sooooo bad

I lack expertise on many things... actually, I'm pretty bad with most things.

But knowing how NOT to wreck your life? I'm an expert... mainly because I've been so motherfucking GREAT at fucking shit up for myself. All you really have to do if you want to succeed at something, is do the opposite of what I did.

Knowledge on how to deal with heartbreak? Girl, I got you.

Today's relationship issue was my sister's. While we're not on the best of places in our own sisterly bond, I still don't like knowing she's out there alone in the world crying over some douchebag.

Does it get better? Meh. Maybe if you're attractive... which my sister is. For me? No, it doesn't get better. That motherfucking line is BULLLLLLSHIT for a girl like me... time has proven it. Repeatedly. I stand here, don't I? I'm nearly 30, and I'm here to say that NO, it certainly fucking doesn't get better for some people. It certainly has never gotten better for me. But my sister is of a different kind of girl... she has always been popular. I'm more of the... odd rarity-- the one poor fool who gets struck by lightning, repeatedly, but never wins something like the lotto.

Does it stop hurting? No... you just become a little numb to it... sometimes forgetting, as long as someone or something doesn't exacerbate the memory. You learn to function, even feel stuff for other people... but the hurt remains there, ready to flare up at the slightest provocation. Feelings of inadequacy will linger, probably forever. You memorize every single word he utters to you. Every single painful letter... of whatever ugly, stupid, hurtful sentence he manages to spew at you to finally dropkick the fucking shit out of your heart.
I don't know what to say?
Just another girl, nothing more, nothing less.
You'll walk past a Margaritaville, and find yourself locked in a bathroom stall five minutes later, crying your eyes out after the memories prove too tough to handle.
Or you'll be sitting in a dimly lit room, watching others drink... and you'll immediately head out in search for a brighter room, all in hopes of not bursting into sobs.
But you'll function... and many normal days will come. Shit, you'll even have some awesome days... numerous awesome days.

Do I think my sister will get better? Yep. Do I think she'll find another love? Of course, it's her. My advice to her is true, I believe in it... for her case.

At least she has that memory, that knowledge, that at some point, he felt something for her.... obviously not as strong as she did, but at least enough for him to give her the time of day... for years. She felt it. Literally.
Even if the feeling never evolved to love from his behalf, at least it wasn't apathy. At least she wasn't "just another girl." At least she had a name. At least she heard him say her name. At least she existed to him.
She has to find some solace in that.
She was something, someone, at some point. That has to count for something.
***

I hadn't thought about this fucking subject in a minute. Now this. Great. Fucking great.
(I lie. Last month I had a very comforting dream. Comforting, just comforting. I was sitting, facing a lake on a summer evening, watching the sun set. Pink sky. Knees hugged against my chest... crying. Then suddenly I feel him gently patting my back. Nothing romantic... nothing... romantic... just compassion. A comforting patting of my back, letting me know everything would be ok. Just that same comforting, silent company. He hadn't crossed my mind for a while until that dream... tumbled everything back to zero. I'm back to zero)

Come back

Today marks the five-year anniversary that my sister left for her six-month Spain adventure.
Oddly enough, unwittingly, I've been checking out airfares for different cities these last three days.

Everything was fine as I checked out places like Cancun and Costa Rica, but then I went and looked at European cities.
I was excited checking out the Latin American countries, marking dates and whatnot... but when I saw Barcelona, I felt this horrible sense of sadness.
I miss my sister. I miss her so bad. That fucking idiot.

I'm fine with visiting Latin America without D because we never embarked on a Latin American adventure together. But Europe? I feel like a giant piece of my heart is missing.
My partner in crime is missing... left me for that fucking lame city of Chicago... a fucking bootleg version of New York City... to live the life of an ungrad UIC student (which she isn't).

I don't think I can handle Europe without my sister... I just won't feel right knowing I'm out there doing shit while she's in cold, ugly Chicago, working and trying to make ends meet.

I'm not as cold as I brag about being.
I want that little bitch back.

FUC

I've been enjoying my sister's company for the last couple of days.
The day she was flying in, Thursday, I was chirpy and practically bouncing off the walls. The behavior was subconscious, since I claimed I didn't care she was coming, but my body was clearly begging to differ.

We've had a few baby arguments, but for the most, we've been good... especially since we've gone to different family parties this weekend. We've been the dynamic, angry, tall due we've always been.

She heads back Wednesday afternoon... I feel sad. So sad.

Fuck you, Chicago. FUCK YOU.

Loners

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them."

Read that today and found myself instinctively uttering "Ay gueyyy!"
Fuck, that's true... fuck.
I can't say it's 100 percent correct because, like I've said, I get vicious when not given "alone time." I REQUIRE alone time... or else heads start to roll.
But... this quote does apply to me... often.


I'm trying to let more people in... but it's a scary... because it reinforces the fact that no one is capable of eliciting the same... sensations in me as Darcy-- I'm talking initial impressions here... they can't even match that.

D: Why are you so stuck on him?
Me: I don't even know... it's just... there. I gravitate towards him. No one has ever had this effect on me. At all.
D: Does he know?
Me: That I dig him more than anything in the universe? I don't think so... I don't even talk in his presence. My dumbass freezes up like... a fucking idiot. I'm a mute. He knows I have a crush on him because I actually told him... but other than that it's like "Oh yeah, that girl." Do you know how many times he has called me by my real name? ONCE. Because his mom forced him to. ONCE. And I'm still stupid like this.
D: ... I don't know what to tell you. Maybe if he would have told you something... like... given you a reason to be this sprung... told you he had a crush on you too... told you to wait for him or something... Maybe I could help you out then... but... uh... that doesn't seem to be the case... so...
Me: Yeah. I think I'm this stubborn because... my stupid heart and head just... wish he would have told me something. I'd follow this dude to any part of the world if he'd asked me to... I'd wait for as many years as he'd ask, if he wanted me to. But... all I've gotten from him is a metaphorical pat to the top of my head... like when one forcefully compliments someone's annoying kid at a party. It kills me that he has never intentionally done anything to get me this sprung... but I still can't find a way to forget and move on. I can't forget. I don't want to forget. I'm just being this stubborn, fucking idiot girl, slowly digging her own, lonely grave... most likely pestering THE FUCK out of this poor guy to the point where he'll actually probably hate me.
D: I'm sorry. That sucks. There's vodka and rum in the kitchen... and red velvet cake.

My sister and I have never been too great at discussing this sort of shit... but we sure as hell know how to change subjects.
That red velvet cake was absolutely DISGUSTING.

Pretty awesome and smart

While I only get angry, drunk calls/texts from boys, my sister wakes up to this sort of SOBER text from an ex-boyfriend:

This is my life.

There are few days where I don't repeat this to myself:
27, AnoMALIE, 27.

Some days are just more difficult than others.

I'm sorry... I'll try to be OK tomorrow.

Big Girl

Ufffff!
AnoMALIE's aggravated. REALLY aggravated....
Know what that means?
Rant-infested, super long, incoherent entry...

First:
That recent news story... the murder story. Of the chick. Who was found in the tub. In her wedding dress.
In Chicago.
I knew her. She's from my part of Mexico. Two towns over from Hometown.
The bit of news has me all... upset.
I haven't cried, I mean, I wasn't close to her at all.
I'm friends with her first cousin, that's how I know this chick.
I feel terrible for the victim and her family.
I'm furious over the murder. Like... I want this guy to get the WORST punishment possible. It makes me sick.
A sad state of affairs which has managed to mindfuck me since... Sunday night? Early Monday morning? I think it was early Monday morning. I had to keep quiet per request of her family.
Terribly difficult.

Ok, now what is SERIOUSLY aggravating me:
My sister.
More like... my sister's move to Chicago.
It's really, truly frustrating.

She's my sister, I want nothing more than for her to succeed and be happy.
Her abrupt departure to Chicago surprised me and infuriated me.

There are ways to go about things.
I'm all for people going out and seeking their fortunes or whatever.
I applaud all those who are independent and work hard for their money. That IS something to admire, always.
HOWEVER, I do not see the need for ME to go about suffering that stress if I DON'T HAVE TO.
Guess what?
I. DON'T. HAVE. TO.

So the moment someone criticizes me for not being out there putting up with other people's shit is the moment I put a halt to their train.
It's the moment I will turn into a snob, and I will shut them the fuck up.

My sister, well, she can't handle the criticism.
I've been lucky to have some amazing friends who understand this aspect of my life.
Your parents immigrated to the states, worked their asses off, and now you don't  have to worry about monetary issues? You mean your parents want to share their wealth with you because that's the reason they even began to work in the first place? Dude, I'm happy for you, AnoMALIE. That's great! Your parents rock.
I'm also lucky in the sense that they know how hard I CAN work if I ever have to. They know my strong work-ethic, discipline, and integrity because the VAST majority of my friends I acquired in school.
Not ONCE have I heard shittalk from my (real) friends.
Acquaintances have pulled my leg about the topic, and that's when my ugly, caustic bitch comes out.

My sweet, impressionable kid sister, however, has not been so lucky.
While Sis has some good friends, MANY of them are haters. Strong haters.
My sister is easily swayed. VERY easily.
SO, these haters get to her.
"Friends" will continuously patronize her every move.
Oh, Mommy and Daddy will pay for it.
That's the phrase that gets my sis.
You need to go out there and see what the REAL world is like!
Oh... you mean... those 14 years I spent in the ghetto, waking up to dead bodies on the street, drug dealers/users strung the fuck out next to my bus stop, and those prostitutes walking the streets as I *tried* playing Freeze Tag didn't count as "REAL life"... not even remotely? Those years spent as a latchkey kid, trying to be as silent as possible so as to not attract attention wasn't Real Life? How about... not knowing what owning/sleeping in my own, real bed felt like until I was a 14-year old? That doesn't count as Real Life?! For real? Oh shit! I have a lot of learning to do then!
I know what "The Real World" is like, and quite frankly, it FUCKING SUCKS. And I don't want to go back... so why are you trying to guilt-trip me into falling back into it? Fuck you.
But Sister doesn't think of this when her "friends" talk shit and make fun of her.

The quickness with which she wanted to leave us freaked me out.
The lack of a proper plan freaked me out.
WHY was she so rushed to LEAVE the good, comfortable life my parents worked so hard to get us?

For a while, I thought she left because of a dude. I can see that... because I went through that at her age... though due to life events (I thought were unfortunate at the time) the plans came tumbling down.

This question boggled my mind.
Then this morning I saw a comment on her status that was... that moment where the angels sing... you know, that moment of clarity... that epiphany. Laaaahhhhh!!

Originally, I planned on just placing the screen shot here, so you all could see it for yourselves,
HOWEVER, I waited too long and now my sister has deactivated her Facebook account (for maybe the fifth time... she's such a drama queen, I swear).
I'll have to write it out, I guess.
The status was my sister complaining about the expensive plane ticket she had purchased to come home EDC weekend.
A few of her friends had commented... asking for details etc etc... then that bitch commented.
"It's too soon to visit home. Be a big girl."
...
...
Excuse me? What did this bitch just say?
Too soon to visit home? Girl, I'm sorry if YOU have family issues, but we D's love each other. Sure, we fight like cats and dogs... often getting violent as fuck... but make no mistake, we love the HELL out of each other. We're just passionate people... we get caught up in our feelings.

Be a "Big Girl?" So... in order to be a big girl, an adult, you HAVE to suffer and be alone? I'm... sorry... but... I can't quite follow your logic here...

Those ten words made it clear for me.
BINGO! We have our brain-washer!

This girl is the ONE girl I did NOT like from the get-go. The moment my sis presented her to me, I disliked her.
No other friend of D's has rubbed me so wrongly. Not even gangly, envious little Twiggy.
This is the girl D got in that infamous fight for at the House of Blues a while back.
I lost ANY interest in giving her a shot as a friend the moment D told me her reaction to my sister helping her fight the bitches off.
Any normal friend would be grateful... appreciative... but not this bitch. Not at all.
"Never mention it again."

She was never loyal, either.
She was a slut.
She was always that sloppy drunk bitch Downtown losing her shit and picking fights.
She was... a bad influence.
She was always having issues with SOMEONE in her family.
And she was always patronizing D.

I fought the urge to reply to the bitch and start some shit on D's status... but I had to let D know how I felt.
So I went ahead and sent a text to D.
And that sent her on a downward emotional spiral.
"I guess I've just never been good at choosing friends."
No, no you haven't... and for some reason, you've ALWAYS sided with those bad influences. You've thought WE were the ones harming you.
Now you're suffering... and alone... just how they wanted you to be in the first place... because that's what they are: alone, bitter, and miserable. 
You just fell for their shit.
Now, sadly, you have the tough task of proving them wrong. Do it, dude.

And now we have this. D no longer on FB, no longer texting me... and only writing cryptic shit on twitter.
Fan-fucking-tastic!
So exasperating.

... I'm beating "the slut"s ass next time I see her... I hear she's quite the SHIT fighter. Dumb cunt.

Shelter

The notes in my paper journal are rather enthusiastic... I was stoked about coming home and updating my blog with all of my bulleted sections.

The enthusiasm took a shot the moment I climbed in D's car when she picked us up from the airport.
D had a bit of news:
Her transfer to Chicago was approved.

Mom, Dad, and I took the news differently.
Mom and Dad were silent. It was an awkward silence... so I spoke up.
I just... REALLY wanna take a shit.

The tension was relieved for a short while... the remainder of the car ride, but once home everyone left to their room... and no one congratulated D.

Dad asked Mom to convince D not to leave.
Mom cried.
I was... somewhat angry.

Mom is scared D will get murdered out there.
Dad thinks D will blow all her (and his) money out there.
I... was angry because I didn't feel it was the smartest move on her behalf.

This all put a damper on my updates... and my excitement over the trip.
It still kind of does, since the mood in the house is somewhat heavy.

The mood was darkest exactly a week ago, when Mom decided to call my godmother who lives out there. She wanted to ask her if it was OK if D lived at her place until she found herself a roommate... since this move to Chicago was so short notice, and D still had no chance to look for a decent apartment. Mom asked for just enough time for D to start up at work, check out the apartments/neighborhoods, and get settled in.
My godmom said no.
...
The news made all three of us cry. It really, REALLY offended us... particularly Mom and D.
Mom was upset because she raised my godmom like her own little sister, hearing Godmom turn her down for such an important favor devastated her.
D was upset because she took it personal. I'm so low maintenance! And I cause no trouble... how can... I thought they loved me... how can they refuse to help me when I need so much help? It was all a show? All the shittalk I've heard from people is true?
I cried because it always hurts to have your eyes opened to the truth behind a situation. I'm willing to do almost anything for my family... it's always a punch in the gut when family refuses to reciprocate... especially someone as "important" as a godparent. It has happened multiple times to me, but it doesn't mean it hurts any less.

So yeah... that's been shitty.
We recuperated from that disillusion after Dad called one of his ACQUAINTANCES and HE agreed to shelter my sis for as long as she needed. That restored a bit of our faith in humanity.
A perfect fucking stranger opens his home to my sis... when FAMILY refused... now THAT'S quality of character.
Now we're just bummed because it's finally happening. D's roadtripping out there with Mom and Dad in exactly a week, because she starts work at the new store on the 7th.
The news has finally hit us. Fucking kid is moving on.
Shit. Damn. Oh man.

Momma has cried a lot. I've grind my teeth a lot. Dad has... avoided the topic a lot.

Guys, in a week, I'll legitimately be an only child.
Fuck...

Springy Spring SPRING!

Spring is here!
Much cleaning was involved today; yes, some of the cleaning due to the whole "Spring Cleaning" mantra, but also because I pretty much had to after the St. Patrick's Day Leaky Roof bullshit.

My Saturday was going great... up until 5 in the afternoon, when I made a quick visit to my bedroom and froze in my tracks as I heard an unfamiliar noise:
A drip of water.
A drip of water which was quickly turning into a gush.
Worse part? I was home alone.
How the fuck am I gonna fix this? I know jack about this shit! 
Worst part? The end splash was landing on my paintings.
VERGA! NO!

The whole scenario had me upset... pretty furious, even after the stupid leak had been sealed.
It didn't help that Dad went all Troglodyte and stepped on my semi-ruined paintings.

Considering my Saturday had been shitted on (and that I still needed to return some of my purchased items AND drop off the uncle who came to my rescue), instead of picking up the mess that was my room, I decided it'd be best if I left the house.
Lucky for me, my trails left me in the hood of a couple of friends, they had some Jameson... and the rest is maggot-cheese VS ricotta cheese VS blue cheese (intense conversation that left me on the verge of vomiting... but also intrigued. Must find this maggot cheese with those disgusting long-jumping maggots)/dog-fawning (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I became one of those people who whips out a photo of their dog in the middle of a conversation. I participated in DOGTALK! What is happening to me?! It WAS fun though... I like watching the smile creep on pet-owners as they talk about their little creature) history (where the pet-talk got the best of me and I wound up petting the hell out of a very friendly cat... and yes, I went to bed itchy as fuck, red welts all over my arms/hands, with no Benadryl in sight. I will never learn... Goddamn cats need to quit being so fucking cute and cuddly).

So Spring, I did my cleaning... be cool.

(while I talked maggot-cheese and fixed my fucked up roof, my sister was being a boss at a local nightclub, arm-wrestling a bachelor and winning.

She'll always be infinitely cooler than me)

La Prole

Yesterday's phrase was not uttered by the usual suspects: my folks.

I would have been less hurt had they been responsible, because they'd be correct in being irritated with footing my bill for the last 27 years of their lives.

No, no, my sister was the one who blurted that shit at me.

I was shocked over her rage... because I was unaware of her EVER paying for my shit.

After clearing shit up (looks like she has payed my phone bill a few times--because Mom has failed to deposit money in her account to make up for my share of the bill--we have a family plan), the argument ended in me writing her a six-hundred dollar check, flinging it in her face (I have a flair for the dramatic, in case you haven't noticed. When I get heated, ain't no Housewife of Atlanta that's got shit on me), and demanding her to "DEPOSIT THAT SHIT! DEPOSIT THAT FUCKING SHIT NOW! AND DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING COMPLAIN ABOUT HAVING TO PAY FOR ME! ENJOY THAT FUCKING MONEY! HAVE A FUCKING BLAST, D!"

But like I said, we worked the majority of the kinks... just a tiny hint of resentment remaining.

Then this morning, as I sipped on my morning tea, I saw D walk into the house, swollen-eyed and sobbing.

Me: What the fuck, dude?! What the hell happened?

Sister lost it and began to wail. I had to listen carefully to pick out the words from the sobs.

D: I was at the gym. And saw. Twiggy's mom. And I was going to say hi. And we were working out side by side. I thought she didn't see me, because she didn't look at me. And so I thought "Hey, I'll just say hi to her in the locker room." And so I went to my usual spot at the locker room. And Twiggy's mom was weighing herself. And I was taking out my stuff. And Twiggy's mom's towel was right next to me. And then she grabbed the towel. And walked away. She...

D starts sobbing HELL OF violently.

D: She acted like I was a stranger. A total nobody. A fucking piece of shit. She belittled me. My best friend's MOM! The lady who has ALWAYS been so kind to me. She made me feel like such a piece of shit... a nobody... not worth a second of her time.

My gut hurt for a minute. I felt so sad for D. 

Twiggy might have always been a frivolous, self-centered cunt her whole life... but her mom had always been a sweetheart. I mean, she'd call D to go to her house each time she cooked something she knew D liked.

Poor D.

Then I felt rage.

Twiggy and D have had a falling-out these last few months due to some things that went down the day of the Jay-Z/Kanye concert.

It's a long story, both girls at fault-- in my opinion-- but definitely not something that is irreparable, at least not until TODAY.

After this gym locker-room bullshit, I'd kill the friendship. 

Absolutely. Irrevocable. Definitely. Terminated.

God knows what Twiggy told her mother, but the moment that lady decided to enter the mix--become so involved, in such a fucking childish manner (REALLY? The cold-shoulder? How old are you again?)-- was the moment this friendship fractured for good.

A 24-year old WOMAN, getting her mother involved? What the fuck is that shit?

I've known of the drama, yet I've still remained cordial with Twiggy. Shit, on my birthday, I even thanked her for her well-wishes and told her I missed her. 

I've stayed at the margin. The fight has been none of my business.

It WAS none of my business... but it became MY problem the moment my baby sister walked into the house sobbing, swollen-eyed, and humiliated by Twiggy's MOM.

Back in '05, I did something very shitty to MY best friend. I was responsible for some serious tears.

I'm sure her dad and bro saw her. I'm sure they felt the same rage I did the moment I saw my upset baby sis (Kelley is the baby sis of her household, after all)... yet, each time after that in which I've bumped into them, they've been nothing but cordial with me.

And in that scenario, I was HORRIBLE. My sister WASN'T horrible at all... she has been quite fucking understanding, actually... yet here you have this fucking grown-ass woman acting like a goddamn six-year-old at recess.

So what did I do? I told MY momma.

Mom, being MUCH MORE level-headed and chill, just shook her head... and proceeded to have a great laugh with me at the cost of Twiggy's ENTIRE family (La Verdulera, La Cha-Cha, El Peon, y el Criminal)... as well as D's ex-little crew (La Prole... as in "The Proletariat"). My mom's a fucking pistol. She is sharp-tongued... and comes up with the best fucking combacks within seconds. 

I love that little lady when she's pissed.

And like that, I totally recovered from D hurting the shit out of my feelings.

Blood's thicker than water, homie.

Case #58663 against exhibitionism

Last night was one of the most terrifying of my life.
Ok... not THAT terrifying... I've had too many of those to make that big of a deal here, but the fear did momentarily paralyze me.
What happened?
D was a forgetful exhibitionist... that's what.

Last night I was supposed to hang out with her and a couple of friends, but around five in the afternoon I became sick, so I opted out of the girls' night (that'll teach me to go mental on some chocolate donut holes... I STILL feel like going outside and having a truck run over my stomach).
I did, however, agree to help D select her wardrobe and all that girly shit.

Since I was feeling sorry for myself and moping all over the house with my sugar-induced intestinal armageddon, D had to look for me each time she had to show me her outfit.
She was rocking a red minidress with some textured stockings when she found me complaining to Mom in the kitchen.
Me: WHY do I have such a weakness for chocolate, Mom?! I'm such an idiot!
Mom: Chocolate is so gross. So gross.
(can you believe that?! How. The. Fuck?!)
D: Look! Is this outfit stupid?
Me: Unless that outfit's name is AnoMALIE...

D opens up her leather coat. I notice the red minidress clings a little too tightly to her belly.

Me: Uhh... try... uh... picking up your pantyhose so it can... uh... push back... suck in your... because... the dress is kinda... clinging to your... bellybutton...

Now, whenever I have to readjust anything, I try doing it as inconspicuously as possible. It's that Mormon past life of mine... the Mennonite. I'm just never comfortable showing more than my ankles and elbows.
But my sister... that kid... she'll strip down anywhere. She has a runway model complex or some shit.

What does D do, right there next to the fridge... in full view of both me and Mom? She hikes up the dress to her bellybutton and starts tugging on the pantyhose.
What's so wrong with that? Mom and I are both girls, right?
Well, D has tattoos. Many of them. But in hidden places...
Sadly... one of the "hidden places" was not so hidden the moment she hiked up her dress.
The visible tattoo was this giant black-and-red rose (which wasn't the problem) with the words "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" written around it (bingo!), which is located on her left hip... which usually gets covered by her underwear... just not at that moment.
Once I noticed the visible writing on that dipshit's hip, I looked over at Mom, to see if she was looking.
Please... please, please, please... sweet Lord Jesus Christ, all-mighty savior, please, please PLEASE don't let my m-ahhh-mmmm...
I lost all feeling in my feet, arms, and head the moment I saw Mom's eyes glued to my dumbass sister's hip.
FUCK MY ASS! IT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN! OUR WORLD IS OVER! THANKS A LOT, YOU FUCKING RETARD!
Still... with visions of my obituary running in tomorrow's paper, I maintained my calm demeanor.
I coughed a few times... and when I noticed the imbecile--better known as my sister-- wasn't catching on, I sternly said
JUST. GO. TO YOUR ROOM. AND CHANGE. CHANGE.
D froze.
I looked at Mom. Mom opened her mouth.
Herewegoherewegoherewego....
Mom took a deep breath... then closed her mouth... then exhaled.
D slowly lowered her mini dress, turned around without making eye-contact, and slipped into the hallway.
I stood frozen-- like what I imagine a soldier feels when ambushed, enemy holding the cold barrel of a gun against the back of his head.
Mom didn't make a move. She didn't look at me.
We're going to die. We're all just going to fucking die. Fuck.
From her room, and out of Mom's sight, D started miming at me.
D: Did she see?! DID SHE SEE?!
Should I speak? Should I shake me head? Mom's going to sense me shaking my head and know we're talking... she'll know I'm in on it. Fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme. WHAT DO I DO?!
I nodded.
Me: Take it off. Take it off. Take it off! It looks FUCKING TERRIBLE, D!

I then started rambling. I can't say what the fuck came out of my mouth, because I swear I was having an out-of-body experience. I don't remember ANY of my nervous smalltalk.

The rest of the night I expected Mom to make her move. I expected the ax to drop.
I woke up this morning, still jumpy and ready to get slaughtered in some way.
But it never came.

I also checked up on Mom, making sure she didn't suffer a stroke from the pent-up rage.
But no... she has been very nice and relaxed, watching her Sabado Gigante and DVRed novelas.

That woman saw the tattoo.
That tattoo stirred something in her.
That woman is going to exact revenge.

This waiting game is fucking killing me... which is probably that woman's game plan.

Mexican moms are NO JOKE.
And while I don't have a single centimeter of ink on my body... I'm guilty by association. She knows I know this.
I'm fucked.

Galletas

Feeling depressed?
Got dumped?
Were you the poor soul who scored third to lowest on the Molecular Biology exam in the entire lecture hall?
Parents bickering again?

Dude! Fret no more! BAKE STUFF!

Nutella oatmeal cookies on left
Red velvet sandwich cookies on right (Paula Dean style. I don't give a fuck that she has diabetes, she got there somehow, right? And I'm sure it was fun AS FUCK, too).
Motherfucking DELICIOUS!
And the size of my head.

I've spent the last... seven hours baking with my sister.
Sure, two of those hours were spent shopping for ingredients and a couple of appliances (so uh... we kinda burned our mixer, and had to make an emergency run to Target at 9PM), but we've been concentrated on baking for seven hours.
Ok... that's a lie. We've also been discussing her love life.

It's so cute to see her so excited. It's a trip to see how much love she's putting into these baked goods (I should probably mention these baked good are meant for her dude).
It's nice bonding time. She tells me what's up, and I give some input.
The blind leading the blind? Maybe... but hey, I'm making damn fucking sure she keeps the psycho-girlfriend tendencies down... that has to count for something, right? I may not know how to keep a dude, but I definitely know how to point out female's psychotic behavior.
Don't do that!
Don't say that!
CALM DOWN!
DON'T text him!
Shut up and cut it out! Don't be a fucking psycho, idiot!

I'm so going to be that fucking spinster sibling out of this bunch... I already have the "Gives good advice on behaviors one should AVOID" shit on lock.
But look at that! I'll be useful for something!

ILMSD #125342

Today was another installment of "I Love My Sister Day."

Here, a compilation of some of our conversations:

1.
Listening to Adele's CD as we drive around the city, we talk about how much we love the songs (and how her ex-boyfriend deserves a Grammy for inspiring so many painful songs). The CD gets to "One and Only."
You've been on my mind 
I grow fonder every day. 
Lose myself in time 
Just thinking of your face. 
God only knows 
Why it's taking me so long 
To let my doubts go. 
You're the only one that I want. 
Me: I fucking love this song.
Sister: Fuck yeah. It's awesome. There's just one part that pisses me off.
Me: Oh dang. "Pisses you off?" Shit. Why?
Sister: This fucking part right here...
I dare you to let me be your, 
your one and only. 
Promise I'm worthy to hold in your arms 
So come on and give me the chance 
To prove that I'm the one who can 
Walk that mile until the end starts.
Sister: You don't have to tell a guy YOU'RE "worthy." Fuck that nigga! He should already KNOW!
Me: ... Yeah.... you have a point. Fuck that shit!
Sister: "Promise I'm worthy".... get the fuck outta here!
My lovely sister, once again talking sense into my retarded head (and here, a clear example of how you can take the girls out the ghetto... and give them bachelor degrees... but you can't take the ghetto out the girls).

2.
We decided to hit Nordstrom in search for our goddaughter's Christmas gift.
We were in the shoe department, and decided on some cute little Toms.
We stood around, looking for some goddamn sales associate asshole to notice us, but they acted as if we were invisible (I fucking love that shit. LOVE IT. Fucking racial profiling snobby pieces of shit. YOU WORK RETAIL! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, DICKFACE! But thats me going on a tangent, so let's get back to the story).
Instead of getting angry and knocking all the fucking shoe displays off the tables, I decided to make myself comfortable on their nice "leather" couches... dangling my chuck-rockin' foot off the armrest.
Sister stood, arms crossed, Tom shoe dangling on her right index finger, a second "sales associate" (aka SHOE-SALESMAN, bitch! YOU SELL SHOES FOR A LIVING! GET OFF YOUR FUCKING HIGH HORSE!) walked past her.
Sister: Do these motherfuckers work for commission here?
Me: Yup.
Sister: Mother. FUCKER! It's the fucking curly hair (she had done her hair curly, style she dislikes).
A third shoe-salesfucker passes her without acknowledging her.
Sister: I'LL TAKE ONE IN EVERY COLOR, biiiiitch!
I sit up and look around... slightly embarrassed.
Sister: How do these motherfuckers know I'm not going to go off and buy one of every style? Miss out on a massive commission. Pricks.
Me: No cuesta nada soñar (it's free to dream).

3.
Talking about nicknames. It started off by me complaining over how half the female population has my nickname (really, Mariah Carey? "Mimi?" They get "Mimi" out of "Mariah"? Shut the fuck up. Don't get me started on Mandi Moore), hence my aversion to it.
Me: You know who else's nickname I hate? Mike's.
Sister: Ugh.
Me: Seriously. How the fuck did they come up with it? How the hell do you even say it without feeling stupid? (His nickname sounds like the spanish term for "poop")
Sister: Shut up. You know what I'd feel stupid about? Writing that gay-ass Christmas card of yours.
Me: I shouldn't have listened to you and written how YOU really feel.
Dear Poopy-face,
I can't eat, sleep, laugh, talk, or shit without thinking of you... I mean, your name says it all.
You're everywhere... your six-foot-six (she corrected me on this. Originally I thought he was 6'4" but turns out I was two inches off) frame I see in everything... like doorways and graveyard undertakers.
Your ringtone ID on my phone makes everyone turn around and wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. It annoys everyone and I risk getting punched in the face, but I put up with it because you're SO FUCKIN' AWESOME.
When you text me, I laugh like a hyena who has stumbled upon an abandoned, but freshly killed wildebeest carcass in the Serengeti. The Serengeti... a much warmer place than that frigid tundra known as "Chicago" that I'm so adamant about moving to this upcoming spring.
I have already named our future first five babies.
I hope they have your sleepy, radioactive-green colored eyes.
You're SO fucking hot... even when you call me all those lame, stereotypical names like "Hermosa" and "linda." From you... they sound like poetry.
You are so fucking hot.
Love you, always and FOREVER!
D! 
Sister: Fuck you.

Always a fun time with that bratty poopy-face.

Riding Unicorns

D: Hey... AnoMALIE... wannaaa.... createMike'sChristmasCardForMe?
Me: What?
D: I was wondering if you... wanna make Mike's Christmas card for me...
Me: Make it?
D: Yeah... with like... cardboard paper and stuff.
Me: ... uh...
D: And... come up and write what's gonna go in there and stuff...
Me: ...
D: It's 'cause I'm not good with creative shit... or words. You know that!

So, I guess you could say D is kinda dating that Mike guy... the one from Chicago... the one I was all bummed out about back in September of '10.
It's cute, at least to me it is.
I haven't seen D so happy. She goes around the house laughing like a little hyena most of the day, and she usually has a smile on her face.
She'll continuously tell stories about the guy, or she'll read me one of their text-convos.
It's all very cute. It's like opposites attracted. It's a little "Beauty and the Beast"... he's not ugly or barbaric or anything... but he's just... it's pretty much "burbon-drinking 28-year-old, six-foot-four Mexican artsy Hipster and the vodka-drinking 24-year-old, five-foot-six Mexican classy-club kid." It's kind of weird... quirky.
D and Mike aren't "official," mainly because he lives in Chicago and she lives here. The distance thing is what keeps them from making any formal announcement or whatever.
"It's not fair to him/her." (Bullshit. When you really like someone, you make it work. But hey, that's just me and my fucked up logic... we've all seen how that has worked out for me-- POORLY!)

ANYWAY.
Sister is really into giving gifts to her loved ones. She always has been (she used to go around the house giving all of us random gifts back when she was little. She'd find something, wrap it in toilet paper, hand it to one of us, and tell us to open it in front of her. It was her gift to US... even if the thing she found and wrapped in toilet paper was something that already belonged to us, but was "lost" during the time D went around wrapping it).
Thought Mike isn't her legit boyfriend, he's now part of the gift ring. He's getting a little gift from her, and since she thinks it'd look stupid to just mail him the cardboard box, she wants to make him a cute little card to place inside... because he likes art.
In this family, there's only one person remotely close to being artistic... and that would be me (as if my motherfucking mood swings aren't enough proof that I live the life of a tortured artist. I'm this family's motherfucking van Gogh, damn it!). So, naturally, I was the one asked to do the job.

D: Just imagine... you're writing it to some guy you like... but that lives far away... so you don't want to make it seem like you miss him A LOT, even though you really do.
Me: Ummm...
D: Make it heartfelt... letting him know you think he's AWESOME (inside joke they have with each other in regards to this song), but not like... you're desperate to marry him or anything like that. Can you handle that?
Me: Umm... I guess I can try... ?

Here, my attempt to write something "heartfelt but not desperate," for my sister... to a guy she really likes, but lives far away:
(embarrassingly inaccurate depiction of the world, with one giant landmass that looks more like Pangea. Green Christmas Tree located where I consider Las Vegas to exist. Bold, red line shooting out of the tree, and towards the moon, where a little bearded Santa is located)
1,752 miles feels more like this...
Especially during the holidays.
(Next page)
How close do you think we are to Santa's Sleigh Technology? ;)
Merry Christmas,

(Halfway through this, all I could think was What the fuck is this? 500 Days of Summer? I don't do this shit!)

What was really sent out. 100 percent D's creation, since she caught a glimpse of my card and stopped me in my tracks:
Mike, 
Like riding fuckin' unicorns: You're AWESOME.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
<3,
D

Boom.
She's so practical and concise. I'm jealous.

On your own

Some people are just meant to be alone (yup, sorry, emo post).

It's crazy, because even when I try to stick with someone, to be close to them, I get pushed away.
I say this because of my sister.
I honestly don't know how...  to express how I feel about that kid.
She uses me when she's alone. Because she feels stupid when she has to face anything by herself.
She isn't meant to be alone.

If I ever... for whatever reason... you know, maybe, just maybe, I feel a little... tired of being so alone... I'll ask her if she wants to do anything with me... I have to brace myself for her cold rejection.
It's like... it really irritates her. She'll scoff... then ask me why I can't do anything on my own.
Homie, I've been doing it on my own since... Rafa entered kindergarten.
She'll hesitate if we're invited to the same event... which, if it's a pretty cool event, I'll act uninterested and encourage her to go on her own.
The same would happen back when we were little. She was the popular cute kid, and she'd go off and do her own thing with the girls at the party... usually running away from me before I had a chance to catch up, so I'd have to rely on the kindness of the boys... who'd let me play whatever the fuck they were playing... or they'd at least let me watch (hence where I learned to be an observer. Never really participating in anything. I just watch everything pass me by).

This behavior has reemerged as of recently... I really don't understand why.
She won't want to do anything with me, but will go off with some friend a couple of days later and do whatever it is I was interested in.
It's an ugly feeling.

This came up because today, since MGH is in town, he invited us to hang out with his friends. I wanted to go... which is a little out of character, but it's just me, trying to get out of my depressed funk. Anyway, I wanted to go, but didn't want to be the only chick there--especially when dealing with MGH (I already spent this afternoon hanging out with him... just us two... and that was interesting to say the least)-- so I asked her to please join me. She brushed it off. So... I'm... pretty much home alone, typing this shit up.

Onto what upset me most today: D has planned to spend her birthday in DC with our bro.
Mom and Dad want to send me out there. They think it'd be cute to have all three of us together.
I was excited, because I had never seen Dad so insistent in me going somewhere.
I brought it up to her... and she became angry.
WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING BY MYSELF?! It's a four days weekend with my brother!
...
And that quickly shut me up. I didn't even argue.
When someone gets that perturbed over me being in their company, I'm not going to force myself.
It only hurts because... I mean... if my siblings can't stand me... how the fuck can I expect strangers to want to put up with me?
I'm sorry I offend you so much? I'm sorry to burden you?
What else can I say?

And that's why I've learned to embrace solitude... because it's... pretty much expected of me.
(And yes, it happened again. The cute kid chose her. Hm. I don't understand why I get surprised or upset when it happens. I SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW)

I'm not always going to be here, you know...

JESSI!

I'm an awesome sister.

It may not be apparent, but I actually enjoy traveling with my sister.
We fight like cats and dogs, but we tend to collect funny memories.
This time, it was no different.

As we were waiting for our flight to depart from Vegas, Sister and I noticed this one boy eerily staring at her. He eventually moved his way to sit directly in front of D.
He did not say a word, he would just stare with a smile on his face.
D: I feel like I should... shake his hand... or give him an autograph. What the fuck?
We lost him once we boarded the plane, since Sis and I were the last ones to board... and we we split into sitting in the front between a group of old men.
Sister sat between the two more normal gentlemen, she forced me to sit between the most loquacious, annoying old men on the plane. Add to that, these men had TERRIBLE breath.
Why the fuck don't you guys sit next to each other so I don't have to sit here between you two to suffer through your halitosis-laden conversation?

After nearly three hours of holding in my vomit, the plane stopped in St. Louis, where everyone but about six of us got off. As we waited for the new group of people to board the plane, D moved to the seat next to me and we decided to eat one of our dog biscuits for "lunch."
As we were shamefully eating our banana-nut dog biscuits, the creeper reappeared... and took the seat next to D.

He did not say a word. He just did his creepy stare... where he invades your space... not saying a word.
After D very uncomfortably faced me, she mouthed off "What the fuck?" and that's where my giggle-fest began.
We tried texting each other, but that went to shit because this guy then proceeded to impose himself on us so he could read our phones. Even I was affected in this one.
I updated my status and even twitter... and I'm sure he read it all.

After everyone boarded, that's when he decided to speak up.
He was... strange.
Sister would answer his questions, and as she was doing that, I busted out a book so I could act busy while I was actually laughing my ass off.
At one point, he asked for her name, and she said it was Jessica.

Ok, so we finally arrive in Chicago.
He mirrors all of our movements... so we decide to jump into the girl's bathroom.
The place was packed, and once we were done doing our thing, we headed outside, thinking the coast was clear.
WELL...
He was waiting by the escalator to baggage claim.
"JESSI!"
My sister did not say a word.
Once we were at baggage claim, he stood next to D and once again, called her "Jessi," but this time, he tried going in for a hug.
That was finally where Sister stopped being nice and she looked him up and down and walked away.
"This bitch... taking the liberty to call me by my imaginary nickname... pshhh!"

I have not laughed so hard in a while.
Chicago is FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC.
82 and sunny... I love it.

Adult fight

4th grade.

Scene A:
After getting cornered in the girl's bathroom, my "friends" Michelle and Jenelle (I swear to God, those were real names. I don't joke when I tell you my life could be turned into a sitcom) start beating the shit out of me... for the second time that school day, the third day in a row.
It's the middle of the school year, and it's been the same story for the last two months.
Jenelle stops with the punches, stands still, ponders something, then finally speaks up.
Jenelle: AnoMALIE... WHY don't you ever HIT BACK, you dumb ass?
I look up, stare her in her eyes, and very sincerely, but quietly say
"Because I don't hit my friends." (even writing that line now, 17 years later, my eyes get watery)
Jenelle: You don't hit your friends.... HAHAHA! You hear that, Michelle? She doesn't hit HER FRIENDS! HAHAHAHAHA! Well, we're NOT ::punches my stomach:: YOUR FRIENDS!
And the two continued kicking my ass until recess was over.

Scene B:
I'm in line in the cafeteria, waiting to have lunch. I notice one of D's friends tugging on my shirt.
DsFriend: D wants to talk to you... she's crying in the bathroom.
DsOtherFriend: Angelica made her cry.
I forgot about being hungry, I forgot about possibly getting in trouble for leaving the cafeteria before being dismissed by the teacher, and I just ran to the bathroom with the two friends to find my sister.
As Sister sobbed and told me her story behind her tears (Angelica teased her about how she cried when it rained and she then made fun of my mom), I felt my blood boil.
After calming my sister down and walking her to her class so she could sit outside and wait for her teacher, I went ahead and looked for Angelica.
It didn't take too long to find her, she was the only blond amongst the little hispanic girls.
I walked up to Angelica, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and very quietly, but sternly warned her
Me: You make my sister cry ONE. MORE. TIME, I'll fucking kick your ass. You hear me? ONE. MORE. TIME.
I went on with my day, got my ass kicked by my "friends" one more time, but I was called over to my sister's class a couple of minutes before the school day was over.
Angelica had been crying all day, her teacher--who was also D's-- wanted to talk to me because she said Angelica had told her I had threatened to kick her ass.
Teacher: Did you really do that, AnoMALIE?
I looked over at Angelica.
Me: The girl crying over there? I don't even know her.
The bell rang, and the teacher let me go.
I rode the bus with Angelica. I walked behind her all the way to her apartment complex, and as she was turning around to close the door to the gate of her complex, we made eye-contact.
Never. Again. Leave my sister alone.

Angelica wasn't the first or only peer of D's I threatened/fought. I fought boys who physically hurt her (I walked by one boy and made that throat-slitting gesture with my thumb the moment I heard he had made her bleed. I then found him a little later and body slammed him before lunch was over), and I even dropped whatever I was doing the moment I would see her in trouble (I was once eating an ice cream cone as I walked out of my house to see my neighbor/cousin dragging my sister by her hair. I dropped my cone and ran at that chick's back and started pounding on her face so she could let go of my sister. Once that happened, I continued to punch her until she stopped trying to defend herself). I turned into a heartless monster the moment I'd see tears in my sister's eyes. I made motherfuckers pay for every tear she shed.

When it comes to me getting hurt, I'll stand quietly and take the punishment... especially that year in fourth grade.
People would always ask me why I'd put up with it... and the best I could come up with was a shrug.
I never fought back. Not even once. (I still don't even fight back, for the most part. I'll swallow my rage until I'm physically sick, vomiting all over the place from the built up bile)
And NO ONE stood up for me (well... ONCE, someone did... just once, and I don't think I've cried that hard in public... just because it meant so damn much to me to see someone finally try and stop the violence).
However, I will fight anyone or anything who tries to hurt the ones I love. I go ballistic.
It has always been that way, and it still is that way.
I fight for my loves like I wish someone would fight for me.

I only mention this because last night, right after I finished posting my entry, Sister walked into my room with a shaky voice and said
D: I got in my first adult fight just now...

I didn't look over at her, because I was busy with the laptop WHILE trying to catch up on my DVR shit.
However, D just sat on my bed and I could hear her breathing was shaky.
Me: Wait... what? "Adult fight?" Like an argument...
I turned around, and saw her eyes were red, the right side of the bridge of her nose was purple, and her left arm was bruised and bleeding.
Me: What... the... what the fuck?!

Last night was a stupid "concert" in town, very similar to the rap-olympics or whatever the fuck that's called. Bunch a dudes go on stage and "spit rhymes."
Woo. Hoo.
We had all been invited by none other than the Boys... from Europe.
The main person interested was 30thBirthdayBoy, because he's kind of seeing D's BestieFromtheBay.
Since I don't dig that scene... AT ALL, I chose not to go. It was just D and her bestie, with the stupid Boys who think they know anything about Europe.
I guess 30thBirthdayBoy has been seeing many other chicks, and one of the chicks he has been hooking up with lost her marbles when she saw him making out with DsBestieFromtheBay.
The ghetto hoodrat swatted at 30thBdayBoy, he decided to bounce, grabbing DsBestieFTB to take her away, and D followed, not knowing what was going on.
Next thing she knows, D gets sucker-punched in the eye.
It was the stupid crazy hoodrat.
Two different GUY cousins of ours saw this go down, yet they did and said nothing... even if they DID know the bitch.
D realized her phone had gotten lost in the scuffle, and so, she and Bestie decided to go back into the venue (The House of Blues... that magical venue).
They bump into the crazy hood rat.
Hoodrat goes for Bestie's hair and they scuffle.
D tries to break up the fight, but Hoodrat's friend pulls D by the hair/earring. Since D has short hair, she slips out of the grasp, and she manages to connect a punch with the bitch pulling her hair.
These four girls are brawling... at a rap-olympics... the only latinas in the venue are providing the real entertainment.
Anyway, security comes and breaks up the fight.
D leaves with her bestie--who has a busted lip and a scratch running from her right eye down to her neck-- and the boys, OUR cousins (actually, 30thBdayBoy is the son of my sister's godmother) who witnessed the whole thing? They do nothing.
NOTHING.

I was furious about this last night. I was sending texts back and forth, demanding a name... but OF COURSE everyone was telling me to drop it (they know I may be a quiet girl, but the moment someone crosses me, I become ruthless)... and they were acting as if they didn't see the fight.

I'm no longer fuming. I'm just "disappointed," but at the same time glad I found out the worth of this so called "family."
Two days ago I would have thrown down with any cunt who'd try to hurt them...
Today? I won't lift a fucking finger if I see them dying of thirst on the street.

Yo, I'll fight tooth and nail for my loves if I have to...
but the moment you prove to me that you won't do the same for yours... well, you just become a stranger to me then.

NEVER let go, motherfucker!

And the award for greatest entrance into my home goes to...
MY SISTER!

When did this happen?
Today, at around 6:30PM.
What was she wearing?
Floral HnM bikini. White cover-up shirt that was down to her butt. Black purse... that was dripping water.

Doesn't sound weird?
That was ALL she was wearing.

At first I paid no mind to her stomping in the house.
I was celebrating the new U17 World Cup Championship going to Mexico. I (along with Mom and Rafa) was grubbing on some motherfucking tacos in the kitchen and feeling fantastic!
Arriba Mexico, cabrones!!Auuuuuch!

D: You didn't try calling me today?!
Me: No.
Mom: No.
Bro: Were we SUPPOSED to?
D: My fucking phone's DEAD!
The three of us sitting at the kitchen table: ... OK... ?
D: You REALLY don't see anything wrong?!

I took a better look at D.
Her hair was wet... not drenched, but it was obvious it was well on its way to getting completely air-dried. It had that beach look... where the tips are still wet and the hair is in those weird clumps... the strands stuck together. That "sexy beach hair" shit girls always go for.
Ok... so she jumped in the water when she went to the lake... 
(oh... I guess maybe I should have explained she had been at the lake since seven in the morning)
My eyes then inspected her shirt.
The white cover-up shirt was see-through... since it was still visibly wet. It was as if she were only wearing her floral bikini top...
Oh damn... she REALLY got wet.
D: I'M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!! OR SHOES, DAMN IT!
Me: Oh... I thought... that was on purpose... ?
D: I. AM. NOT. WEARING. PANTS! How is that normal?!
Me: Hey, I don't know, fool! You do weird shit sometimes... maybe you forgot the pants and shoes at your friend's house or whatever.
D: THE MOTHERFUCKING BOAT SANK!

We all sat quietly... as if contemplating what D had just said (although I was trying to make faces at her to alert her that her hip tattoos were COMPLETELY visible through her shirt. I was giving her my best "PUT SOME MOTHERFUCKING PANTS ON! Mom's gonna KILL you if she sees the tattoos!" look).
Ohhhhhhh.... ok... wait... the boat did what?!

Yes.
The boat her friend (aka Ex-Boyfriend) had rented SANK.
I'd go into detail... but apparently there's some sort of legal issue going on now... so... it's best if I shut the fuck up about that.
What I CAN say was that D was on the boat as it was sinking because the waves were getting crazy at the lake. She was freaking out because she doesn't know how to swim... and one of her ex-coworkers drowned at the lake a few years ago after he fell off a jet-ski.

D says she had her pants and her shoes in her hand, and when it came down to rescue time "that shit was the FIRST thing I let go of! FUCK THAT! I wanted OFF THE BOAT ASAP. Fuck the pants and shoes! FUCK EVERYTHING! I didn't want to drown!"
D: Dude! It was like a fucking action movie! It was... fucking Titanic! You just see the boat sinking and all you wonder is if you stay on or jump ship!
The spot where they abandoned ship was very close to a tiny island of jagged rocks... and I guess D was the last to jump.
It was D and one of her besties who were refusing to jump off... because everybody's belongings were on the boat... as in: everyone's handbags were in the boat, underwater.
The ex convinced Sis to trust him and jump to safety.
Everyone who jumped got bloody (I mean, HELLO! JAGGED ROCKS!), but D's bestie was reluctant to jump. She stayed on that boat until the rangers showed up to rescue the gang.

The boys of the group tried rescuing the bags that were now rapidly sinking to the bottom of the lake... but since all BUT my sister's bag were beach bags, the majority of people's belongings went to hell (the guys gave many of their belongings to the girls to place in their purses. So they lost car/house keys and wallets... fucking terrible). Sister's bag had a zipper, and it's second nature for her to zip her shit... so everything remained in there... and oddly enough, her bag was the only one FLOATING (trust me, her bag is heavy as shit... I don't know how the fuck that shit floated in water). So, sister recovered everything BUT her pants and shoes... but it was all wet.
The thing that broke her heart most? Her phone. That thing died in her hands when the little guy tried coming back to life.

After this harrowing story of survival, Sister was so loving... and dependent.
She wanted me to accompany her everywhere... even the Apple store (D, be without a phone for more than a day? Are you shitting me? IMPOSSIBLE!).
D: After having my life flash before my eyes... I just really want to spend time with you guys, my family. Today was terrifying... all I could think of was fucking Titanic... the part with Rose and Jack... that "never letting go" shit. Oh my God... it was SO TRUE! *Ex* was so... his voice was... so different. He was so... I was the only one he was protecting. Oh man.... oh my God... I think I fell in love with him as he was saving my life... even if my legs are all fucked up and I can't even walk now.

So... I spent the remainder of my time coddling my sister.
I went to the goddamn Apple store in shitty clothes, reeking of TACOS... with these two, embarrassingly large, salsa stains at the corners of my mouth (unbeknownst to me, obviously), for crying out loud.

The shit I do for my sister.

Chi-Cha-NOHHHH!

There are some days when I just know, from the moment I wake up, that my day's going to suck.
Today was such an example.

I was very kindly woken up at 5:20 in the morning by the nice smell of minced garlic.

Mom has become addicted to hiking at 6AM... and since I'm all for her getting healthy, I accompany her.
Today, she woke up, prepared her marinade for the afternoon's carne asada, and THEN she decided to wake me up.
It was quite pleasant... like getting rear-ended by a garbage truck.

Anyway, the day continued to be weird, mostly me fighting the sandman who was trying to force me back to sleep. At some point I even got in an argument over chilaquiles... Why? I'm not sure. I think I was upset over the tortillas that were being used. Typical shit grouchy people complain about when they lack an adequate amount of sleep.

But the show stopper came at 4:45PM... right before I drove away to the gym (a little flash flood warning doesn't scare me! ... actually, I was too sleepy to give a fuck. My judgement was clouded), I received a notification from FB, so I decided to check it out on my phone before pulling out of my driveway.
What was the first thing I saw?

... haunted me the rest of the day.

What the... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!
In case you can't tell, that's my sister... with a motherfucking Mexican national hero.
CHICHARITO! CHICHARITO!

I tell you... she meets Nas, Michael Jordan... even Shaq the other day... now this guy, the sweetest, most charismatic player I've had the joy of watching... the guy who has put Mexico's name up there.
And who have I met?
Just these two:

I actually recognized the husband before the actual celebrity, Lorena Herrera.
Oops.

How the fuck?
Actually, my entire family has had brushes with cool famous people... I'm the only luckless fool who has yet to meet anyone remarkable.

Anyway, I was SO fucked up over the fact that D had met only the most adorable soccer player on the planet/best goal scorer of the season... that I fucked up my left leg while kickboxing (all I could think about was Chicharito and my sister. It ultimately ended in me kicking like a jackass one too many times and pulling something in my hamstring/groin area).

I've been hobbling around the house... trying to stretch my hamstring/quad and groin area... all the while lamenting over my crappy luck.
Oh well.

(There's this creepy aspect to all of this--besides my freak out over a younger boy-- in that not five minutes before D posted the photo, I was compelled to visit Chicharito's "official" FB page. I have NO clue why I did it, I just clicked on the link, and I was immediately drawn to one of his photos in particular:

Am I weird for melting at the sight of this?

It's creepy to me, because I've been dealing with some religious issues for a while now--I won't bore you with detail-- and I caught myself admiring Chicharito's devotion. I know mine isn't that strong... I mean... he does this before EVERY. SINGLE. MATCH. I don't even feel comfortable making the sign of the cross in public sometimes. I find his dedication admirable... sweet, and admirable. Anyway, I saw this, and caught myself wondering how someone could be so devoted... and I also wondered if his devotion was responsible for his success. Then I saw D's post and freaked out. Just creepy coincidences that happen sometimes)

Recite me a little something

This Angry AnoMALIE is not an ANoMALIE I like... and I'm sure neither do any of my friends/family.
Aside from channeling the anger into workouts where I nearly kill myself (if it doesn't hurt, I'm not doing enough. I live by Radiohead's "Creep" line: "I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control." There's a joy in that hurt that keeps me from thinking about anything other than how irritating it is to get sweat in your eye and not being able to wipe it off because you're in the middle of a circuit/squat session. It's true that I don't care about the hurt, because THIS hurt I can control... and it feels SO damn good. Ok, I'm off THAT tangent), I've gone back to painting. I'm working on an oldie but goodie right now. I might post a photo of it if it comes out like I picture it in my head (a lot of "happy little trees"... though they're not too happy, since they're all bare... my favorite type of tree).
So far, it has worked today.
It also helps that Mexico played today and massacred their opponent once again in the... Gold Cup? I don't know which tourney it is in english, since my soccer life revolves around the spanish language. My boys Dos Santos, Chicharito, and De Nigris scored... what else can I ask for (ugh, besides wishing that damn doping scandal five of the squad members are encountering would have never happened. Fucking idiots)?

I'm ok. Or at least getting there.

Know who's not OK now? My sister.
Poor girl is currently going through some shit I went through in the past.
Last night Sister was supposed to go to her friend's birthday party, but since she had to be an adult, she ended up working until 2AM.
Her friends were all at the party, and ONE in particular, the ONE who follows her on Twitter started talking shit about her to everyone else. It got to the point where he started reading Sister's tweets out loud... at the party.
What kind of shit is that? Fucking prick.
Luckily, it appears the only prick at the party was that ONE guy. Everyone else started telling him to mind his own goddamn business and quit talking shit.
Still, once Sister found out, she was heartbroken and irate at the same time (see, it's hereditary. Mom's personality seems to be pretty fucking dominant. Though I guess this is more of a Nature vs. Nurture type deal, huh?).
While my drama wasn't Twitter-related, I have had two occasions where someone recites word-for-word part of my blog to me. That has been pretty infuriating.
I had to lock up my original on-line diary because something like that went down... and because a family member found it and went to my parents and told them I needed... I think he said "psychological help" (bitch, please, I was 19. You think I was troubled then? READ MY SHIT NOW!). Fucking asshole better not find me now, or else he'll probably propose a fucking intervention for me.

Sister went ahead and deleted her Twitter, since you can't lock that shit like you can a diary (well, you CAN make it private, but remember, the shit-talker WAS one of her friends who she allowed to follow her). Instead of deleting her "friend" she went ahead and got rid of the drama all together.
Poor kid.
So yeah, she's the one moping around the house, hating life right now.
Surprisingly, I managed to tame the beast within who wanted to go to this guy's house and rip his balls off (since he clearly has no need for them, being that he's such a fucking PUSSY).

ARRRRRRGGGGG! ME SO ANGRY... AGAIN!
Nah, just kidding.

I Love My Sees-tuuur Day

With less than a week to be prepared to hit the East Coast, I really needed to get my act together today.
Sister's on the same boat, so we decided to turn today into another "I love my sister!/We are sisters!" day and spend HOURS together.
What can we do for hours... what do we NEED to do for hours? Shop.
Since she works at HnM, we kept the shopping strictly there, for her employee discount.

Here are 3 highlights from our day:

1. "Worst"
Getting out of the car, we talk about how level 5 of the Caesar's Palace parking garage ALWAYS smells like meat.
Sister says it smells like bacon, I say the smell is too disgusting and insulting to bacon, and that it's probably sausage.
D: Ah, dude! Talking about that... no matter how hard I try, I just can't like sausage.
Me: Hahaha....
D: No, I mean the food. Each time I go to Holsteins, I think I should give it a go, and maybe I'll just magically like the flavor... but no... I fucking hate those damn... what are they called... they're... like... those sausage links you know... the German ones.
Me: German sausage... ??
D: They're... I can't even say the name... something about "worst."
Me: Bratwurst?
D: Yeah! Those shits! For some reason, each time I'm drunk, we head out to Holsteins and I ALWAYS order that shit! And then when they bring me the order, I accuse them of giving me the wrong thing, and everyone else reminds me that it really IS mine, and that I always order it. I always end up angry for ordering that shit!
Me: That's what you get for drinkin'.
D: I turn fucking German when I'm drunk! But I can't even say the fucking word when I'm sober... so I don't know how THAT happens! They have so many options... and I order fucking blah-worst. So fucking disgusting.

2. Out!
The HnM Sister works at is that giant Forums Shop one. It's pretty radtastic.
I've only purchased accessories from there, and an undershirt... but who needs to try on an undershirt?
Anyway, this time around, I had to purchase a dress because I don't want to go to Princeton looking like a slutty hoodrat. So when I found a dress, I HAD to try it on first.
Sister had about three dresses to try, while I had one.
She knew the guy working the fitting rooms... and they bantered about how she "knew the drill."
Drill? What the fuck? This IS a fitting room, right?
I stood and watched this said "drill."
He walked sister to her dark fitting room, he opened both its doors at the same time, walked her in, then closed the two doors behind him.
Simple enough.
He then walked me to my room.
It was pretty, roomy... I was so busy marveling at everything, I didn't notice him walk out.
Ok, so I try on my dress, love it, then I'm ready to walk out, all in about two minutes.
I turn around and stare at the doors.
Do I push one before the other? Do I have to open them both at the same time? Wait... where do these... doors latch?
I sat there staring at the doors for about a minute, trying to figure it all out.
Push the door?
I pushed one of the doors and it wouldn't budge.
WTF?
Both?
I put a hand on each door, then pushed again.
No luck.
WHAT THE HELL?! Do I have to call the damn guy over to get out of the fucking room? What is this? Not even BeBe has this shit at their store.
I decided to text D.
Me: Um... how do I get out?! Hahahaha!
However, I had forgotten how SHITTY reception is inside dressing rooms... and the text wouldn't send.
I was irritated, I felt stupid, and I just wanted to get out of that goddamn futuristic box of doom.
I did what is second nature to me: I put some motherfucking shoulder into it.
I linebackered that shit and broke free.
Do you know how hard it is to look calm and collected in front of the "cool" H and M workers after you've broken free from captivity?
Very.
I calmly reached for my golden little garment number thingy hanging by the side of my room, and walked toward the kid... handed him my "One" and walked away... making no eye-contact.
What happens when you exit the fitting rooms? Reception returns.
I remember about my text to D. I try and stop it from sending.
Too late, I see "Sent" on my screen.
I HEAR her two seconds later.
D: HAHAHAHA!
The text ten seconds later:
YOU CAN'T GET OUT?! HAHAHAHAHA!
I text back:
nm. I broke free. hahaaaa!

I'm not stepping foot in that store EVER again.

3. Meeeeow!
Sister was telling me of her crush on one of her managers. I guess last night (it was a press party she had to work, so she was all dolled up and whatnot) he grabbed her by the waist and complimented her.
D: So I felt a hand go on my hip like this.
::D stands behind me and then grabs my side tightly::
D: and I freak out and turn around, ready to elbow a motherfucker. I see it's him and he tells me "I didn't think there could be anyone who could rock that dress. But you look beautiful in it."
(the dress is a black, long tank with a giant, white tiger in the front. All the coworkers laugh at the shirt when they have to fix the store. "Now what idiot would buy this?!" and Sister bought it to shut them up)
D: I stood there and just... my God... my crush is entering the crazy level.
Me: But I thought all your male coworkers were gay?
D: I thought he was gay! But... not after yesterday. What gay man does that?

After this conversation, we bumped into him at the store. Sister saw him from behind.
D: The manager who grabbed me yesterday is that guy with the mohawk!
MOHAWK?! This guy HAS to be cute! MUST. SEE.
Me: He's leaving! Speed up! I'm not leaving this place without seeing him!
(we pick up the pace and he seemed to hear us, because he turned around)
Guy: D! Shopping AGAIN?
D: What can I say? I love it here. What time did you leave last night?
Guy: A little after one. Girl, you were ROCKIN' that dress last night!
D: That poor little tiger no one wanted...
(This is where the manager MEOWS at her and lifts his right hand as if it's a paw and he's lashing out at her)
Guy: You looked FIERCE!
We all laugh.
Gaygaygaygaygay.
Guy: Next time don't duck out on the nightclub.

As we were leaving, sister turned around and I just smiled and talked through my teeth.
Me: ... yeah....
D: SO cute, right?
Me: So gay.
D: Aww... see... I was telling myself there WAS a chance.
Me: D, he's gay.
D: But he GRABBED me last night.
Me: D, he MEOWED at you.
D: But he wanted me to go to the club with him
Me: D, he imitated a lion while saying "fierce."
D: (sighs) He's so fine. I don't care. The crush is staying.

The guy was cute. Looked like an Indian/Puerto Rican mix. He had thick eyebrows that were nicely groomed... probably threaded. He had a nicely trimmed goatee. He was really skinny. His mohawk was tall and AWESOME. He was wearing a red flannel jacket tied at his waist. His shirt was a sleeveless shirt that could have been worn by A.C. Slater back in the Saved by the Bell days (as if it were. Since it fit this kid extremely baggy). I didn't get a glimpse of his pants. I was too busy trying to process everything else going on above his waist.
Cute guy... who could totally join Sister at Holsteins and show her how to properly down a bratwurst... without chewing... in a single try... without gaging. Must I keep going?