Draining vs energizing

Yesterday was one of the best days I've enjoyed in recent memory.

It's insane how some activities take me down to my lowest, whereas others take me to such calm... I wouldn't call it ecstasy, because I imagine being all hyper and stoked when I say "ecstasy", but yesterday I was serene and happy. Anything that helps me calm down and be mellow makes me happy.

Clubbing and bar hopping makes me miserable. Anything that requires I look sexually appealing to others makes me miserable. It drains the fucking shit out of me to have to dress to the nines, put on make up, and comb my hair... so as to have dudes think I'm some hot babe (which I've painfully learned that regardless of the degree of effort I may put into the activity, I just don't meet the standards. Ever. So... it's all fucking futile and fucking stupid). While I do drink, and will drink if that's what everyone in my company is doing, I don't enjoy it. I don't enjoy the taste, and I certainly don't like the feeling. And then there's the smoking... FUCK ME and my fucking life when I have to subject myself to that fucking pollution at my own free will. Might as well have me chill in a truck stop, positioned directly behind the exhaust pipe of the fucking trucks and just inhaling deeply. Same fucking shit to me... thought the exhaust pipe might give me the added benefit of a high... which would hopefully render me unconscious and put me out of the fucking misery of polluting my lungs (and it wouldn't fuck up my teeth... but I digress).
SO! This nightlife shit is not and has never been my jam. Apparently dudes pick up chicks in such scenario, but that has never happened to me, because as previously mentioned, I don't meet the standards... even when the men are piss drunk... although... some have hit on me when intoxicated out of their mind, which only leads to a very violent reaction from me. SO NO ONE WINS... but I lose big... especially my "feelings." Sure feels like fucking shit to see every girl in a pub or club get some sort of attention whereas I only get stared at with a shitton of disdain. It's fun, guys, motherfucking FUN!

Ok, so this sort of social interaction psychologically mind fucks the shit out of me... especially since people my age are supposed to enjoy said activity (clubbing/bar hopping... NOT psychologically damaging others. I hope no one gets a thrill out of that, 'cause that's fucked up).
My time at the bar or club is mostly spent getting sad over the fact that I find NO enjoyment in the activity, actually. Seeing your peers having a good time while all you want to do is repeatedly stab yourself in the chest is confusing as shit... obviously depressing.

But then you invite me to go hiking to the most remote area you know.
No, you're not going to kill me and leave me for the wild life to eat my remains... you just want to explore the terrain.
And FUCK! Am I happy! I'm... there.

Just like that puppy

A group of eight people and a dog, climbing a steep mountain. Climbing across boulders, jumping off hills, and crouching under low-lying tree branches (that sting like a motherfucker when they touch your skin). Sweat slowly-- then rapidly-- drenching my hair and clothes.
I get SO MUCH pleasure out of this.

Is this real life?

I will quietly smile to myself as I follow the group.
I guess I enjoy being part of a group, but not entirely forced to constantly interact. We're a group looking out for one another (lending a hand when one has too much difficulty to jump a particular gap or climb down a tall boulder), but still individuals to explore our surroundings. I fucking love it.
We're concentrated on our breathing and where we step, so there isn't much chatter. Then, upon reaching a flat location, we take a rest, and have a good laugh as we rehydrate and snack a bit.
It's fucking perfect.

Puppy lead me most of the time.

And then we reach a valley... grass up to our shoulders... wild flowers in full bloom. A gentle breeze blowing, and making stray hairs sway over my face.
Everyone scatters to examine whatever has caught their attention-- a tree stump, a daisy, a stone-- and I just look at the scenery... take it all in.
THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE. THIS makes me happy. Jesus Christ. This feeds my motherfucking SOUL.
The wilderness, the fresh air... the company that still gives me SPACE. I'm part of a pack but I'm NOT FORCED to interact and that's fucking NORMAL.
THIS! I fucking LOVE THIS!

It's moments like that which will ALWAYS make me return to life even after my darkest moments. Knowing this is out there, and possible... makes me STAY... stay here-- not give into the very fucking dark thoughts that cloud my mind the majority of the time.
There's no pretentiousness... no mindless chatter... no fucking air pollution. I'm not trying to impress anyone, not trying to discuss some fucking obnoxious controversial topic, I'm not trying to find somebody to fuck... I'm just... I'm just alone, but not alone. I'm working out my body, but not competing with ANYbody.
Everyone's pace is respected... and... the laughs are so hearty and real.
No make up. Simple hair and clothes... and everyone's OK with it... NO ONE is judging. NO ONE is numbing some part of themselves with mood-altering shit.

That's life. THAT'S what makes me happy. That's what completes me. That's what I enjoy. That's what is real to me.

This deer MIGHT have been a dick...

Spent allllll motherfucking day hiking Parnitha, outside of Athens, where at the end of the hike, a herd of non-hostile deer greeted us.

Our way down provided by a funicular.
One could get used to that.

I was so calm and reenergized I even had a couple of beers with the gang afterward when we entered the city. Smelly and tired, we all took seats at a large table and ate South African meats... laughed about life... and shared stories of the most interesting kind (everyone at the table was interesting... but the most interesting to me was a special ops medic who gave me some of the kindest advice I've ever been given. Dude is 31 but has lived though so much... absolutely non-judgmental of where I am in life, but instead compassionate).

Hate to admit it was pretty tasty.

Motherfucking paradise.
I. Am. Full.
I. Am. Happy.

Why come?

I didn't participate much in the town's festivities while I was in Hometown this last time around.
I've explained the tradition before: it's Spanish in nature. The towns were given patron saints during the Conquista, and for centuries, the towns celebrate the patron's day. Nine days prior to the actual celebration, the town participates in the daily ritual of walking around town at six in the morning, praying the rosary, setting off fireworks at the start of each new... mystery (I think that's what it's called in english. The rosary consists of five "mysteries"... you know, each little batch of 10 Hail Marys, started by a single Lord's Prayer). Then at four in the afternoon they go to a daily mass.

All jazzed up.
Patron saint in the middle like a... king.

This is nine days.

Then the night before the main celebration (the 9th of the month, in my town's case), they have a giant firework's display. Then on the actual day of the celebration, they have more mass, more singing... and more fireworks. The FOLLOWING day, they have a rodeo and huge dance, where they crown a young lady as the "queen of the town."
These three days, while loaded with lots of church activities, are even more loaded with DRINKING. Men are FUCKED. UP. for the entire week... more like ten days.
ANYWAY, the only times I participated in anything were on the 9th (mass at 2PM, and only because it was late enough for me to have some good rest, a nice breakfast, and a shower. Then the fireworks bullshit until 2 in the morning), and Mass on the 10th.
OF CROUSE, I was heavily criticized for this.
"THEN WHAT THE HELL DID YOU COME HERE FOR?!" I'd always hear.
My response was always "Simple: to relax. I come here to relax."

My view returning home form the tiendita aka "mini mart".
How the fuck am I not going to come to a halt and admire this shit?

People don't understand why I enjoy walking around town, admiring the scenery.
They judge me crazy.
Seriously.

Judged for standing in front of my maternal grandparent's home and admiring this...
But, you see... I spent my childhood staring at this same sight...
so many afternoons and nights sitting in that field, just crying my eyes out, completely heartbroken, but out of sight from EVERYONE.
Many rainy nights spent sitting in the porch, listening to Grandpa's scary stories while watching this mountain light up with the lightning.

I try not to be haughty, but after continuos BULLSHIT, I just have to become a bitch.
"I live in Las Vegas... I can party ANY night out there. You know what we don't have out there? GRASS. GREENERY. RAIN. NATURE. What you have in abundance here, we lack over there. What you guys enjoy here for a week, we have in excess over there every single day of the year. I DON'T care to party. I DON'T care to hook up with guys. I want to sit here, with my thoughts, and just enjoy nature. That's it."
It had been a while since Hometown had been peaceful. I hadn't been able to enjoy sitting alone in a desolate place for nearly a decade. When the whole Cartel shit started, there was this indescribable fear in the air... uneasiness... heartbreak. It was the worst case of nerves to think of going to the fucking grocery store, running the chance of getting caught in a shoot-out... and not just a "normal" shoot-out, but one involving rocket-launchers and grenades, like some fucking war-torn country in the middle-east, only worse because the WORLD did NOT give a shit... we DID NOT EXIST as far as they were concerned.
This year, for the first time, I was able to walk alone, chill alone, stand on the road and admire MY TOWN, without having soldiers OR masked gunmen hold me up, pointing assault rifles to my face, asking for information.
I visited Hometown because I wanted to enjoy the solitude... the safe solitude, that I can't find in Vegas.
I did not visit Hometown to be a raging alcoholic, prowling the town in search for dick... to get "dolled up" to seduce the already heavily-intoxicated "men." I didn't care to be on camera, looking like some fucking town celebrity.
I also didn't go to be locked up in church. I do not have the vocation of a nun... I am comfortable seeking the church when my soul is not at rest... I go once a week to get my therapy... but I certainly do not enjoy waking up at dawn to pray the rosary and shoot firecrackers. I'm sure God understands... I'm sure God appreciates the fact that I'm very much a good girl, even if I do enjoy sleeping instead of locking myself up in a church for a week.

It was fun hearing these people judge me for avoiding their activities... it was a nice learning experience.
(To clarify, the ones judging me where the Hometowners who live in the US, not the Hometowners who LIVE in Hometown. They'd just ask me why I go, but would be happy to hear my reply. The relocated Hometowners? Not too happy)

Old Dudes: my joint

I have found the best counselor in the world...

As I've said many times: I was born in the wrong decade... the wrong era. Old men love me... and not physically speaking. Yes, there are always those fucking perverts who look at me in ways that make me want to go home and scrub my skin viciously in the shower... but the older gentlemen who AREN'T pervs and prefer talking to me, think I'm the bees knees.

So... I've cried about this science things for... nearly two weeks now. Feeling like dirt and whatnot... and yesterday I decided to respond to the homie. I was sincere-- I was sad, but I was sincere.
I apologized for not responding sooner, but that I had been dealing with many unfortunate circumstances... as well as a lot of soul-searching. I told him while I wasn't IN LOVE with science, I did have a fondness for it due to dedicating so many years of my life to it. I told him I was willing to help, to take up the PhD offer if it was still on the table.

His response?
Ire. Disappointment. Frustration.
Just kidding. I said old men love me, remember?
He was intrigued... almost happy, about my frankness.
And he presented me with another idea... an idea he very enthusiastically presented... an idea that made my heart skip a beat, the color return to my dreams and memories... it made me... lightheaded with excitement.

Guys, this second offer-- I'm taking it.
This second offer is... how I KNOW I truly love something.

It was easy to go around thinking I was going to be a doctor, when all I really knew was science. It was easy to believe school work was not supposed to make me anything other than miserable and stressed... downright nauseated.
Then Fall semester of '04 came around the corner and I took that creative writing class to fill a gap... a useless class... a class for shits-and-giggles with my best friend. That's where I learned what it felt like to ENJOY work. I learned I was good at something... good at it and I LOVED doing it. It was stressful to complete the assignments in the allotted time... but I LOVED every second.

How do I know I love a guy? I FEEL it... it's indescribable... it's immediate, it's a spark.
How do I know I love a job/hobby/activity? I smile, my heart races... I clap... I FEEL.

I'm running with it. I'm taking this and running with it.
I am SO fucking excited. I can't sleep.

Guten what the fuck?

I've been back for a few days now, and I did try updating on many occasions, but something always distracted me (Friday was the closest I got to actually writing something up, then suddenly I woke up at one in the morning with the sound of Jimmy Fallon laughing hysterically-- my face buried on my laptop's keyboard, confused as fuck).
I'm freakishly tired. I've never suffered such a terrible case of jet-lag as I am now. I am HARDCORE narcoleptic... I even unnerve babies who stare at me as if I were some freak of nature... BABIES! Little creatures who fall asleep mid-meal-- with spoons in their mouths 'n shit-- stare at me for falling asleep as I sit on a couch.

But anyway, here I am, finally sitting down (actually, I'm laying on my belly as I sit across my bed, simultaneously watching a "Snapped" marathon as I type this. It's how I do. That show's fuckin' hard) and writing something.

Onward with the stories and recaps and life lessons and travel advice bullshit I can still remember.
I'll start with Berlin, since that was my first stop and the one place where I interacted most with society.

The day before my flight to Europe, Mooney gave me a copy of in-flight German-- the supposed "basics" of the vocab I'd need while traveling (I'm not mocking Mooney here. I'm mocking my inability to grasp the BASIC level of German).
"The basics"...
... YEAH.
I was pretty excited about "learning" as I shoved in my earbuds at my terminal in Philly (my first pit stop from Vegas... "Pit Stop"... how pun-ny). It took all of two minutes for me to be COMPLETELY OVERWHELMED.
THE FUCK is up with the German language?!
You know where I panicked? Where it was trying to teach me how to say "My name is..." WHY THE FUCK must there be so many fucking sounds and syllables... and sounds?! I just want to greet you, for fuck's sake. That's it.
"Guten tag."
"Guten morgen."
FUCK ANYTHING ELSE. I can't even fucking distinguish between the "shon" and "shun" sound... I'm over here saying "thank you, cute" instead of "thank you very much." I'm fucking retarded! I'm good, dawg, I'm good... I'll just act like a fucking mute for six days.
I sat horrified for another... probably ten minutes-- max-- listening... trying to have some of the information stick... but the moment I realized I couldn't even COUNT in German, I took my earbuds out and frustratedly made my way to buy a fucking cupcake.
As I angrily chomped on my chocolate carb-ilicios delight, a couple (very blind couple, if you ask me... I looked like an angry, disheveled mess... a dangerous Mexican criminal with a fucking massive sweet-tooth-- murdering the fuck out of my chocolatey baked good like some lions ripping up a wildebeest carcass in the Serengeti) took the seats next to me.
The lovely couple was quite young, with a little dude who was probably younger than two years old... and they were German... and they were arguing.
The more I listened to the argument, the more upset I became... because I couldn't understand a SINGLE thing... well, except when he told her something about the bathroom.
From the very few words I could pick out, I made out the couple was arguing about cookies and chocolate-- no lie. They kept saying "Cooookies" and then waving around all angry and shit... and then I'd make out the word "chocolate."
Arguing about cookies and chocolate... fucking legit to me... I can see how people can be passionate about such things, I know I am.
Well... looks like I'm fucked. Yey.

I listened some more to my in-flight German torment (my second pit stop was in BCN... where I strolled the terminals munching on beef jerky and repeating shit like "Where is my wife?!" in German. ...Really, buddy, if you must ask that question... Who are you? Scott Peterson?)... and next thing I knew, I was getting ready to land in good ol' Berlin (And no, I still didn't know how to count in German... but I HAD mastered how to say "Water, please"... so that was cool).
I was no longer "bewildered," since everyone on my flight was a Spanish tourist... even an entire class of stupid little high schoolers was with me. I KNEW what was being said up until it was time for me to get out of baggage claim... where the hottest soldiers EVER stopped me.
"Guten tag."
I stared blankly at him.
I shoved my passport into his hand.
What the fuck am I doing? He only greeted you, dickhead.
He smiled, and immediately started speaking English.
"What brings you to Germany?"
I was drawing a blank.
"I'm visiting... my... little brother?"
The hot soldier smiled and let me go.

Give me a moment to swoon real quick...
Ahhhhhhh, German men....
Yeah... that's what's up.

Anyway, I immediately saw JC... and the smile he flashed me was... so sweet... I can't describe it.
I smiled and waved like a maniac... total contrast to his mild, gentle greeting for me.
JC carried my suitcase as we maneuvered our way to the ticket kiosk thingamajigger outside, where this cute older lady working the tickets asked him a question.
I stood there like the idiot I felt like, and I'm pretty sure JC told her I didn't speak German... and I KNOW she asked him if I was his girlfriend (I don't know much, but I SURE as FUCK know the word for "girlfriend" in numerous languages, German included).
The cute lady then proceeded to interact with me using hand gestures... and I responded in the same fashion... both of us standing there like two very animated mutes.
She was the cutest thing ever, not allowing me to carry my own suitcase, pointing at JC and then "flexing"... basically telling me I shouldn't carry the suitcase, but let the "strongman" carry it. This tickled my heart, and made me damn near snort-laugh. I managed to remember the word "danke!" and so, I told her so with this giant smile on my face, and she proceeded to hug me and wave goodbye.

Me: Jesus Christ! If this is how everyone treats each other around here, I might just "lose" my passport and never go home.
JC: Well... people here ARE pretty cool... but like with everything, don't be too trusting. We have all sorts of people... not just friendly old ladies.

While I obviously heeded JC's warning, my exchange with Berliners was nothing but positive. They would begin their conversations with me in German, but the moment I'd smile and say "um... I... only speak English..." while shrugging and feeling like a dick, they'd switch it up and go straight into English for me.
I was in fucking love.
Such a wonderful relief to deal with that understanding behavior than what we do here when someone says "I don't speak English" (scoff, rolling of the eyes, "This is AMERICA! SPEAK ENGLISH!" Although from experience, the French have that negative attitude times five).
Shit, I even went to a couple of parties and danced with the Berliners... I drank with them until I was dizzy and sleeping in the hallway of my apartment complex... I even shouted at the television in unison with the giant group of impassioned Germans as we watched the Champs League final-- it was fucking magical.

Germany, in general, would have stayed fucking magical, had that stupid fucking Monday not occurred...
but I'll get REALLY in depth about that retarded move in my next post.

I'm late for a stupid party, and this is a good spot to end this entry, since it's positive and quite chirpy.
It put me in a good mood to reminisce about this good shit... and I won't ruin it with talk about the only negative thing that happened in my entire trip... shit was heart-wrenching. No room for that here.

1 of 13.

WELL!
I've had some crazy eventful shit occur in the last couple of days... most of which were NOT good... I even had two mini meltdowns.
I did that same thing where I wrote numerous updates, but failed to actually publish... because they were SO angry.

But I'm much better now.
I think it's the built-up angst because 1. My father has yet to fucking communicate with ANYONE. It's STILL upsetting to think about it. I feel dizzy and the urge to vomit when I think of his wellbeing. Then I get angry... because this nonsense is SO irresponsible.
and 2. My Dad's last remaining uncle is on his last leg of life. He's... pretty much just waiting to die. He's in a coma, with kidney failure and I think his lungs collapsed... and he's swollen. It's bad. And sad. And where's my dad? In Cuba, presumably.

I've also had to deal with some ugly words thrown my way... but all I have to do to get over it all is punch and kick for a couple of hours... then all is well with the world once again.

It also helps that in a few hours I head out on my first trip of the year (FINALLY!), my long overdue return to the bay area.
I'm so excited, my heart flutters when I close my eyes and imagine the flower blossoms... and the grass... and the ocean... and my bay area friends.

OH! I hope it all works out for the best.

I hope I don't cry.
I hope everyone stays alive while I'm away...

10 years later

D went back to Chicago today.

These last few days have been nothing short of amazing.
I've laughed a lot, I've spent much time with many family members... who have all been sweet to me.

I'm in the highest spirits because I spent last night hanging out and laughing with my high school friends. We had a mini ten-year reunion.
While my bestie was missing because she had to work, only two other girls from my close-knit circle of friends from high school were missing.
We hit Triple 7, where we sat at the bar and proceeded to catch up over some beers... like the fucking adults we've suddenly become.
I had not seen any of these girls in well over 7 years, since I did see them at some point in college.
While I was probably the least successful, and clearly the saddest, it was still ok. They were all very sweet, and within ten minutes we were back to laughing uncontrollably at our witty remarks... just like we would when we'd be at our high school cafeteria table.
It was exactly that: the reunion of our high school cafeteria table, our roles unchanged.
The coolest part was that at NO TIME did we badmouth anyone, or gossip. We were supportive of each other, and talked about... life. It was so weird, especially since I've rarely been in the presence of a girl herd where gossip was not the focal point.

All I could think of was that damn movie "Now and Then."
It's hard to believe it's been TEN YEARS since we last did all this... it's stranger that we haven't aged. We look pretty fucking great for 27/28 year olds... I guess that's the secret to smart, dorky girls-- we don't age, we're fuckin' Benjamin Buttons!
I'm also the ex-Fat Girl of the bunch. That chick who spent her teens fat and quiet... you don't see her for years then suddenly BAM! Look at her, she looks normal!
I'm the ex-fat-girl of the movie... creepy. (They always end up being the chicks who never find love regardless of how attractive they may be once thin. I now understand why those chicks never find love-- we're too mentally FUCKED UP)

Numerous times throughout the night, someone in the group would make a comment along the lines of "Are you SURE you're not a writer?" "You're definitely a writer..."
They also told me my affinity for writing definitely made sense-- in hindsight. They told me my comedic timing and wording was unique, something Kelley has been telling me for nearly a decade (!). I may be a quiet, reserved girl, but when I'm comfortable and I have a deep appreciation of you, I will be the funniest, wittiest person in a room; it's my way of thanking you-- making you laugh... it fills my heart.

I may not have many female friends, but the ones I do have are remarkable human beings.
I'm a happy girl.

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.

Swap and meet outside.

Mom employed various methods to control her kids at church.
My siblings and I would be bribed or threatened into good behavior.
I've mentioned the whole McDonald's thing, where she'd promise us each a Happy Meal if we behaved in church.
Mom would also threaten to beat our ass if we made a sound... which I'm sure isn't too difficult to believe, considering what a tyrant my madre can be.

OF COURSE I preferred to get bribed into good behavior... because I was a good, calm kid anyway, the bribe would turn out to be a damn reward!
My favorite bribe?
If you behave yourself for a month, we'll go to the outdoor swapmeet!

I didn't care for the actual place much... I have that social anxiety thing where too many people in one place pisses me off.
I went because I loved looking at the ponies.

I never did ride the fucking ponies... I hardly even saw them, since I was a kid and the stupid parents always obstructed my view.

I spent many Sunday morning at that outdoor swapmeet... made a lot of memories.

Today I hit that place up for the first time in 17 years.
First order of business? Take me to the fucking ponies!
It was only Mom and me, so the little lady didn't mind obliging me.
After walking for a few minutes... dodging a few crying children (these two little kids-- a brother and sister, boy around 4 years old, girl around 2-- broke my heart SO BAD after I heard the boy screaming "MAMI!" I turned around from the stand I was standing in front of, and nearly started crying myself the moment I saw the little boy holding on to his terrified little sister and leading the way through the crowd, as he too wailed, but kept his eyes open in search for his mom. He looked so scared, so sad, totally ready to start a life as an orphan in charge of his baby sister. He also looked ready to beat anyone who tried nabbing him or his sis. It was insane... it was heartbreaking... and enraging-- I wanted to find their mother and beat the shit out of her. WHAT is more important than your fucking toddlers, you fucking imbecile? Take care of your kids or don't bring them at all! Goddamn, the horror and fright in their eyes still makes my chest feel heavy with sadness for those babies... and I fucking hate kids, ok? But that was SO uncool!), we reached our spot:

After this glorious moment where Mom permitted me to gush for a minute or two (I mean, just LOOK at those ponies! MAN! SO FUCKING ADORABLE!), I allowed her to lead me where ever the hell she wanted.
We spent HOURS at this swap meet. It was the most entertaining people-watching moment I've had to date.
I felt a twinge of fear when I realized... I have WAY too many things in common with these people.
I... am one of them.
Dios mio...

Once home, Mom and I would laugh at each observation we made.
Often, we'd sit in silence and just hold eye-contact, smiling... tears wanting to form.
I love you, Mom.
I love you, Mija.
Thank you. For everything.
Thank you... for being you.

We've come so far...
My momma did so much to try to give us a normal childhood... it makes me get all choked up.
The woman drives me crazy, but I sure do love my momma.

4 years younger

I've been on a desperate search for my earbuds for the last week or so. In order to solve this issue, I thought it best to go ahead and just clean my room... every nook and cranny (is that how the saying goes?).

No luck with the earbuds...

But I DID find something more valuable: my first digital camera's memory card.

I have been walking on sunshine ever since.

The photos start off from my Euro-trip of '08, and end with my Hollywood trip of April '09.

I feel like the most wonderful part of my life has been given back.

Yeahhhh, that's what I'm talking about!

Don't get me wrong, I have some of those photos up on Facebook, but at the time I uploaded them, I had to scale them down in order to get my lame-ass dial-up connection to load them properly.

Now I have the fucking originals. I didn't cry because I was aggravated from the gym the moment I found the card.

I also had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of myself... and felt immediately ashamed.

There were photos on there which I had not uploaded because they were wildly unflattering.

BOY! The updates I have planned now...

They're going to be embarrassing as fuck... but I'm going to love every minute of it.

Can you keep a secret?

The cooking pot symbolizes nourishment and rejuvenation. Sooner or later, good comes to those who do good; joy comes to those who bring humor to others; opportunity comes to those who persist in their dreaming. Rejuvenation is a returning to innate desires — and a re-charging of batteries through the fulfillment of these wishes. This reading suggests nourishment and transformation for people of goodwill. Great good fortune and success are indicated for nourishing relationships.
Rejuvenation means that men and women of talent and insight are being properly nourished and valued. When a society or group is functioning properly, these people are supported, and encouraged to contribute to their best abilities. A fresh approach to old habits is indicated in a period of rejuvenation. Look for ways of putting new life in old forms. Only when great vitality is present can breakthroughs be achieved.

I've been trying to keep as quiet as possible about this, and I think I've been pretty good about it...
But alas, I can't stay quiet any longer:
Starting Monday, I will be completely disconnected from everyone and everything.
I'm finally going on a fucking break... and will think of ABSOLUTELY nothing for almost three weeks.

The coolest part? I might not be coming back!
Yeah, I said it.
Nah, it's not that serious. I'll only "not return" if something horrible happens... which, as I've repeatedly stated, I'd be cool with anyway.
I just Don't. Give. A FUCK.
I'm going to be alone, too, on this getaway... so... woohoo!

But no, really, I have FULL INTENTION to return... I have a shit-ton of stuff going on starting from the ends of September, and shit doesn't slow down until around Thanksgiving.

I just need to disconnect... and quit thinking. No internet. No phone. No nothing.
I need to be as invisible as many people often make me feel.

Good shit? I'm taking sketchpads, pens, pencils, and even charcoal! So I'll force myself to draw if I'm ever "bored."
I'm also taking a couple of Moleskine notebooks (yeah, I love them. So what?)... so... I'm going to be writing!

Overall, I'm excited... even if I'm not going to tell anyone what I'm up to... not that they'd give a fuck. It's all good. It's so much better that way, anyway.

I still need to shop... I haven't even THOUGHT about what I'm going to pack.
I'm terrible.

As a favor

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

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

Mom: Can you do me a favor, AnoMALIE?

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

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

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

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

SO... I'm home alone now.

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

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

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

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

Good times.

Hazme Felíz

Happiness is...
1. Random conversations with childhood friends.
2. Traveling.
3. Lightning storms.
4. Naps in the early morning sunlight.
5. Shopping.

1. I may not have a multitude of friends, especially of my own gender, but whenever I'm upset, my girls come out of the woodwork.
I hate being surrounded by too many chicks, and I find them catty, but the girls in my life are THE BEST.
From Kelley writing me her eloquent, uplifting comments, to Pacemaker conference calling me to have a giggle-fest... my friends are the shit, and they know how to bring that smile back on my face.
I will never be able to properly articulate how much I love my friends.

2. Plans have been made for the month of October that will take us from the midwest to the East Coast. By "we" I mean Pacemaker, her cousin, and me.
Some of us might be more excited the others... with some uh... different motives, apparently:

True love? This isn't a fucking RomCom...

I was semi-joking... since I recently ready how Massachusetts is the most Catholic state in the nation... and each time I think of a Boston boy, I think of a foul-mouthed ex-altar boy... with some kind of cool scar on his body.
I wasn't kidding on the Matt Damon-y part. I've loved that man since I was a fucking kid. He's the epitome of my dream man: witty, intelligent, articulate, artistic, handsome, hilarious... just... d-ohhhhhh-pe. I think about him and my legs tingle. Mmmm. Matt Damon.
On the real, though: I don't know why these girls think we're going to find love out there. My travel plans never consist of finding someone to hook up with... they never have. Am I weird for that? I actually keep away from dudes and only really people-watch. I'm such a weirdo.
I was meant to be a nun.

3. Lightning storms have always held a special place in my heart. They will forever remind me of my mom's mom. She loved seeing them, but hated the thunder... she was terrified of thunder.
Lightning has always made me terribly melancholic. I always find myself admiring the show alone... in the dark... and the only thought that ever crosses my mind is: This is so beautiful.
It's the time I'm perfectly content to be alone... surrounded by complete darkness.
The dark stillness, abruptly interrupted by the bright, powerful appearance of a bolt across the sky.
So symbolic for me. So comforting.
Son la onda.

4. I woke up early this morning and headed out for Painting Round 3.
We're nearly done with the place, so I was primarily there to keep my mom company as she did the finishing touches.
I was tired as fuck... and found myself laying on the carpet of the living room. The blinds were open, so the sun light was flooding the place. The sun in my face made me sleepy... and for the first time in my life, I took a restful nap.
I'm the world's worst napper... and I always wake up cranky, or tired, or feeling gross... but not today. I woke up feeling like some happy, well-fed baby... you know how those little punks always look so rested? Yeah, that was me.
Must have been the sunlight. I guess I should probably quit being a vampire now.

5. Perhaps the coolest thing?
I bought a motherfucking treadmill.
About fucking time. I haven't gone running in two weeks-- since the day the treadmill decided life was no longer worth living and it crapped out on me (during my 3MPH warm-up... which only infuriated me and made me kick the damn belt... which I'm sure didn't help, but come on! Three miles an hour? REALLY?! Fuck you, treadmill!).
Second murdered treadmill I go through. I'm probably (no, I AM) going to destroy this treadmill, because it frustrated the FUCK out of me. Worst treadmill I've ever had the misfortune of purchasing. I'm taking a hammer to the piece of shit.
But this new treadmill! OH MAN! Fucking GREAT! Now I'm just going to keep dumbass Rafa away from it. That idiot is not fucking up another belonging of mine ever again.

And just like that, the smile came back on my face.

Del suelo al cielo

I saw my babies today.

By "babies" I mean my Costa Rican BFFs.

Their mom was given a free laptop with built-in speakers and camera, so the first thing they did was download Skype and asked me to add them.

My heart melted.

I forgot my sadness of the past few days, my frustration from today's soccer match (it was as if someone was crushing my heart, watching that fucking game. Cristiano Ronaldo may be rich as fuck and attached to one of the most beautiful--albeit, kinda grossly skinny-- women in the world, but I genuinely felt terrible for the guy. He hustled hard the entire Cup, and to go out the way he did was upsetting), and even the ugly fuckhead living on my lip.

No longer a gross, "weeping" bump, just a gaping hole on my fatass lip.
Try to hold a normal conversation with me, all while that shit's staring you in the face...

The moment I logged onto Skype and saw the excited faces of my little munchkins (they were still in their school uniforms... it was 10PM! They had refused to change, since I hadn't seen them in their unis while I was visiting them. No Ice Queen can resist that fucking adorableness... NO ICE QUEEN in the world!), my fucking world lit up and every negative, dark, shadowy feeling disappeared.

Crazy.
Here, I avoid kids like the plague. I claim I don't want any kids, their shrill cries make me curse their parents, I fight the urge to slap the obnoxious, trouble-making ones at stores... but the moment a couple of five and ten year olds smile and wave at me like they would at Selena Gomez, I turn into a mushy girl-- a second away from melting.
Christ.
What the fuck?
Scary.
But so lovely... so lovely something so simple can brighten my day-- I return to my natural, bubbly, playful, silly, smiling self... you know... the girl I was before... everything else happened.
Hmm. Funny... but just what I needed, since these last few days the only thought haunting me has been "This summer. This summer marks 20 years. TWENTY years." (Fucking realization has been killing me for the last week or so, leaving me discombobulated and crying myself to sleep every other day. I never thought I'd still be this fucked up about something that happened so long ago... but evidently I can be fucked up for quite some time, if not forever. Some potent shit... what traumatic experiences do to you when they happen at such a tender age)

The Universe is a trip.

Verano, veranito!

Summer tiiiiime!

This means:
1. BERRIES!
Mmmm... lord knows I'm a happy camper when I have a variety of berries to choose from. Blackberries, blueberries (blueberries! blueberries!), raspberries, and though they're not legitimate "berries," strawberries! I eat breakfast and wriggle with joy each morning as I sit at the table.
Mornings are the fucking shit during berry season.
2. CHERRIES!
Enough said.
No, no... let's emphasize it some more: CHERRIES!
3. Sports!
A. Tennis. My boy Nadal (BEEEEAST!)... and a ton of other cute dudes... I mean, most of them ARE cute... besides Murray, that poor guy... wouldn't touch that.
B. Futbol. Need I say more? I nearly suffered a stroke this morning when, in the middle of the Portuguese national anthem, the power went out at my house. I straight up looked just like Amelie's neighbor when Amelie plays that trick on him... where she unplugs his TV during vital parts of the soccer match and he flips the fuck out. THAT was me. I was ready to cut a motherfucker at 8:45 in the morning. Not the best way to start the day, but it certainly improved! Today's matches were by far the best of the tournament. About fucking time.
C. Summer Olympics!! I pretty much disappear from civilization for the duration of this magical event. My total adoration.
4. Mexico!
Though I'm no longer positive on my departure date... I still look forward to Mexico summers... if even for two weeks. The violence is escalating as the election approaches... so... this is a toss up... but I'd still love to head out there. I'm still trying to weasel my way to Hometown... I just need to get a little crazier to get the courage to hop on the next bus to Hometown, and VAMONOS!
5. Boys.
Did I say boys? Damn right. Boys are dope. I like boys.
6. Victoria's Secret Semi-Annual Sale!!
I no longer have my partner in crime... D and I hit this shit up like vultures to a fresh carcass each time. But I don't care she's now unavailable. I now have the skill to subdue an unruly bitch all by myself if she ever tries to slap a bra out of my hand. Plus, my tits are smaller, so I no longer have to wrestle with the stupid strippers and delusional lactating mothers who think they can squeeze into a 36 DD. Now I can rummage through the more normal sizes... hopefully without getting some rude bitch into a chokehold while the cops get there to separate us.
7. Bright Colors!
I know I tend to favor black... but come on, I'm Mexican... as much as I hate perpetuating stereotypes, we're just drawn to bright colors... and I'm no exception.
If the brights aren't on my clothing, then they're definitely on my nails.

Focusing...

NOT focusing...
Oh yeah, my nails!
... my eyebrows are hella thick...
and I really prefer D's room over mine..
Wait, what was I talking about?
Shit, my hair is messy...
That bracelet is awesome.
Oh yeah, summer time is also GREAT tank top weather.

Bonus: MOVIES!
A. Spiderman! That new kid... I've had a mini nerd-crush on him. I blame it on his enormous mouth. It's charming.
B. BATMAN! I... can't... properly articulate... my excitement. Really... is there anything more exciting than this shit? I'm stoked.

I love you, Summer Time. You're the shit!

Gimme an H! A! PPY!

I have often joked about what my reaction to Kelley getting engaged would be like... especially on here.
I always suspected, claimed, I'd be like Bambi when the owl tells the crew that they'll all succumb to the terrible fate of falling in love and starting a family.
Straight bullshit, homie, that ain't EVER happenin' to me!
That's how I'd say it, of course, because we can't forget I have quite the street cred with my 14 years experience of hood-life.
I often said I'd suffer a crisis. Cry. Freak out. Blah blah blah.
No!!! I'm now the last man standing! I'm ALONE! ALONE! No one to love, no one loves ME! Goddamn it! I'm ALONE!
(I sure hope that's dramatic enough for the homie Alex... yeah? I can always turn it up a couple of notches... I AM a pisces after all, ha!)

But something very fucking scary has happened:
I am... extraordinarily happy.
So fucking scary.
My mind has taken this strange action with the news, and I've agreed to just ride the wave.
Happiness, I'm all yours. I hear you're kind of fun.
I've been so bubbly today... I've laughed for at least seven hours... and nothing has brought me down.

And things COULD have brought me down... like the outcome of a stupid quiz I took today:

I believe the name of this test was something along the lines of "Why can't you land a man?"
I laughed. No, really, I LAUGHED.

Or my father's reaction to the news of Kelley getting engaged:
Oh man! You're the last one now. And with no volunteers in sight...
Thanks, Pops!
But they didn't.
Instead, I continued being a sweetheart, and cheered for all good news I heard... like the fact that my cousin's ex went to the gyno and was told the sex of her baby (boy). I wasn't even aware of her pregnancy, but I went ahead and congratulated her, sincerely, and it turned into a very pleasant exchange (I know I say I fucking hate girls and can't tolerate them for extended periods of time, but when I find a girl I think is hilarious/cool, I keep in touch, even if it pisses off family. YOU had a problem with her, not me... fuck off, buddy, I keep whatever friends I like... which, by the way, she's at least five times cooler than you. Buy yourself a personality instead of the next Jordans or whatever the fuck sneaker shit comes out, Fam).

I love this good-news vibe currently involving my friends. I don't give a fuck if I'm not hearing anything worth a shit (in regards to MY life), but I've come to prove that as long as my friends are happy, I'm quite the fucking ecstatic cheerleader standing right next to them.
I'm loving it.

DID put a ring on it.

My bestie got engaged today.

I let my sister in on the news.
Sister: How did he propose?!
Me: ... I... don't know. I was too busy screaming, and then we proceeded to talk shit...

We have an awesome friendship dynamic.
I will more than gladly kick Musketeer out of the 3 musketeer group and replace him with Kelley's dude... though we'll probably have to change the name to something more appropriate... preferably relating to Tupac.

This is awesome.
:)

Not forgetting

I'm not entirely sure how many times I've mentioned this, but I'm quite the HHGTTG fangirl.
I fell in love with it... I think it was 2005? My Genetics professor was freakishly fanatical about the book, and she managed to pass it on to me... well, somewhat... I wouldn't call myself "freakishly fanatical." The fact that my bestie liked the book also helped... since she has always been the voice of reason in the friendship... she explains difficult concepts to me all the time.

One of the three planned tattoos I'm getting is actually "DON'T PANIC" in "large, friendly letters."
I went through a phase in college where I'd have that scribbled on my wrist.
Seriously.

Good ol' college years...

Oddly enough, it helped...
kept me from freaking out when I saw my Biochemistry II final grade (HORRID. Embarrassingly HORRID grade. The worst final grade in my school life. Seriously, I once got an 18% on an exam, just so you can form some sort of idea of the atrocity that was Biochem II).

Anyway, come May 25th, I go ahead and celebrate with the fellow HHGTTG nerds.

How I triumphantly entered and exited the gym.
This girl will never forget to bring a towel.

Now please don't go off divulging the fact that I occasionally read. Wouldn't like that floating around the internets... might make me sound a little smart... and I hear smart girls scare/bore the dudes...
Wait... in that case...
I FUCKING LOVE BOOKS!
BOOKS, BOOKS, BOOKS!
The thicker, the better!!
...wait... !!

(hair)CUUUUT!

Ohhhhh yeahhhhh.
My plan totally worked.
I woke up in such a happy mood, I went ahead and got a haircut.
I was so calm and relaxed, I was willing to deal with whatever cut, whatever stylist planned on giving me.

Upon arriving at the salon, I was stunned the moment I looked over at the guy tending the cash register.
Boy had a... not really a mohawk, or a faux-hawk... something more along the middle... his ears were gaged, both arms were covered in tattoos--sleeves-- tattoos were also on both sides of his neck... and he had piercing green eyes.
Holy fucking shit... I'm gonna piss my pants...
He looked over at me and called me by my name... correctly.
Dude: You're the one who checked in on-line, correct, AnoMALIE?
I smiled as I nodded, since I was completely unable to make any sort of noise.

Five minutes later, he was leading me to his chair.
Dude: So, what did you have in mind?
Me: Whatever. I give you free reign over this mess. Do whatever you deem best.
And he got to work.
I just stared at his tattoos... and his eyes each time he asked me a question.
I immediately noticed one tattoo in particular, a tattoo that ALWAYS gets me to double take a dude, as much as I HATE to admit it. I'm talking about this tattoo:

NEVER fails to get me. Never.

Mmmm... bless your madre and padre. They did an awesome job....

Once he was done, I waited to see the outcome of the cut, because I quickly picked up my hair and went for my mandatory cardio day of the week.
After showering, came the styling... and I finally saw the job done by my green-eyed Mexican hairstylist.

I look like an emo boy... but quite frankly, dude could have shaved my head bald and I would have loved it.
Mmm... being smitten is fun.

The remainder of my day was quite lovely... so I don't have much ranting to do or any of that usual shit.
I even have another photo of my godson that is... stunning as fuck:

Esta cabron mi ahijadito, no?
Goddamn, some good breeding up in there.
And to think... I baby sat this BEAST at some point... AND we share genes... the same ones responsible for THAT body. Shiiiit. Thanks, Mom!

Pura Vidaaaaa!

IT'S OFFICIAL!

And it's not a joke (I LOATHE April Fool's Day. Stupidest fucking day of the year).
I'm going to Costa Rica on the 10th (Dad wanted to go on the 8th... as in... EASTER... WTH?)!

I've been light-headed ever since I booked the flight.

The way life is readjusting itself is so... it's so... remarkable. I don't know what to say! I'm just ecstatic and incoherent and all I want to do is jump and cheer and scream... and kiss people!

The relaxation from today's activities went down the drain and I'm now pumped like... some wind-up doll.
No remnants of my calm hike through the gorgeous landscape my lovely city has to offer

I am one ASHY motherfucker

Nope... I'm all giddy and loud.

April, you are going to be one HELL of a fucking awesome month!
THANK YOU!

Gordita IV

Ahh! I need more time!
I don't care if this counts, or if it's cheating, point of the story is, I'm storing this entry as the last one for the month of March, even if I technically wrote it up on the 1st of April.

Part IV.
The positive and negative.

Had anyone told me five years ago that there were negatives to weight-loss, I would have scoffed.
How the hell can there be any sort of negative reaching such a massive goal?

Well, while it is pretty rad to fit in normal clothes and all that girly shit, there is an issue.
They mention it plenty of times on television and all those weight-loss shows. I learned of it in histology and mammalian physiology: skin. Lovely, fantastic collagen and elastin. Mmm. Fickle little sons of bitches. Definitive motherfuckers.

I've known that rapid, dramatic weight loss results in saggy skin... I mean, come on, deflate a balloon de un chingaso ("suddenly") and see the result... how the latex looks... if it doesn't burst, of course.
While I don't feel I was "enormous" I knew the chance was there if I went too fast.
I honestly tried to avoid this with all my might.
What was I going to have to resort to? Muscle. Build muscle.
You stretched your skin to the breaking point, deal with the consequences, pendeja!
And that's fine, since I've never wanted to be rail thin. A Clydesdale can never be an Arabian (oh snap! Did I just recall information from that infamous giant, green horse book I checked-out from the library all throughout elementary school? Fuck yeah I did). I've never had a small frame, and it was futile to resist my body type.
The only dainty thing on my body has always been my wrists, that's it.
So... while I'm not perfect, muscle it is:

Consider me dead if these get on Facebook.

The thighs and arms that can feed a couple of large cats.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that PLENTY of people DON'T like muscle on a girl.
I want to be fit... but I don't want to be bulky, ya know? That's why... I'll just be over here, on the cardio machines. Cardio. Cardio. CARDIO!
I hear that shit ALL. THE FUCKING. TIME.

This leads me to another negative to the weight loss:
I'm hell of proud of my muscle... that shit was HARD to gain... and while I'm in NO WAY ashamed of it, I've encountered plenty of hate from others due to it.
Ew! Please don't flex! That shit's gross.
Women should not have muscle.
I like my girls soft. (Like your dick, I assume?)
etc etc.
To that, all I have to say is:
The only man who think a woman should NOT have muscle is an insecure, weak man.

Not too many dudes I've encountered like buff chicks. Dudes in my family? Yeah, not fans... well, my lovely godson is... and that leads me to the positives.

Love and support.
I am OVERWHELMED... completely at a loss for words, when it comes to the kind words directed my way from my friends and family.
I know I said I had folks hating... and while they're still there, the ones who have stepped up have... really, truly touched my heart.
It's insane, really.
Kind of scary.
I freak out because I stop and think about how dark and abysmal my existence was exactly a year ago... (no, really, remember last year my cousin got married and didn't put me as her bridesmaid and I was also cropped out of my FAMILY photo with the bride? That kind of shit only happens in sitcoms with titles that contain the word "Ugly")
Today, I've seriously been one of the happiest girls on the planet. I literally have a bounce in my step!
All the words, every single one, I keep in my heart, and fuel me.

i am proud , you are in realy good shape that is some serious dedication to your training congrads madrina. keep up the exelent work

eso si son cojones madrina no chingaderas not many people can do that!!!!!! everything is posible when you realy want it!
You're FUCKIN' AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!! I'm sooooooooo happy for you \0/!!!!!!!!!!

But this is really inspirational (at least to me). You took something that effected you negatively and made something positive to yourself out of it. I hope you are really proud. I am proud of you :)
I am so proud of you!!! That's dedication!!! Shit, work it!!! 
Damn girl you be killin em
Congrats! So proud and happy for you! I admire you!

Those words help lean the scale, BIG TIME, to the positive.

I always knew I had the best people around me.
I fear I don't have enough time on this earth to ever fully repay them for the large impact they've had on my life.

Goodness gracious... I'm a positive person!