random times throughout the day.
Me: THE FUCK, DUDE?! IS THAT ANOTHER FUCKING SELFIE?! CUT IT OUT!

Then I'd get all pensive and feel sad.
Is she doing this... for validation? Does she feel lonely? Does she miss people? Does she fear being forgotten?
Probably what gets me most is how her selfies don't really look like her. She angles her phone in a way to... uh... well, you know, she "works her angles." And she moves her lips and eyebrows in ways to just... give a different impression of what she looks like.
Me: Quit pouting before I punch you in the mouth, dude.

False advertising, I'd say.
And that bums me the fuck out for some reason.
(She then came to Vegas a week later and did the same shit, except this time she'd have a chauffeur--me-- so she was at liberty to snap safer selfies)

This selfie-centered culture creeps me the fuck out.

I think this means I'm an old lady now.

ChicAhhhh here I go again.

So, I'm in Chicago, paying my sister a week-long visit.
Luckily, I'll actually spend the weekend in D.C., celebrating my brother's birthday/farewell party since he heads out to Athens on Monday. Well, I'm bringing my sister with me, so it won't just be me (I say I'm bringing her with me because I paid for her ticket).

I'm a mess.
I got in last night, after a much delayed flight. I was hungry as fuck after not having a single bite to eat in over nine hours. My life sucks after having gone on this "fitness journey." Back in my fucked-up-diet days, I was able to starve myself for days without batting an eye. Nowadays, I'll be ready to stab a bitch if I go longer than four hours without a meal.
Anyway, since it was nearing 10PM when I was finally in my sister's car, we decided to just eat whatever she had at home... since everything closes at 10 in this very fucking stupid city.
We get home. I have to be civil with my sister's roommates, introduce myself and all that hoopla... the entire time trying to keep my intestines from being cunts and growling too loud.
Finally, I eat some old chicken, rice, and asparagus.
Then I meet the house cat. And she loves me. And she's weird... she's a fucking cat. And she feels most attracted to me while I'm trying to shove the fork in my mouth. Cats...
Then we finally go to bed... where Sister and I chat for three hours about everything going on in Vegas. We remember some funny shit... and proceed to have a crazy giggle-attack for about half an hour.
Then I found myself crying in the morning. I was sad as fuck. Those mean, critical voices creeped up on me. I also felt sad looking around my sister's living quarters.
You left us to live... like this?
I was upset at both of us.
Upset at myself for refusing to "grow up" but also pissed at my sister for leaving the very comfortable lifestyle my parents give us, all to live in a shitty ugly city full of mean, inconsiderate folk. Then thinking about how successful my brother is... and then I cry because GOD! I miss that motherfucker and I'm going to miss him even more once he's in Greece.
Then I think of how many more people I'm going to have to introduce myself to in the incoming days and I cry some fucking more.
God damn you, social anxiety. DAMN. YOU.

It's weird... and I'll be the first to admit I'm confused by it all.

I'm not PMSing... I think I'm just tired and hungry... so I'm all fucking emotional and dumb right now. That fucking cat isn't helping.

Tough

When life is going beautifully for me... of course it must get fucked up by the ONE group of people who can destroy me:
Family.
Nice.

My favorite part of the downfall? That it was done publicly, on good ol' Facebook.
Perfect venue to have others LAUGH at me... and of course, add their two cents.

I love public ridicule. I love how it follows me.

It was made painfully obvious to the world that my brother knows NOTHING about me... and it was made obvious to ME that my sister does not CARE about all the bullshit I put up with in the sake of keeping her safe... keeping her from hurting anywhere near as bad as I did.
She sided with my brother, and laughed along with the rest of her friends-- nothing new there... so I don't know why I'm crying so hard... maybe I expected her to change?

It sucks to know that the one human I spent so much of my life protecting and literally holding her hand through life so she wouldn't get hurt doesn't appreciate it, much less acknowledge it in front of her friends... maybe just me... but never in public.
I would let others beat the shit out of me and humiliate me in public for years, without me saying a single word... and just going home as quietly as possible... putting on a brave face... as though life was just... normal and boring. A quiet, boring little world, the one I presented...
But the moment my sister did anything similar to a WHIMPER, I'd be up and running, looking for blood.

Why wouldn't I fight back? I don't know... maybe I didn't think I deserved to be defended? I don't know. I'd just... take a deep breath and pray for it to end swiftly... so I could run and hide to a place where I could finally cry without anyone hearing or seeing me.

But I did know no one else deserved that treatment... or even the knowledge of such feelings... so I protected.

Laugh at me because I'd get mistreated... yeah. Cool. But answer me this: how many times were YOU mistreated, or even insulted while I stood next to you? Exactly.
I WAS tough. SO tough...
Know how many times ANYONE saw me cry at school? ONCE. In third grade. Because the substitute teacher refused to give me my homework (I told that fucked up story already). NO ONE ever saw me cry BEFORE, DURING, or AFTER getting beat up or bullied or whatever fucked up bullshit others subjected me to. I took it ALL quietly... sight to the floor... breath held in. But NO tears.
And no one ever intervening to stop the abuse.
That's pretty fucking TOUGH.

She laughed when he made fun of me... and refused to acknowledge that it was thanks to me that she was never mistreated by her peers... or my grandfather.
Then again, she'd laugh when the guys would moo at me as I'd walk by the park in Mexico... and she wouldn't tell others to shut up when she'd catch them talking shit about me... she'd just shrug.
She would "adopt" other girls and call them "sisters"... girls she'd choose to hang out with, making sure to leave the house before I had any chance to tag along.
But oh shit! What's this? That catty girl tried bullying you in school? Did you remind her I'm your sister and can easily destroy her if I catch her? Sick me like a pitbull... something you've done since you were a toddler. That's all I really am-- a scary pet.

I thought with time my sister would change.
I didn't think she thought so little of my actions.

I'm fucking destroyed.

Disculpas

So, Christmas came and went, and now it's time to focus on the closing of this year and the start of the new.
It's time for some motherfuckin' resolutions.

I had been thinking about this resolution for a long time, especially since a few days ago I had a very in-depth conversation about it with my mother.
This forgiveness issue of mine.
I'm SO fucking stubborn when it comes to forgiveness.
I say I forgive, but never forget. When someone goes out of their way to apologize to me for any wrong they may have caused, I "accept" the apology, but things are never the same. I stop trusting the person, and the issue for which they apologized will forever remain in my head... I'll have my guard up around them, and I'll distance myself from them.
I have too difficult a stance on this topic... and I feel like a complete fucking asshole when I have to apologize... because I understand the offended party is in all his/her right to not accept my apology, and it also reminds me that: Hey! Pendeja! You fucked up!

So... the concept of apologizing and forgiveness has been pretty fucked in my head.

This recent fight with my brother made me realize that I'm a fucking dick... and I should really try to be kind... and apologize when I fuck up, but especially FORGIVE when someone offends me.

I fixed things with my brother today... which technically is yesterday. He left at 10PM, so before that, I made sure to be kind to him, and let him know that I love him, and that if I ever offended him I was terribly sorry, and if he ever offended me I've totally forgotten it. And all went back to normal... we even hugged when I dropped him off at the airport.

This will be what I work on most. I will be quick to ask for forgiveness, and more importantly, whole-heartedly forgive ANYONE who offends me or HAS offended me in the past.

I will be kind and forgiving... and not see it as a weakness.

Best Medicine

I seriously planned on writing up 30 entries this month... you know, an entry a day... with the occasional catch-up posts... but it's hard shit.
This weekend was hectic... with tons of visits, shopping, drinking, sport-related activities (soccer, French Open, Boxing), and trips to the airport (six times. I went to the airport six times in less than a week's time... three times in less than 24 hours)... then, when I'd try and write, I'd do bullshit like the previous post where I'm overly sentimental or whatever the fuck. I do apologize for that shit... it's just that hard-liquor knocks down my filter with an astonishing speed, especially recently.
Drastic weight loss = lightweight drinking status. Get it through your head, AnoMALIE! You fucking stubborn mule!

So, my lack for proper updates is not due to depression or anything of that nature, I just don't have time.
I'm actually pretty happy... though there HAVE been some bumps along the way. The worst bump is, sadly, Pacemaker's situation. She has been calling me, venting, over her father's situation... which, like I suspected, is pretty bad. When she tells me the results of the tests he undergoes, I try to cheer her up... but in the back of my mind, all I think is "Fuck... that's not good..."
Instead of giving her a piece of my "medical" knowledge (turns out he has lymphoma, which extended to his liver... which, on the first phone call, I very STUPIDLY told her he MIGHT have after she told me his symptoms. I felt like such an asshole when she told me the doctor's diagnosis today), I decide to do what I know I'd prefer to hear when my Pops was sick: I make her laugh.
I'm working some HARD overtime to make her giggle. I feel like someone's dropkicking my heart each time she sobs. It's horrible! My heart breaks and I fight the urge to get on the next flight to the bay just so I can hug her.
She may drive me crazy with her pretentious, condescending, patronizing, elitist remarks... but it's something I've come to accept. I excuse it... because I figure shit in her past has made her that way.
Pacemaker can have a charitable heart. She's hilarious. She's dependable. She's brave. She's silly.
As long as she doesn't turn shit into a competition, she's awesome. Hearing her sobs and broken voice is pretty fucking difficult to endure.
So... as hard as it is to listen to my little Pacemaker cry over the phone, I'll sit there and crack jokes... mention shit I KNOW makes her giggle... and while it was impossible that first time she called me, I've been able to cheer her up all other times-- even getting a roaring laugh last night.
Poor girl...

Another tiny bump is the fact that both my siblings are once again gone.
The fact that we were together this weekend seems like a dream. Sure, we fight A LOT... it's pretty damn obvious there's gonna be beef the moment D takes my car without asking, or when Rafa rocks this despicable shirt around the house:

FUCK that guy, man!

But once they're gone, the world sucks a little more.
But I now have a trick to beat the blues (not to be confused with the EPL team).
Whenever I feel sad, all I have to do is glance at this photo:

"PRESS THE BUTTON!"
Must. Hold in. Pee.

My brother's face cracks me up... hard... to the point where I often have to fight the urge to piss my pants.
We are such interesting specimens...
And now I have to go pee.

Running, running, as fast as we can

I tried my damn hardest all weekend to keep the smile on my face.

I DID smile, and I WAS happy, but I've spent most of my time dealing with the growing alien embryo in my gut.

I can't eat a single thing. Everything feels like shrapnel wreaking havoc in my intestines. Even doing something as simple as drinking water makes my stomach panic.

What alleviates my pain for a couple of hours? Running. But it's not like I can be running all freaking day.

Speaking of running, Rafa ran the Chicago marathon today. Though I didn't mention it on any social networking site, I'm DEFINITELY proud of my brother. He finished the marathon at 11:31:31 AM, after running for 3:51:13, with a pace of 8:50 a mile. That's fucking remarkable, especially considering it's his first full marathon.

My brother's a fucking BOSS... motherfuckin' Forrest Gump over here... and I love it!

So, knowing that, I managed to continue with the smiley faces.

AND I continued to smile even if one of my "could have been"s got married yesterday.
We never worked out because I was reluctant to get into a relationship... because school was in the fucking way, as always. We made each other laugh with ease, we had a shitload of things in common, and hey, we were physically attracted to each other like crazy.
I'm actually very, very happy for him and his new wife. She's a gorgeous, sweet girl, and well, he's an awesome dude who I've never seen happier. I'll always applaud sincere happiness.

Good times had all around... even if I'm more than eager to abort this motherfucking alien embryo that cripples me with pain.

I'm going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!!! 

Ok, it's not that bad. But I won't lie, it does make me whimper like an injured puppy.

Mornings

I've been waking up at an ungodly hour ever since my siblings came back from Europe.

Those punks wake up at 7-8 in the morning, so by 9 in the morning, they're loud as hell.
They're either showering... or eating... or having an argument of some sort.

So... by 9 o'clock, I'm usually rolling out of bed, since I'm obviously not going to get any more sleep.

Why can't they be more like me?
Wake up early? Well... sit there and ponder shit.
Like... electric cars... the U.S.-Mexico border... drug lords... what would you do if you could fly?
Things like that.

Don't fight... hold off on showering until... at least 11 AM... and please, PLEASE, if you're going to cook... make it as un-aromatic as possible. Once jalapeño permeates the air... it's kind of mandatory to get up.



My eyes are tired.

Single child no longer

Today marks my last day as an "only child."

Older Bro comes in tomorrow night, and TravelinDin, while already in the U.S., will come to Vegas on Monday.

How have I spent this last day?
Listening to loud music... playing Guitar Hero (expert level... and let me tell you, that shit is HARD!)... and driving TravelinDin's car.

I'm going to miss being an only child.
Back to screaming and fighting... arguing and kicking/slapping/punching/getting in each other's face.

How lovely.
[Time goes by wayyyy too fucking fast]

Cute, it's what we AIM for

Ever since I purchased my tickets for Spain, Mom's been bugging me about how we're going to stay in contact (I'm leaving for a month... she's acting like I'm leaving for a year).
I brought up the idea of making her an AOL screen name so she can talk to us (TravelinDin and me. I'm not schizo over here) via AIM.
We have yet to come up with a proper name for her, and I brought that to the attention of TravelinDin as I talked to her this afternoon.

Me [1:06 P.M.]: i told her "como quiere que diga su screen name?"
Me [1:06 P.M.]: y dijo
Me [1:06 P.M.]: "Algo muy chingon!"
Me [1:06 P.M.]: hahaha
TravelinDin [1:06 P.M.]: hahahahahahahaha
Me [1:06 P.M.]: dumb lady
TravelinDin [1:06 P.M.]: lmao!
TravelinDin [1:06 P.M.]: "la lady chingona"
TravelinDin [1:06 P.M.]: hahahahahaha
TravelinDin [1:07 P.M.]: ChiNgoNaLaDy
Me [1:07 P.M.]: lol
Me [1:07 P.M.]: I'll bring that to her attention
TravelinDin [1:07 P.M.]: ChiNgoNaLaDy090960
TravelinDin [1:07 P.M.]: lmao
TravelinDin [1:07 P.M.]: then her social security number at the end too
Me [1:07 P.M.]: lol
Me [1:07 P.M.]: lmao
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: my neighbors must think im crazy...i have my window open...and im laughing like an idiot
Me [1:08 P.M.]: "no no, asi tan grosera no"
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: lol
Me [1:08 P.M.]: "estamos en cuaresma"
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: lol
Me [1:08 P.M.]: "Voy escojer un nombre muy celestial"
Me [1:08 P.M.]: ok, RBD
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: lmao
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: LaMoNja69
TravelinDin [1:08 P.M.]: lmao
Me [1:08 P.M.]: lol
Me [1:09 P.M.]: hahaha

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how TravelinDin and I have been entertaining ourselves for the past 18 years (no, not coming up with different AOL screen names. We've only been doing that for 8 years).
I miss you, monkeyface!

Strap Yourself

Last week I laughed so hard while telling a story to my cousin, that I started to cry uncontrollably.

Now that I think back to it... it wasn't all that funny... but since I hadn't thought about the story in a while, and the fact that it was brought up out of the blue, just made me lose it.
Seeing as how many of us are in a need for some kind of a laugh (I'm in the midst of a mild freak-out as I think that I turn a year older in exactly a week. No! No! No!), I'll retell it now, with the added bonus of not only describing the scene, but actually showing you (I found the pictures, Chase! Haha).

So, my Pops isn't very well known for being a fantastic, know-it-all father. His own dad made some horrible mistakes while raising him (Mom told me a story I had never heard concerning my dad's childhood that same day we mentioned The Story That Made Me Laugh Hysterically... and it immediately made me frown, almost cry, really. It's one of the saddest stories I've heard, so if I re-told it, it would defeat the purpose of this being a funny, happy post), so you can't blame Dad for not knowing exactly what to do with his own offsping (his efforts are appreciated, however).

It was the summer of '87, and Mom had just acquired a "professional" camera from my dad's best friend. She was so ecstatic about it, she would go around snapping pictures of everything and had a tendency to forget anything else she had to do that day.
Well, that summer we went to visit my Mom's (now deceased) brother in Oakland.
He was the epitome of the perfect father... perfect sibling... just, perfect man.
Since his wife worked, he was in charge of taking care of the kids, and he was great at it.
Well, he decided it would be a great idea to take us all to "Great America" since we Vegas kiddies didn't have such a thing.
We rode rides (well, the ones my two-year-old ass could), ran around, all that good stuff. Mom was busy with the camera, thinking it would be a good idea to have the two men taking care of the children for the day while she snapped away with her beloved camera.
Cute idea, right?
Well, I guess that "professional" camera is also good at erasing memories... or just giving people really bad judgement... kind of like vodka.
The day turned out to be like some sort of sitcom episode where they have Dad A, the responsible, perfect daddy, and Dad B, the dad that... sort of has no clue, out and about in a theme park.
My dad was Dad B.... to the point where Dad A had to start taking care of us because Dad B was... bad (he gave it a good try... but with a spaz-tastic three year old son who loved to run all over the g'damn place... and a bitchy, cry-baby, I-hate-strangers!-Don't-even-look-at-me! two year old daughter, he was bound to give up... screw it if any one of us, or both of us, were later found dead, floating face-down in a ditch five miles away).

Anyway, let's fast forward to 2002... I think it was '02.
Brother came back to Vegas for some sort of holiday weekend that the army decided to give him, and since we were very emotional at that point, we were going through a phase of "let's look at old family albums!"
Well... we stumbled upon the Great America summer pictures... and I caught on to this shot:
Something looked off... aside from my messed up bangs (a couple of days before that shot, I had taken a pair of scissors to the bangs... trying to give myself a haircut... so I had to spend that trip looking like Chucky with my messed up, minute bangs).
Look at that! The seat-belt for the plane was just like the ones on the old Jeep... the ones you just click on your lap...
Then I looked at my brother's photo: Me: Mom... why is Older Brother wearing a neck brace?
Mom: What?
Me: That's... not...
(looks at my cousin's seat-belt PROPERLY strapped to his body)
Me: Oh my God! My dad wrapped the seat belt around Older Brother's neck!!
Older Brother: What?! Let me see!
(His face at this point is priceless... he looks appalled... sad... in disbelief... but also with the urge to laugh his ass off)
TravelinDin: Let me see!!

So we all sit around the photo album and take a glimpse...
The laughther lasted a good ten minutes... to the point where our stomachs hurt.
We asked my dad what he was thinking... and he said he couldn't remember...
Then we laughed some more... wondering what all the people present at the ride would think as my cousin and Older Brother's plane would pass by.
"OH MY GOD! That kid's seat belt is wrapped around his neck!!"
And why did the guy operating the ride allow that?!
What if there really was an accident?
Did they think a three year old boy was suicidal?
Why didn't they question the father what the hell he was trying to pull?

Man, so many thoughts... but we laughed with all of them.
Poor bro... he felt like crap for a while... but we eventually made him crack up.

I'm sure he still has that one lingering question though:
Why was my father trying to kill me?

j/k, we know he loves us in his strange way.

Cilantro, pero no tanto!

Me: When are you coming back?
TravelinDin: May 12th... but tell my mom I'm coming back on the 19th because I'm gonna go visit *Mexiguan* for a few days.
Me: Maybe I should just stay with you until then?
TravelinDin: Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me coming here? j/k

I love you too, punk.
(Watch, I'll tell Ferrell [sp??] and Unzzel embarrassing stories about you, just to get even. Like... hmm... maybe about the one time you got that comb stuck in your hair... or when you dropped that Slurpee back in the day... or maybe I should talk about your issue with rainy days back in 2nd grade. Just kidding, just kidding!)

Adopt-an-AnoMALIE

So it's only been a day since my siblings left me to be an only-child in America (they now call me the Europe-less Sister... that sucks balls), and I've already gotten offers to be adopted.

I feel the love!

No, they won't be my parents, they'll be my adoptive siblings (come on now, I'm Mexican... I can't live without having someone to fight with or scream at... then make-up with by eating beef-jerky while watching the other one play video games. Ok, correction, I can't live in Las Vegas without someone to do all that. When I'm alone in Mexico or any United States state that isn't Nevada, I do fucking fantastic).

The offers have been nice, and from people I've known forever (one offer was creepy as shit though. It was from this guy I haven't spoken to since I graduated high school... and he sent me a text at 11 in the morning yesterday offering to be my adoptive brother without me saying anything about it first. The way he puts things, I think he may want to turn incestuous on me... the gross bastard. I still agreed for him to be my lunch partner... what a fucking bad idea... but hey, it's food, right? I tend to forget to eat when I'm sad, anyway. Like yesterday, I only had a breakfast burrito... and liquids the rest of the day. I didn't catch myself doing that until after coming home from the gym and feeling light-headed and seeing I was pale as all hell. And today, I've only eaten one oatmeal cookie and my daily vitamin with OJ).

I know with what task each "sibling" will help me out (playing guitar hero, going to the movies, going to the gym, etc, etc), but I still don't have someone who will:

1) Eat sushi with me (noooooooooooo!!)
2) Gossip in Spanish about the jerks from Hometown (sister always did this when she came back from work. I'm going to cry now...)
3) Rough-house me
4) Kick me out of their room by screaming "Go to your own fucking room!! It's not my fault you don't have a television!!"
5) Go bra/underwear shopping with me (I make Little Sister pick out my stuff... she has an eye for nice underwear. I usually just go for whatever's closest to my hand. I've had countless bad experiences at VS, and I don't want to repeat them. I just have Little Sister sneak her way in and find me some nice garments)
6) Drive me to the mall on a whim
7) Go with me to get their eyebrows threaded (I'm addicted)
8) Let me borrow their lap top to steal wireless internet from the neighbors (I guess it's no more Youtube for me, now. Lame ass dial-up internet)

I'm sure there are more... but those are the ones most urgent to me.

I'm so fucking bummed out, you guys.
:[
(And to fucking kill it, I have to accompany Mom to see "Mama Mia" today. WTF. I hate musicals. HATE!)

Hero indeed!

So it's official:
I'm the only *Dos Santos* kid still in the western hemisphere... shit... still in Vegas.

I was startled awake by Mom and Bro saying "Come on, are you coming or not?" and while I don't watch porn, my initial thought of the day was:
"Isn't the porn convention going on now?"
Then I remembered, before going to bed my brother made some joke about "Now don't you go alone to that porn convention!"
At least he didn't call me a stripper this time.

Anyway, and not following through with our threat, we took my brother to the airport at 7 in the morning.
Yesterday, in the midst of our anger tantrum, Mom and I said we were just going to drop Older Brother off at the curb because he was planning on doing that to Little Sister yesterday.

You heartless bastard! She's leaving us for the first time, and you want to drop her little ass at the airport with her two 50-pound bags, heavy ass carry-on and lap top at the curb? Yeah, she worked at the airport as TSA for two years and should be comfortable with that... but that shit's over. She's a baby for crying out loud!

He wanted to drop her at the curb because he was planning on going to the gym after that... as if it were some real emergency.
Guys can be such dicks sometimes.

Anyway, since I've been having a shitty week... with a total of maybe 6 hours of sleep in the last 60 hours or so... I felt like trash when I said I'd accompany Mom to the airport.

I had no make-up on... this very stupid pimple in the middle of my chin (I'm 22! Why the fuck am I still getting pimples?! However, if I must, I'll take pimples on the chin over getting them anywhere else, to tell you the truth), I wore my hair up (whatever I could grab. I also realized my bangs make me look trashy--now I know why Cousin/Hairdresser was so reluctant to cut me some), then slipped into a Notre Dame hoodie.
And looking like that... I got hit on by my brother's ticket agent.
??
Guys... who the fuck understands them? I dress up and I'm invisible. I look like shit, and they'll try and ask me out to dinner... ?

My brother turned over at me and asked "Was he talking to you??"
"Umm... who the fuck else was wearing a Notre Dame sweater, jackass?? Those 30-something-year old British guys in suits?"
It's sad when even your own family wonders "WTF was up with that? They're hitting on you?"
Whatever. Life goes on.

Anyway, we walked with Older Brother to the D gates and said our farewells.
I wasn't choked up at all... I'm actually still excited, since I'm pretty sure I'm going to be living with his ass (making his life a living hell) when I head over to London next month (next month!! Yey!).

His last words to me were:
Now, don't you go off playing too much Guitar Hero!!

Mine to him?
You go get me as much Manchester shit as possible!!

In all reality, I wanted to say back:
You kidding *****? I'm 5-starring on Medium! I'm not about to stop now!!

I've had that game for... today marks the 3rd day... and I've had to up the difficulty level because I was actually getting bored (I passed it on Easy in a couple of hours) to the point where I kind of wanted to return the game. But then I noticed that medium is eerily similar to the fingering done on the violin (shut up, I did not mean that in a dirty way. Stupid porn convention... it has me all messed up in the head), so I fell in love (especially with AFI's "Miss Murder," no pun intended, but I fucking kill with that song. Same goes for Weezer's "My Name is Jonas." I'm working on Metallica's "One" and Eric Johnson's "Cliffs of Dover" to kick some serious unsuspecting-people ass. Haha. Not. I'm too shy to play this game in front of others, regardless of how "good" or "badass" as I might be. It's a trait only my family will witness-- whether they want to or not).

Yes... I'm a badass.
(I do get dizzy though... sometimes I wonder if eventually I'll just drop to the floor and start to seizure. But regardless, I'm going to work on that bad boy until I can do a song with my back turned to the television. I promised Older Brother I was going to do that once he gets back in May)

That damn game is what's kept me from turning into a puddle of tears on my sister's bed.
Guitar Hero totally rescued my ass.

(Oh yeah, today at 9:45 AM, I also answered a phone call from Little Sister, who said to me "I'm in Madrid. It's nice weather out here! I'm about to go out with some girls for dinner. Oh yeah... and my roommate? HE'S HOT! So fucking... mmm... hot!" Thanks kid, give me even more reason to jump off a bridge, why don't ya?)

Press the Brake

I just dropped Little Sister off at the airport.

Well, I carried her luggage, walked with her to check in, and left her at the C gates.

What kept me from crying?
Mom.

No, not her cool deposition (she was far from it, actually. Her nose was red, her eyes were watery... Little Sister was doing the same thing, getting red in the face, that is), but the mistake she committed when we were looking for a parking spot.

She went in the wrong lot. We were trying to tell her to go to the short term lot, but somehow, "long term" looks identical to "short term" to her.

As we were getting to the... what's that called... the little arm that goes up and down... it's colored yellow with black stripes... it goes down to keep you from going in to a parking area, goes up when you get a ticket... well, that little bar was in the way, with the ticket machine to the left stating "please, grab a ticket."
Well, I guess Mom's far more discombobulated than any of us, and as she was reaching for the ticket, she bumped her head on the car door.
Somehow, she released the brake... so my car began to roll forward, towards the little arm/bar thing.
You know what Mom did next??
She tried grabbing the fucking ticket, that wasn't being released by the machine (if it were a human, I'm sure it would have been saying "What the fuck is your problem? If you plan on busting through the bar, I won't give you a fucking ticket").
As my car rolled forward... towards the yellow with black metal bar thing... she was trying. to reach for. the goddamn. ticket.

"LET THE TICKET GO!! PRESS THE FUCKING BRAKE!"

"Out of all things... you give more importance to grabbing a damn ticket than pressing the brake?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

I know, aren't I the sweetest when in the face of danger?

Finally, she put the brake on, when my car was centimeters away from the bar (that would have made it the second time my poor Bambi gets crashed into some yellow bar... the poor car).

Anyway, it was 10 times funnier in person... of course, once the initial rage passes. Little Sister and I used it as a way to keep from crying.

I'm getting teary-eyed as we're going up the escalator to the C gates?
"Press the brake!!"

Little Sister's getting teary-eyed as Mom is giving her the blessing?
"Press the brake!"

Mom's getting watery-eyed as she's watching her baby girl walk toward the check point?
"Press the brake!"

Then I came home and had a mild freakout.
She'll be gone for 5 months...
Holy moly... my baby sister will be alone for (a little under) 5 months (because I will be there with her for two weeks, damn it!) on the other side of the hemisphere!

KSDjhgf8f724ba!!

My sister's leaving me in about 18 hours...
My brother's got another... 36 hours or so.

What's making me angry, though, is the fact that I find myself getting depressed at the thought of them leaving me.

Why the hell can't they be leaving me for, say, Kentucky? Nebraska? South Dakota? New Jersey?
Why the fuck London and Madrid?

Why?!

I'll be sitting here... Las Vegas, Nevada... almost running over dipshit pedestrians... maybe going to a club full of hoighty-toighty tourists... getting pissed every time some old bitch tries to boss me around at the gym.

....
Fuck... my bro just came back from the store...
and after screaming at him earlier in the day for not taking me with him to sushi...
he still got me guitar hero.

I'm going to fucking cry.

GAHHHHHHHHHH.
I hate being a girl.

Christianity tree?

My sister's been bitching about putting up our Christmas tree for the last week or so.
She bitched, and bitched, and bitched until yesterday, when Mom finally pulled out the box containing the tree.

Instead of going about and decorating the tree like we thought she would, Little Sister decided she was going to sit behind me at the office, until I logged off-line.

Me: Dude, that tree over there's waiting for ya... why don't you let me finish up here and then I'll call you over to get on-line?
LS: I want to get on NOW.
Me: Well, you could easily be helping Mom with the tree while I finish doing what I'm doing...
LS: No! Why am I the only one responsible for fixing the tree?!
Me: Because you've been bitching about it for a week now. I could care less about the tree. I didn't want the tree. I don't need the tree.
LS: So what if I wanted the tree?! Is it so wrong I didn't want this house to look like... some atheist house like you want it to look?!
Me: Oh yeah... because nothing says "I love Jesus" like a tree in the middle of your living room. Pardon me, I forgot.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to believe my sister's a 20-year-old working woman.

The tree is yet to be decorated:

Inked

Just-Turned-20-Year-Old-Little-Sister: So... today I found out my tattoo artist has a mad crush on me.
Me: ...
Little Sister: He told Papita* he thought I was the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
Me: ...
Little Sister: And he asked her for my phone number and I told her it was cool to give it to him.
Me: ...
Little Sister: I got a picture of him as he worked on Papita. Wanna see?

(Shows me picture of a very attractive, short, but super built Filipino with a pretty cool sleeve going up his right arm)

Little Sister: Imagine... how am I going to introduce him to our parents?
Me: You have a tattoo artist??
Little Sister: Yeah, remember?

There are days when I just want to punch myself unconscious.

*I stuttered one day as I was saying this girl's name, and the end product was "Papita" aka "potato chip" or "little potato" in Spanish. I still don't know if the poor girl's forgiven me for that embarrassing mess up (embarrassing because she's kind of... chunky, so being chunky with the nickname of "potato chip" doesn't seem very nice to me).

Oh, that means "I love you"

Older Brother and I have an awesome relationship.

I answered Older Brother via Myspace on a personal question he had about... his nasty ass toes (as usual) because, you know, since I'm a Biology major who is about to get her Bachelors on the subject, I am now qualified to answer any and all family health questions. Yes, that's how we roll in the Dos Santos-M. family. Anyway, I also added the following (because he also joked about me only having one class this semester):

P.S. It's two classes with one lab. I do go to school 3 times a week, you know.
P.P.S. Que te traes? Are you feeling ok? 'Cause your facebook behavior worries me.
:(

(I added a second comment three minutes later)

and another thing: Me corte el pelo, cabron!! Thanks for noticing. >:(

(which means "I cut my hair, fucker, thanks for noticing")

He responded with something along the lines of "What the hell are you talking about?"
And I wrote back:

"Is just a dreamer dreaming his life away."
That's what I'm talking about, fool.

You're turning emo or some shit on us.
Just checking up on you... to make sure you weren't about to slit your wrists or anything... j/k

P.S. Your visa came in today.
I'm so jealous.

His response, and reason why I love my brother:
(probably the longest comment he's ever written me on Myspace)

Emo? Emo? Me, an Emo? Are you kidding me?! I was just writing a paper the other day for my War, Law, and Ethics class and I just so happened to be listening to that song by Ozzy. It's the shit!

Besides, so what if I actually "dream" that this world can someday be more peaceful? It may never be, but at least its worth it to have hope instead of living life thinking the glass is half-empty most of the time (ahem, remind you of anyone?). Hatin-ass closet Republican! Why don't you and my dad just go and kiss Pat Buchanan's fascist ass while you listen to Rush Limbaugh! haha, j/k. But nah, I was just in a very "dreamy" mood that day, I had to get in a flow to write that damn paper that was due the day I went on Fall Break.

I have too many long-term plans to be thinking about slitting my wrists, besides, slashing the wrists almost never works (although it was you, I think, who told me how to more effectively do it, so if I ever do such a stupid thing, blame yourself when you see longitudinal cuts down my forearms). Ahhh, "longitudinal..." long time I haven't used THAT word. PEACE.
(minutes later)
And oh yeah... I dig the "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur." I like it so much, I just wanna go and bite your head and yank on your ear in my twisted way of showing affection! Damn, we're such social outcasts when it comes to that whole sibling-love shit. You know, the whole "I-show-my-love-by-just-standing-there-before-one-leaves-for-a-long-time-until-mom-forces-you-to-hug" strategy. I guess the fact that we're not all at each others throats should be enough, right?

My response?

Yeah, yeah, whatever you fucking hippie. Haaa ha.

Twisted way of showing affection? More like primitive way of showing affection. Haha. But there are times when I look in the mirror, think to myself "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur," ruffle it, and then miss the bites to the head and all the violent shit.

Anyway, have a good day... (now I'm refering to the post below me) and yes... I'm a badass... I got *Little Sister* that nice chunk of change with my remarkable writing skills (and there was no music involved while I did the writing)... holler!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my brother and I show each other affection.


Oh, and one last tidbit to end this post.
It may be off-subject and random, but whatever.

Today I learned that while I may have some artistic abilities, gift wrapping is definitely not one of them: (first two are from the right side, last 2 are from left side)

I forget the important ones

Ey, yo, monkeyface!
You're the best!

Thanks to your birth, mom stopped doing this kind of shit to Older Bro and me:(but then she started dressing us like tiwns, although I'm two and a half years older than you. Those ten years sucked)

Sure, we fight... a lot... and make each other cry both in private and public (screaming war? Sure, why not, I got time for that today) but we also share many "I love my sister" moments... like when we get stalked by weirdo Mexicans in Mexico and one of us has to give the very nasty mean mug (which always ends up being me)... or when we do stupid things like blow kisses to strangers while on road trips with our parents which only leads to us getting in trouble after one asshole follows us for miles and scares the shit out of us... or when you tell me some guy breaks your heart and I go out looking for blood, like that one time in fourth grade when I kicked that one boy's ass for you during lunch-time (thanks, it gave me quite the reputation).
We might not see eye-to-eye on many issues, but you keep me sane... very sane... and you teach me how to be "normal" i.e. how to do my hair/make-up (how weird is it when your younger sister has to teach you all this shit?). You hear me out late at night and cry with me when I have my very seriously sad episodes... and you give me that hug when I need it most.
Thank you.
Happy belated Birthday.
(is it weird that I still remember what that cake tasted like?)
I'll tell you a secret: Whenever I get pissed off at you, all I have to do to calm down is think of you when you were that old and remember what a bright little brat you were back then. Also, I secretly wish that if I ever have a daughter, I want her to look/be a smart ass like you.
:)

Also:
Chase,
Happy Belated Birthday!
(you too were going to get a separate entry all to yourself)
You're the best friend I don't deserve! I can be so horrible sometimes, but you still just ignore me on my off-days and move on. Thank you.

I'm sorry to both you Libra girls... it's unfair and stupid... but this week has just been brutal for my brain! I've been absent minded... but you all know this.

Me: Dude, I can just get a total of 67 percent, plus my 6 extra credit points, and get a 70 in the class.
Sister: Dude, that's 73.
Me: I mean, I can get a 63 in class... and the 6 extra points would bump it to a 70.
Sister: ...that's 69.

Need I say more?
Y'all still love me, right?

I'll go back to normal (you know, to the point where I just say some random word in the middle of a sentence because that word popped into my head... or when my conversation will trail off and I'll forget what I was talking about) soon.

Rafalala!!

(I have mentioned how he loves wrecking pictures by looking like an idiot, right? This was around the time he had the brilliant idea to do such a thing... and you can tell I wasn't a fan of his new little habit even then... and of course, Little Sister was off in her own little modeling world to care... cute little brat)

So... today my brother turns a year older... and here's the mandatory entry dedicated solely to him.

I don't mind writing only about him, because I love him dearly... as much as I fight with him.
He's probably the coolest brother anyone could have asked for.

First off, he taught me how to fight.
Most pictures I have with him in our earlier years consists of one pushing the other... or one putting rabbit ears on the other.... or we're straight up wrestling, with him grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and screaming in my face (I had it coming though, I would steal his toy cars and hide them... and that would exasperate him badly) all while I'm still laughing in his face (I'm not telling... Nia-nia-nia Nia-nia Niaaaa!). Even now, we'll push each other around a bit... we'll probably do this until one of us breaks a hip in old age. It's fun... ya'll should try it with your siblings.

Two: He taught me how to play sports... and enjoy watching other play video games.
While I did complain sometimes, overall... this little trick made it easier for me to befriend guys... and it made me less of a snobby "girly-girl," (plus, can you imagine how horrible I'd look if I wouldn't be into sports? God, I'd been a walrus!). We never had a second brother... so he had to use me, to oldest one of the girls, to act like a boy so he wouldn't get bored. I of course, had no other choice since he ruled with an iron fist (yeah, right. I just accepted because I would get sick and tired of him shooting at me with rubber bands all day... I hate rubber bands).
Thanks to those years of training, I can now throw a football better than a lot of dudes I know.... do you know how powerful that makes me feel?! (j/k) I'll play a game of basketball once in a while... and I'll definitely participate in a game of baseball. Sure, this makes me sort of an outcast amongst the girls... but who gives a fuck when guys are so much cooler?
And yes, you read correctly... I like watching people play video games. It's a weird habit... but I really do get into the game like if it were the real deal. I'm not good at video games though... so maybe that's why I admire others who are.

Three: He'd take the fault for a ton of my mistakes.
Now, while this might not be considered such a big thing... it sure was huge in our case... with our Mom who's so fond of corporal punishment.
My brother could take a slap, a kick, and a whip to the ass better than any kid I knew. He'd see me panicking whenever I made a mistake... like when I broke something... or caught something on fire... and he'd tell me to relax because he'd say he did it (and then there's also the whole "Please eat all the shrimp on my plate so Mom won't hit me with the belt for not eating, Older Brother!!" He saved me from a whipping that way maybe... three times).
This got him the reputation of being one of the biggest troublemakers in the neighborhood... but we all knew he was responsible for maybe one third of the things he'd be accused of because he would take the fall for most of the girls he cared about (which in total, it was probably five of us. Five girls can get in a shitload of trouble).

Four: My bro was a little big man.
Older Brother learned to be an adult at a very young age. The level of responsibility he had at age five is a lot more than I have at 22.

Five: My bro is SUPER smart!
Sure, he has almost zero common sense... but we can't all be MacGyvers!
Academically, he's someone I've always looked up to. Yes... sometimes I'm insanely jealous... but proud is what I am most.
He has an incredibly bright future.... if he fucking quits boxing and drinking so much... shit.

Six: My brother's an individual... and incredibly brave.
He's always gone against what's popular but stupid... even if that meant standing alone. When he joined the army... we were all in shock and pretty pissed off. Every guy called him a dumb ass... and then September 11th happened right as he graduated basic training... and everyone was calling him a dead dumb ass.
While everyone was making plans for their sons to leave the country and avoid the "draft," (idiots) my brother was anxious to go and do his job.
When we saw him in Fort Sill, we were all scared... teary eyed and uncertain about the future. He told us not to worry, that he was ready for anything.... and that, my friends, takes a lot of fucking balls to say in front of a crying mother, father, and two sisters.

Seven: He's a sensitive guy...
I guess he thinks we'll freak out if he ever breaks down... and frankly, that's 100 percent true. Once he freaks, I know we're all fucked.
The times he does let his guard down... he thinks no one's around to see it.
I've only seen him cry twice with a movie: I am Sam and El Laberinto del Fauno. Both times... when the movie was over... he'd say something like "that was gay..." but as he would get up to leave, I could always see tears in his eyes.
He's been caught in pictures being pensive... those are always my favorite pictures:Older brother has a heart!

I could continue forever... there's a ton of things that make my brother an amazing man (and this is why, without a care in the world, I've gotten into fights with his ex-girlfriends when they do him wrong)... I just don't have the time or space to say it all (ok, here's one more: He never held it against us whenever we'd say shit like "I can't wait until you fucking leave this house, asshole! We're not going to miss you!!" He believes us when we say we miss him... plus, we always treat him like a king when he's in town... I don't let anyone else pinch my nose to impede my breathing, just him).

There's nothing he could say or do to make me hate him (there was that one time I wanted to beat the shit out of him... and even then, my heart wouldn't let me).
He's my twin... separated by one and a half years... and it's thanks to him that I'm any sort of cool.

...Now if only we could hug without feeling stupid... ha.