Karate chopping

Dad has been in Nicaragua for the last week, he actually flies in later today.

My mother, while incredibly aggressive, physically tough, violent, and tyrannical as she is, has one gigantic flaw: she is ridiculously afraid of the dark... I'm talking straight phobia status.
Mom can't listen to scary stories without panicking... and when she panics, it's not a girly panic, it's a violent "SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND GET OUT OF HERE! I'M NOT PLAYING" type panic. It does not matter how much we try to rationalize with her over how fucking ridiculous some of the things we're discussing might be... she will have nothing to do with it.
She will strangle a fucking intruder with her bare hands... but god forbid anyone mentions a ghost having some unfinished business in the living realm.

So, I have a scaredy-cat mom.
In Mexico, she never allowed us to sleep in our own room. Instead, Mom would scoot together both beds in the "kid's bedroom" and would have Sister, Brother, her, and me sleep in the same giant bed... with a nightlight plugged in the entire night, every night of our Mexico stay.
This was possible up until Rafa reached puberty... at around 13. By the time Rafa felt he was an adult, he moved out of the room and left Sister and I to deal with Mom's fear of the darkness.
Sister was around 13 when she decided she wanted to sleep in her own bed, so while we were still in the same room, sister got her own bed, and I shared my bed with Mom.
I STILL do that in Mexico... well, not the two final year's of my grandma's life... those summers Mom slept in the same bed as her mom... that sad sight... but we picked it right back up in 2010, and 2012.

In the states, Sister and I would sleep in Mom's bed whenever Dad left on trips with his church... this is from 2000 and on.
We did it because she is such a sad little panda when she has to go to bed, often waiting until three in the morning to finally knock out... lighting every single damn light in the house until she reaches her room.
Also, because her bed is huge and comfortable as fuck... and it's Mom... c'mon, that's just some comforting shit.

So... guess what I've been doing all week... Yep, I've moved in to Mom's room.
I've been watching the lady go to sleep each night... kind of easy, considering she snores and it drives me too fucking insane to go to sleep at a godly hour.
I think the stress of dealing with her snoring was finally pent up long enough for me to lash out last night... well, I guess technically yesterday.
I was sleeping, and it was some time between 3-4 in the morning, when I woke up as I felt my left hand raising in the air. I know I was having some sort of aggressive dream, and that I woke up when I felt my arm in the air and thought "HOLD UP... this is happening for real!" I saw my mother was in the fetal positing, her back to me, and my arm was already half way down into the karate chop. I was fully awake when my karate chop hit the little lady smack dab in the middle of her left rib.
That's right, I karate chopped my sleeping mother.
I saw Mom flail upon my hand making contact... and I immediately closed my eyes.
I'll just act asleep and make her think she dreamt the physical contact...

Guys, I felt terrible.
But I did laugh uncontrollably when my mind randomly decided to remind me of the night's activity as I was driving home from the gym.

When my mother returned from work, I couldn't stand the guilt, and I finally told her what happened. My mother asked me to reenact the scene, since she had no recollection of it ever happening. When I landed my hand on her ribs, she immediately felt the pain where I had karate chopped her.
Mom: Oh my god... you could have killed me!
Me: Don't be dramatic... it was an accident. I did it all the time to D.
Mom: You need to stop watching all that stupid ID channel, murder garbage.
Me: No, you just need to quit being so lame about the dark.
Mom: I think you're better off single...

She might be right... I may be able to karate chop my mother in my sleep without any repercussions... but a man? I'd get my own 20/20 episode.

Teddy Osita

Guess what this girl is doing right now...

I'm sleeping in my momma's bed, right next to the little lady.
She's such a little chicken, she always makes me do this when Dad leaves... not that I can complain... well, kinda, sometimes... when she smothers me-- yes, I'm smothered by a woman who stands no taller than 5'3" on a good day.
It's an activity I've always done, and when we go to Mexico, I always sleep next to my mother.
I guess that's something I can do without much problem since I've slept next to someone since I was about three, and D came into my life. I've learned to squeeze anywhere in order to get some shuteye-- I can sleep standing up.
I definitely don't need to feel someone with me in order to sleep peacefully, but it seems the people in my life DO. I oblige... since I'm into comforting others.
D and I still share a bed when we travel anywhere... We ended up sharing her bed when I visited her in Chicago. Before leaving the house, D still had moments where she'd walk into my room at night and ask if she could sleep in my bed (of course I'd let her... after making fun of her for a couple of minutes).

I'm my family's living, breathing teddy bear. This empty shell of a human manages to comfort her loved ones with just her presence.
... maybe it's because they think I'll be the first one taken out in case something bad goes down? They'll have a chance to run once they hear me getting killed...

... Eh, whatevs. I'd probably be cool with that anyway. 

H-ehhhhh-ven!

What do I imagine heaven will look like?

Shirtless, Spanish tennis players playing golf in the locker-room.
Mmmmm.... mmmm... mmmm!
Ok, I gotta stop now...
Nadal and Feliciano Lopez are... uffff!
Oh man... STOP!

What will it smell like?

(protein) CARROT CAKE! That I MADE (recipe found HERE)!
I'm such an adult!

Mmmmm....
Now do you understand why I'm such a well-behaved, arguably-saintly girl? (Shit, right now I'm glad I'm such a good girl. Would I be like the average girl out there, I'd be shitting bricks right about now. My fucking body's all out of whack... two weeks behind. TWO WEEKS! What the fuck is that shit? I'm about to get all hypochondriac on people and start suspecting I have some kind of serious health problem. I'm clock-work, dude, CLOCK-WORK! What is this?!)

I'm tired. I was woken up by my sister at 4:30AM as she was showering to get ready to go to work. She was making so much damn noise, I couldn't go back to sleep.
Once she left for work at 6:30AM, I was too angry to catch some shut-eye afterward... so I stayed awake and watched some good ol' Mexican programming ("Hoy," on Galavision, because it brings back beautiful memories).

Now, I'm just sleepy as hell. So... I'm going to bed to continue having nightmares about being pregnant or carrying some massive cancer in my uterus. Woo-hoo.

Sure enough

It hasn't been a week, and I'm already moody/mean as all hell.
I walk around like a zombie... I respond with monosyllabic grunts when shaking/nodding my head seems like too laborious a task, and I curl up on the bed/sofa/floor and fall asleep within minutes during random times of the day.
Then tomorrow... ugh. I'm so scared for the Mexico-France game, I've decided not to watch. Instead, I'm going to run at the gym with my headphones on until the damn match is over.
I'm going to look up the game's result in the same fashion I'd look up my biochemistry/molecular biology/mammalian physiology exam scores: with fear, on an empty stomach, and with lots of tissues... ready to bawl my ass off... and if I'm lucky enough to be home alone, I'm going to scream.

This is fucking torture. Good thing it only comes around once every four years.
(Oh man... and today's Spain game... I could not... I was... living-dead girl, man. I didn't cry because I was too shocked)

P.S. If I hear a Ke$ha song one more time... I'm going to look up that bitch's address, drive to her house, ring her doorbell, and punch her in her throat. Bitch can't sing... if I want to hear a drunk sorority girl mumble, I'll just drop by Maryland and Harmon, shit.

I'm sorry, sleepy time!

For the last couple of weeks, I've been trying to adjust my natural sleeping schedule.
It has been rough, and I am never happy about waking up at any time prior to 10AM.
I've managed to train my body to get up at 8 in the morning, considering I go to bed at 3 in the morning.
That was the best I could do.
Now, the day finally came, and I never made it to waking up at 6... at least, not with a smile on my face or the desire to be nice to people.

Why am I doing this?
Because the damn World Cup is in South Africa.
But I guess it could be worse, like that time it was held in Korea. Those were the most miserable times of my life.

Anyway, the games start tomorrow and my Mexican lovelies get to play the opener.
6AM.
Nice.

So, I apologize ahead of time...
for he next month is going to be a rough one for me. But, LET'S DO THIS!

 Go Mexico! Go Spain! Go Portugal! USA... well, don't be total dicks, k?

My room looks like a fucking embassy.

Ah, yes, and just for shits 'n giggles, here's my deluded bracket:

Crazy? Just a little.

Mission Impossible: AnoMALIE Sleeps

Man... someone didn't want me to sleep last night.

I went to bed pretty early, expecting to sleep for as long as my back permitted.
However, once three in the morning rolled around, I knew getting a good night's rest was going to be impossible.

Problem number 1:
I was woken up by the hiccups.

Yeah. This is the second time in my life I have to wake up because I scare myself with my hiccuping.
The first time was in Mazatlan where I slept with three other roommates. That time I woke up to see my very scared cousin hovering over me as she clenched a rosary (if I were possessed, I wouldn't just be hiccuping).
She scared the hiccups right out of my system.

Last night it was around 3:30 in the morning when I woke up because I was so loud... and my chest hurt a lot.
I tried going back to sleep, but the hiccups kept surprising me.
I became so frustrated that I had to sit up and hold my breath about seven times.
I went back to bed at around 4.
Very freaking irritating.

Problem number 2:
At 8 in the morning, I received a call (just when I thought it was safe to leave my phone on all day).
Well, I didn't actually answer.
I didn't recognize the number, so I sent it straight to voicemail.
The phone then beeped because this person left a message.
"Hey, it's Tom," and he proceeded to recite his phone number very s-l-o-w-l-y... like a robot.
Now, I do know a Tom... but he doesn't live in the 801 area (this is the second time in three months I get someone calling me from an 801 number thinking I'm someone else. I'm starting to wonder if some jerk cousin wrote my number on a bathroom stall or something).
I immediately became cranky... cussed a little (fucking Tom... what the hell is his problem? Mother fucker)... and forced myself back to sleep (because while I was busy cussing at stupid Tom, I kept hearing this clicking sound that made me a little paranoid... but I decided to ignore).

Final problem:
It was 11 in the morning when a huge rumbling woke me up.

WTF?! Is Vegas having an Earthquake?!

No. It was my closet.
I've collected so much crap in my closet, that finally, after 8 years, it decided to collapse in on itself.
All my clothes, bags, and other junk in there spilled all over the floor.

That final problem finally made me get up.
Something definitely didn't want me taking a break and snoozing the day away.

Now I can't complain I have nothing to do today.

What a freaking hassle.
It's going to take forever to get rid of some of that crap.

Ready, like Oscar de la Hoya!

Cinco de Mayo!
Ajuaaaaaaaa! ::shoots up in the air while holding down imaginary mustache (ahaha...imaginary...that's good, J/K!)::
Viva la raza, homes!

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Cinco de Mayo is SO a gringo celebration. An excuse to get drunk with a Mexican while singing something like "Ay, ay, ay, ayyyyy! Cantaaa y no lloressssss!" And then taking body-shots off some "Mexican."

Ask "normal Mexicans" (i.e. Mexican-Americans) when Mexico's independence is, and I can assure you more than two thirds will get it wrong. I can almost bet on it.

Anyway!!
Mami's back!!!
(Yes, I'm 22.)

I was attempting to go to bed at 2:30 AM, but the rumbling of a loud ass diesel truck "woke" me up (i.e. interrupted my slow Chayanne jam, "La Playa").
I looked out my window (I hate it... because it juts out of the house... and while I was scared of a drive-by getting me back in the old neighborhood, I now fear some douchebag speed racer busting through my wall and killing me in my sleep) and saw it was my tiny little mom getting out of my dad's huge truck.

I ran outside in my pajamas (mistake, cause it was freaking freezing) and greeted her.
I helped her un-load a ton of things she brought for us (candy, "Takis" chips... the BEST chips on this planet! Some Mexican Fresca-- the BEST and ONLY soda I'll drink. She even brought some contraband black berries from my grandpa's tree).

It was crazy to see how happy she was.
Then we got to the story telling... and she made me cry.
If I think about it, I'll still get bummed out.
She also told me my aunt took pictures of my grandpa... and I'm definitely not going to be looking at those.
She told me all these weird things my grandpa did pre and post death. It's kind of creepy.

Ex: She said that the night before he died, he fixed everything in his room... and laid out a new pair of dress pants and dress shirt.
He always had a thing for telling us
"When I die, you better dress me up nice. New clothes, new shoes, nicely combed, neatly shaven. I don't want to get buried looking like some homeless beggar."
That night before he died, he also shaved...
Weird stuff.

So, as Mom unpacked, I cried a little... we laughed a little... and then we got a tad bit angry thinking about the drama my aunt brought to the whole thing because she was trying to get as much stuff as she could. We stayed up talking till 4 in the morning, then I finally went to bed at 4:30.
All in all... I'm glad she's back.

HOWEVER, not all can be fine and dandy.
Last night I got this text message from my little sister:
Hey, Jessica's staying over, so I'm gonna go pick her up, take her to *Twiggy's* house, then we're coming home. Clean up my room and do my bed.

Ok, anything else, Master?

See, my little sister loses control. I can see when you invite people over to your own house... but when you live with your folks, you can't just make arrangements like that without letting the people in charge know. She sees Mom isn't home, and she goes all wild child on me and does as she damn well pleases.

So here I am, 11 PM cleaning her stupid, dirty ass room... I finish that and then check out her bathroom.
Fucking atrocious. That's all I can say.
So then I start cleaning her bathroom (well, this girl's gonna have to use it at some point, right? Imagine the horror when she walks in there and sees five different types of bacterial colonies living in the sink!)... and then I move on to cleaning the mirrors... and then I start sweeping the floor.
I felt like maybe I should have just changed my name to Maria and done my hair up in two braids.
Si, Señora. Have any children you want me to raise?

Little sister strolled in the house at 2 in the morning with her loud buddy Jessica.
Loud Buddy Jessica's our cousin, but still... I don't really get along because our personalities clash and she's only 16.
I almost had a heart attack because for the last 3 hours I had been trying to play a convincing role for Dad, to make him believe Little Sister was already in the house, and here you have these girls practically ringing bells as they walked in the house.

When Mom came, it was a total shock for both girls... and they tried to act as if they were already asleep.
But Mom was pissed.
Mom became hurt when Little Sister didn't go outside to greet her. She wouldn't have been so upset had she not heard Little Sister and Loud Buddy Jessica giggling and gossiping in Little Sister's room.
"Mira que cabrona..."

Then today, as I was having a dream of a giant nephron being stuck in my eye (yeah... it was a STUPID dream), I was woken up by Little Sister and Loud Buddy Jessica talking about, what else, boys.
If they talked like normal people, I wouldn't have heard them... but here they were squealing and "Oh! I know!!"ing loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
Sure, I got to listen to some good gossip about Little Sister... but it was gossip I could have lived without ever knowing (seriously).
She also committed the huge mistake of waking me up (and I had only had 4 of my mandatory 7 hours of sleep!).
No house was on fire... no person was dead... just... some stupid ass boy had pissed Little Sister off and she was boasting about the way she broke up with him with Loud Buddy Jessica cheering and admiring Little Sister (sometimes, I feel like I'm living a movie).

I'm not a happy AnoMALIE right now... but my Mom's home!
And SPIDERMAN 3 tonight!!

Freaking mornings, I hate you.

Beware: Do not wake the AnoMALIE!

It doesn't take long before people realize that I really love my sleeping time.

If you're going to wake me up from my slumber... someone better be dying... or my house better be on fire... anything else, you're getting your ass kicked (like with a bear in hibernation. Would you ever wake him/her up? No, unless you want to get your intestines confused for a big ball of yarn).

This rule has been followed since I can remember. I'm a peaceful kid as long as I'm given my time to rest.
As a baby, I'd sleep all day long, and only wake up when hungry. I didn't even bother crying... mom knew my routine: AnoMALIE has her eyes open? Well, let's feed her before she cries or something... then she'll go back to sleep and not bother a soul.
As an older kid, sure, I got up for school, but on the weekends I'd be laid out till maybe 11am. That became a little troublesome because I'd sleep in the living room (because we were ghetto, remember? 5 people lived in a one bedroom apartment... my little sister and I had to sleep in the sofa-bed in the living room while my folks and older brother slept in the one bedroom--SO many traumatizing stories came out of that) and sometimes we'd have early visitors... or Mom just wanted to open the curtains... but did they ever wake me up? Hell no. They knew not to. Instead, they waited till I woke up on my own and acted like no one was home till then.
As a teenager the rule only became more strongly enforced. Don't feel like getting a shoe right between the eyes? Well, don't come into my room and wake me up... I have surprisingly good accuracy when irritated.

Do not, I repeat, DO NOT wake up a sleeping AnoMALIE.

Apparently, my close acquaintances are aware of this rule, but not the rest of the world (gee, that's hard to believe).
For the past three weeks this one bastard's been calling my phone at an ungodly hour... thus waking me from my very comfortable sleep (and in the most annoying way possible: by having my phone ring!).

The first time I answered was when he called at 5:26 in the morning . He had called the previous day in the afternoon, but since I was in school I had the phone on silent. When I saw the number appear on my phone the following morning, I thought
Shit... who died?!
Because no regular person gets a phone call at 5 in the morning.
So I answered the phone...

"Uh... hell..o?"
"Julio, I'm outside."
Bitch... who the fuck is Julio? Do I sound like a Julio?!
"Nah... dude... you got the wrong number..."
Click.

Now, that bitch should have considered himself lucky. I was too dazed and worried to go off on him over the phone like I typically do to other unlucky callers (although I had an ex who would wake me up by calling me at around 8 in the morning every day just to hear me talk. I never went off on him once, and I answered all of his stupid questions while watching children's programming on TV. Weird dude with weird requests... but hey, you gotta give the people what they want, correct? Doesn't hurt when someone's willing to listen to me drone on and on about asymmetrical skirts). I should have never heard from him after the whole "nah, dude, you got the wrong number," thing, but no... he called 6 more times! All times on a different day (he did call twice in one morning though) and all between 5:15 and 5:45 in the morning!
After I answered the first time, I learned to put my phone on alarm only... and I thought it would get through to him.
Fucker... if the person ain't answering... quit fucking calling!
So I didn't hear from him for about a week (ok, maybe it was just 3 days) and I thought it was safe to go back to having my phone full volume as I slept (because I am paranoid and I think "What if Mom or Little Sister need me and I'm too busy sleeping?").

Bad idea! (shit, I feel like that should be the new title to this page... I just can't learn from mistakes! I'm like a fucking mule)

Guess who called me today at 5:02 in the morning?
Daaaaaaaavid.
That's his name.
Daaaaaaaavid.
And apparently I'm Julio... and our boss is Maaaaaaario.

Julio gives David a ride... or maybe it's the other way around... I'm too furious to care. I have no clue why Julio makes David believe my number is his... or why David insists on calling me even after I told him not to.
I thought about answering, but seeing the number appear on the screen made me feel like if I answered, I'd say some shit I'd live to regret... or that I'd have to go confess to a priest later on. So, I just made his damn call go straight to voicemail.

He left me a message:
"Julio, it's me... Daaaaaaaavid. I can't come in to work today ::groans:: so just tell Maaaaario that I'm sick ::sniffle:: I gotta go to the doctor later today... so ahh... yeah"

Ya! Dejame dormir o muerete con un chingado, imbecil!

I'm obviously not going to let this slip so easily. I've given this bitch one too many opportunities to learn that he's dialing the wrong number and irritating the wrong chick by continuously referring to her as Julio (and here I always thought I sounded like a sex-hotline operator in the mornings... you know... being groggy and all that shit) and calling at such an ungodly hour.
What am I gonna do?
Why, privatize my number and crank phone call him at 2 in the morning, that's what!
The level of evilness behind the phone call is still being debated between me and my sister... but it's gonna be good... especially since I now know his name, as well as two of his acquaintances.

I just hope that by 2 in the morning I still remember what it is I'm supposed to be doing. It's a miracle when I remember to rinse off my mascara at that time... let's hope I can manage to role-play an angry spouse at that time or something like that.