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.

What's that you say?

I have a friend (the one who calls herself the "funny friend") that uses the
"DON'T YOU TRY AND TELL ME I CAME FROM A MONKEY!"
excuse whenever she, Chase, Leky, and I talk evolution.

It's not like we start the evolution conversation (shit, we have better things to argue about... like say, hoes)... she brings it on all by herself.
Leky: So how many guys can a girl kiss before you consider her a skank?
Me: I dunno... (why are you asking me? Do I look like a hoe expert?-- actually, with the frequency with which I do it... talk shit about hoes that is)
Chase: Depends on the circumstances.... like if she kisses 50 guys in one night, then yeah, she's a hoe.
Leky: What do you think, Lucky Soprano (aka "Funny Friend")?
Lucky Soprano: You know what really irritates me? When people try and tell me I come from a monkey!
Me, Leky, Chase: WTF?

All three of us (Leky, Chase, and I) are bio majors (well, Leky switched to Criminal Justice after two years, like a smart person, while Chase and I stuck with bio and regretted it months later) and Lucky Soprano's a... I believe an Education major. This outburst from her makes Leky, Chase, and me look at each other, slowly crack our knuckles, and prepare for the roast (yeah, yeah, we're mean).
I'd write up some of her arguments... but even thinking about them works me up. The last time this girl had a science class was back in 10th grade when it was mandatory (actually, no, she took Bio 100, I believe... so she feels well prepared for this argument), but she still feels up for a fight with 3 people who definitely don't agree with her.
After a while of not getting through to her, we give up... because it becomes obvious that the only people getting angry are, well, us.

I think maybe I'd be better prepared for this argument if this type of argument ever arose in my family... but they're all generally bio lovers (well, PBS lovers). We're all religious, some more than others, but we don't take evolution as an attack on our religion (despite what this new Pope says...), we kinda try to work it in (but not like "intelligent design," no, no). So until this friend of mine brought up the whole "I'm not related to a monkey!" argument, I never really had to fight with anyone over the topic of evolution.

Well!! This bring me to what happened today.
As I was going to enter my first class, Chase pointed out a flier that was posted on the wall outside the lecture hall.
Chase: OMG, AnoMALIE! Come look at this!
I thought it was going to be something that would be grossly misspelled... or maybe that the price for egg donation had skyrocketed (Chase and I have fun considering the possibilities: fast money... no need to raise a kid... but do I really want to see little kids running around that look like me and don't call me mommy? That would be some creepy shit), but once I read it, Lucky Soprano came to mind:
Although I'm not very down with arguing with anyone (I'd much rather fist fight to get shit over with. haha) we're now thinking about bringing Lucky Soprano with us to this lecture (and as many science major as we can). It'd be fun to see if Lucky Soprano claps along to what the lecturer says... and maybe she'll even inputs some of her own ideas... I mean, she and the lecturer are both education people... great minds think alike, right?
Then again, this might come to later on bite us in the ass next time Leky, Chase, and I have the evolution conversation with Lucky Soprano (because this happens every single time we go out). She might find new material to piss us off with.

Fuh-fuh-fuh-funnnn!

Mon ennemi: l'ecole!

I hate how one little thing that could have made my day a couple of years ago, manages to mar a day that could have been pretty cool today.

Let's start off on why this day would have been cool (at the end, I'll add the little scenario that made me unable to enjoy any of today's events):
-I had studied all weekend! Do you know how hard that is for me?! I gave up drinks and a game of dodge ball in the name of biochemistry and mammalian physiology! But it did make me feel accomplished and special (and sorta, kinda nerdy). Anyway! This studying made me feel ready for school (blah blah blah) and I sort of understood what the teacher was saying (whenever I wasn't tuning out and drifting off into space).

-In class (while I was alone because Chase was feeling tired and stayed home) I noticed how I was completely surrounded by a certain group. I typically have "gaps" around where I sit... you know... one person sits a seat away from me... the other maybe 3? ha! Well, not in this class. It seems an ethnic group has decided to embrace me (because let's keep it real here: how many Latinos do you see in a science class? I sometimes become jealous of the people speaking Chinese to each other and wonder why I don't have anyone to speak Spanish with)! Who are they? Why, the very sweet an intelligent Asians!
I've been told a couple of times that I look Asian (one of the times it was one of my best friends saying this... a Vietnamese girl). I guess this eye can look Filipino sometimes:I get the whole "Are you Filipino?" question almost as often as the "Are you Muslim?" question (I wear this gold chain--like your typical Mexican-- of the virgin of Guadalupe I got when I was 9... and I guess she looks like a lady in a burqa... ??). These kids have decided to sit next to me and take me into their circle whenever my friend is absent. They do this every time, so I suppose I'm now part of a clique (a smart one, at that)! Yeah!!!

-In this class (where I'm the new pseudo-Asian) I don't usually have a hard time paying attention. The professor goes off on tangents that some people complain about, but I just can't get enough (I'd rather hear him talk about his research with turtles than hear another thing about the digestive system and stupid ass Peyer's Patches). Well, today we were talking about the male reproductive system, a subject I've tried VERY hard (haha, look at that, I can say puns) to listen to without cracking a smile. I've done this since 8th grade... and I thought I was good for today (especially since Chase wasn't there... so I had no one to crack jokes with) after so many years of practice.
I was OK at first... I looked at the images without laughing even after the dudes behind me laughed whenever the word "scrotum" was mentioned. Then came one of the professors tangents:

(talking about newborn baby boys)
Professors: So after the doctor's checked the baby's vitals... he'll quickly palpate the baby's scrotum... and what's that? (He was referring to "palpate")
Guy behind me who's in his late 20's (whispering): Someone palpating my scrotum? A party!
Me (internally): I am an adult... I am a... mature... grown ass... girl... oh, hell, who the fuck am I kidding? (out loud) AHAHAHAHA!

-After class, rather than staying at school for endless hours wanting to bang my head against a table until I fall unconscious, I got to go home. Once there, I was able to run for an hour, take a shower... and go back to school refreshed and... feeling freaking great. I also brought Chase to school with me. I prefer to ride in a car with another person rather than going alone. Gives me someone to talk to instead of concentrating on cussing out other drivers (don't get me wrong, I'll call someone a douche bag regardless of who's in my car). So that made me happy.

More interesting, OK stuff happened... but I'm getting sleepy... let's just get to me puking already:
My day would have been acceptable if I hadn't bumped into... Staff Writer (works for a local magazine... as well as some free-lance stuff), an ex-English teacher that was... well.. we had a thing a while back (he also read my very personal on-line diary by googling my name... and that had me upset for a while). Back in the day when I really had it bad for him, each time I'd see him my body would undergo all this weird shit: legs going wobbly, heart racing, dizzy spells, stuttering, shaky voice, watery eyes... basically my body shutting down on me.
Well... things ran their semi-normal course, I found out he was an alcoholic... he worked a ton... I liked math... I couldn't/didn't want to go to clubs... it was just... done.
I stopped seeing him... and it was this really difficult transition for me... especially since I still read his shit from time to time.
Anyway, I hadn't seen him for a while... I just knew he had been in Brazil from February till the last weekend of March thanks to Myspace. I felt safe then, knowing I wouldn't bump into him in any way. Of course, being that I'm AnoMALIE and all, something was bound to go wrong.

Guess who intercepted me today between the Chem and Physics buildings?
Why, Staff Writer, of course!

I was busy looking at the cracks of the sidewalk as I walked to class (because I'd rather look at the sidewalk than make any eye contact with anyone) when all of a sudden a hand grabs me (lightly) by the arm.
WTF? Who dares and touches me?!
I look up... and oh shit! I know those huge blue eyes!
SW: AnoMALIE?
He remembers my name?
Me: Oh hey! (I came off louder than expected)
We exchanged pleasantries... "How've you been?" "What are you up to?" "When the hell were you going to tell me you went to Brazil, you son of a bitch?!" (ok, I didn't say that last one... but I would have if I hadn't been so... mesmerized over the fact that I was talking to him again).
However, the entire time, I felt the whole... dizziness and related illness while talking to him. I just wanted it all to end as soon as possible.
SW: Well, it was nice bumping into you again.
Me: Yeah (smiling like an imbecile)!!

We parted ways... and he kept walking down towards the Chem building while I made a bee-line for the Physics building.
Where did I go? To vomit, of course.
I'm weak... yeah... and it crapped-up my otherwise nice day full of immaturity.

It's back to living my life in fear of bumping into Staff Writer once more...
I just love being a fourteen-year-old all over again. It makes me feel so alive!

(I fucking hate this, dude, I hate it!)

That's the last time you ruin my life, cheese!

Oh man... I'm so... disappointed.

That man right there... Mr. Figueroa-Arce aka Chayanne (that man does not age one bit!) has broken my heart.

I've been a fan since... hmm... I can remember. He was the first guy I can remember ever having a crush on.
Oh wow. Why am I glued to the television right now? I... want that guy.
My mom even tells me a story where I was around three and a half and I asked her to buy him for me.
Yeah. I have no idea why the hell I said that... but Mom always manages to embarrass me by bringing that up around others.

He's always been a good guy... a role model of not only an artist, but just a man in general. His smile makes me melt... his voice makes me smile... and... oh... just thinking about him makes me fan my blushing face.

He's one of the only artists I'll sing along to without a care in the world.
I'd always wanted to go to one of his concerts, but for some reason, he never made it out to Vegas in all of his 23-year-long career. I guess he didn't think enough Latinos lived in Las Vegas (ahahaha! oh man... that made me laugh) to make a decent profit. At one point I thought about going to Miami or LA to catch one of his shows (especially when he was on tour with Alejandro Fernandez and Marc Anthony... I would have promised my first born to anyone who could have gotten me in) out of fear of me dying or him retiring before I'd ever be able to see him live.
Then, this morning I saw a commercial announcing his upcoming concert on the 10th of June at the Aladdin. I freaked (of course) and hopped around the house a little (c'mon now, he's my freaking idol). Mom said she'd buy me the best tickets, so I went on-line in search for them before she finished talking.

Now, Chase has brought up the fact that I pay too much for concert tickets. I never believed her until recently. Each concert I've ever attended with her has been great... and never over 20 bucks a ticket. Shit, she got us tickets to go see The Gathering (I'm stoked for that thing! Shiny Toy Guns and They Might Be Giants.. HOLLER!) in May for a little under 11 dollars each ticket... and that to me is fucking amazing.
So when I got on ticket master and saw tickets for Chayanne were $128, $88, and $58, I was crushed.

What the hell?! Last time I paid that much for a ticket was back in 2000 when I was an idiot for the Backstreet Boys... HELL NO!

So my bubble was burst.
Mom said she'd still pay for my ticket, but that I'd have to go alone or find someone else who'd pay $128 to go with me.
"Well, shit... why would I want to do that? I love Chayanne... but this is disappointing. What the hell were his promoters thinking?!"

I would have accepted my Mom's offer if... no... never. I'm through with paying that much for a ticket. I'll dish about 75 bucks max for a good V.I.P. seat... even something around the 90's for certain artists... but almost $130? Hell no. It's not like he'll make out with me if I pay that much... I don't even think I'll get a few drops of his sweat splashed on me for that price.
I'll see his pretty face... hear his pretty Puerto Rican accent... see his pearly whites... and jam to the songs I grew up with (there's this one waltz he sings that I had to dance to in a total of 6 Quinceañeras. "Tiempo de valz... duh-ruh ruh-ruh... ruh-ruh"). Maybe I'll have the chance to scream "Te Ammmmmmmmmmo! Wooo!" a couple of times... but after that I'll just feel stupid.

Damn, Chayanne! Do you know how hard it'll be for me to sit at home on June 10th thinking:
Fuck... right now Chayanne's singing and dancing to a bunch of crazy ladies... and I'm not there!

I'll never get to meet my first love.
:(

Fuck you, cheese company (one of the companies sponsoring the event)!

You rip people off like fucking crazy... does the damn Pupusa lady not buy enough cheese to support your damn company, or what?

Mistake number I-don't-give-a-damn-anymore!

I'm the queen of mistakes.

Who had the bright idea of running a mile, in a lightning storm, while wearing strappy sandals? Me (I've only seen mud that bloody this one time Mom killed a pig in Mexico)!

Who had the bright idea of hiking an abandoned CATTLE trail? Me, of course! (You can't tell, but everyone in that picture pretty much looked like the girl in the orange shorts... although my little sister was laughing for a huge part of it because she'd almost pee her pants each time one of us slipped. I kept the expression on the girl in the orange shorts because it's priceless to me. Also, it's not visible from the angle, but a little to the left of the picture is a huge drop from the mountain to a river with jagged rocks... that was fun)

Who went on a camping trip to the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range in Durango, Mexico (Ajua! I had to add that in there)... 2 hours on horseback... in a tank top and booty shorts? Me!! (NEVER again wearing booty shorts... I don't give a fuck how much money they pay me. The sun burn wasn't cool either)

Those are only a few bad examples (I say I was under the influence of Mexico, each of these scenarios took place there in the late 1990's-early 2000's), but today I managed to add another thing to my "Mistakes" list.

I didn't start cutting my hair short until 2003 (horrible breakup... went all crazy... cut my hair up in hopes of "putting everything in the past" yada yada yada). Somehow, it has become an addiction... especially recently after discovering the bob.
I had no problem with this addiction because my "hair-stylist" is also my childhood friend/second-cousin. She's always had a good eye when it comes to chopping off hair... so I trusted her with my head.
This cousin of mine, while I do love her and all that, tends to enjoy pushing my buttons (she's known how ever since we first met in 1987). She's kinda... sorta... rude, and she thinks it's the funniest thing since Carlos Mencia (eww... I hate that man) to be like that.
Well, today she pushed me a little too far, and she touched upon one of my "sensibilities" (that's what I get for making fun of BH yesterday on this damn blog. Stupid karma). It went down like this:

(Second-cousin's cutting my hair, little sister's sitting on the chair next to me, and no one else is in the building. It was something like 1:30 pm)
Little Sister: Hey, what did I get you for your birthday this year?
Me: Nothing... besides that cake you ate (she ate my favorite part--all of it-- then pulled the whole "Who bought this cake?!" deal and told me "I could eat as much of it as I want to!" when I bitched and said I wasn't going to touch the cake anymore. We have the coolest fights ever, don't we?)
Little Sister: Oh yeah... that was good. But hey... I can't get you a good, expensive present every year.
Me: ???
Who the hell ever complained? Is she about to brag?
Little Sister: Yeah... I can't go off buying you 300 dollar present every year, like this i-Pod from last year.
Yep... she sure did brag... douche.
Second-cousin: You bought her that?
Shit... why did I bring that fucking i-Pod?!
Little Sister: Yeah, then Older Brother got butt-hurt because I never got him anything for his birthday.
Second-cousin: has he ever gotten you anything?
LS: No. But I still felt guilty. So I got him a video i-Pod.
Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
LS: Then AnoMALIE got ass-hurt because I got her a Nano... and hers can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's.
Me: I did? When?!
You little bitch... when the hell did that happen?!
LS: You were like "My i-Pod can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's! I hate it!"
Me: I did?! I never said that! That his i-Pod holds more songs than mine, it does... by a long shot! But I NEVER complained!
LS: No, you did... to my Mom!
Me: No! She told me you felt bad about getting Older Brother a more expensive i-Pod than you did me... and that you thought I'd get all offended. Why the hell would I complain over a gift?! The most I ever gave you was a ceramic picture holder I did back in 11th grade Ceramics Class! I can't afford anything!

(By this time I've feeling woozy in the chair from all the built up frustration with my bragging little sister)

Second-cousin: What AnoMALIE needs to do is get a job!
Oh. Hell. No. You did not just go there.

I sat still... and tried to calm myself down. Keyword: Tried.

Me: No. AnoMALIE doesn't need to get a job.
SC: Yes. She does.
Me: No. Not with my school schedule. I can get a job when I graduate.
SC: You should have gotten a job two years ago!

(My head is buzzing by now... but I think twice about getting up and slapping her because no matter how discombobulated I become, I still remember she's holding some sharp scissors)

Me: No. If that would have happened, I would have been taking two extra years to graduate.
SC: Damn! You're fucking... slow!
Me: No. Not with my major.
SC: What, look at me, I've had a job the entire time I've been in college and I'm still graduating in time.
You go to fucking community college!
Me: Yeah. But I'm a bio major... and...
SC: So... I needed to take the same amount of classes as you... and I could still hold a job.
You fucking, stupid bitch... I'm going to kill you.
Me: Dude... I came into college with 15 credits to my name!
Oh.. I guess bragging runs in the family
SC: Daaaamn! And you're still this slow?!
Fuck. I'll quit that bragging shit right now
Me: Look... some people can handle working and school, I can't. You're an education major... I'm a bio major. It just didn't work out like that for me.
SC: Because you're spoiled and lazy.
Fuck this! She dropped the S word.
Me: No! I'm not! If I would have majored in Education I would have finished in two years! Community ain't shit to the University (and that's SAD)... Education is not anywhere near as difficult as Biology! Don't you compare my shit to yours.
SC: Oooo... AnoMALIE can get mad!

(She pushed my head down and started cutting at the back of my hair)

Me: I'm sick of hearing this shit! What are you going to be doing for the rest of your life? Cutting crack-addicts' hair and yawning all day long at SuperCuts? I'm going to Med School (no, I'm not, but I'll lie when angry)! If Biology is so easily done, why didn't YOU major in it?!

(Silence)

The haircut continued... people walked in... sister got her hair done... we paid and we left.

As Little Sister drove away (like a maniac, I must add), I was still fuming at the ears. Instead of heading straight home, we dropped by Mom and Dad's work place to let Mom take a break and buy some food for herself (poor lady... working amongst all those weirdo truckers for so long on an empty stomach). It had been a while since the haircut, so now my hair was air-dry.
Mom: You... cut your hair?
Me: Yes...
This little exchange made me worry. I walked over to the bathroom and saw my hair.

Never... ever, ever... anger your hair-stylist DURING a haircut.

I look like I belong in the made-for-TV-movie of The Great Gatsby.
Bitch made me look like a 1920's Flapper!
I'm not Christina Aguilera... I don't wanna be Back to Basics... I want to be AnoMALIE, girl with the longish-shortish hair! Shit, right now I'd even accept this hair I rocked back in 1987: Ladies and Gentlemen... my hair is f.u.c.k.e.d.
I'd post pictures... but I've tried so hard to fix it... re-cutting it and stuff... and crying a little bit... and visiting other, closer-related cousins to try and solve my problem... but I've mostly cried. I'm kind of a wreck.

That's the last time I ever lose my temper while submitted to someone who can fuck up my image.
Why don't I just try to piss off a chick that's holding a bottle of Nitric Acid next time...

Family Circus

Alright, so I've been "cursed" to be part of my very... comical family.
It'd be cool if we all shared the same type of humor... but sadly, that is not the case.

Some of us know how to push buttons... while others are just witty (I'm sort of a button pusher... and sometimes things slip out when I'm trying to be serious, so I'm not really witty on cue).
I've had my share of problems due to my "humor" (worst one ending in me being called "Betty la fea" aka "ugly Betty" before ugly Betty was popular in the states... that one ended ALL wrong). I've really tried checking that part of me (yeah, I'll try to be serious... really, I will) because I get the feeling no one takes me seriously (plus, when I'm feeling depressed no one tries cheering me up... and that gets frustrating).
Lately, I've gotten into a mini argument with a friend over humor. It started a while back... with one of those stupid surveys off Myspace. I believe the survey was all about pet-peeves. I answered the thing, seriously, and I got some responses from friends... most of them along the lines of:

AHAHA! #29 was hilarious!...

And they'd go on and quote my response.
I found this funny because my responses were all 100 percent real... those were all my pet peeves and those were really things that went through my head when I encountered them, but there were people out there thinking I was trying to make them laugh (I guess I can be funny when irritated).
I guess this irritated one of my good friends (who really has to try to make people laugh... and in the middle of a "joke" she'll bust out laughing. Always a deal breaker with me unless it's a fucking awesome joke, but it's usually not)... and she started this... comedy war. A war I wasn't willing to participate in.
Who the hell am I to claim myself funnier over another person? Annnnd, why the fuck would I subject myself to being critiqued in my humor? Who the fuck did this person think she was? Joe Rogan? Gimme a break! This wasn't the Laugh Factory... it was the damn computer lab at UNLV!

"Nice try... but I'm funnier than you, AnoMALIE," was what she told me upon seeing me at the computer lab.
Yippy-fucking-skippy. Does it look like I care?
"But it's OK, I like being the funny friend. Chase is the smart friend, and you can be the chill friend," she said.
???
???
Whaaaattt?How about something more along the lines of the drunken-party-girl friend for you?
I didn't tell my friend anything... but after that scenario, I've never really tried being humorous around others.Who the hell is subjected to a comedy-off?

Anyway... something similar to my comedy-off has sprung amongst my brother and his "best" friend. I really don't know who started it all (I do... I just like to claim I don't), but things turned ugly quick.

While I keep my trap closed when someone rubs me the wrong way, my brother just gets more aggravated and REALLY pushes people over the edge.
It all started with Big Brother's Best Friend (BBBF) posting new pictures up from his Florida trip. Now this guy, who is also my cousin (hence why he and my brother have known each other for so long), has a really bad drinking habit. I guess he thinks it's attractive and cool. After he finishes drinking/partying, he gets the urge to eat... regardless of what time this hunger might strike: 11 pm, 1 am, 3 am, 6 am. He'll go out of his way to drive to the nearest Roberto's Taco Shop... and he'll STUFF his face.
So... all this drinking and eating has gotten him on the chubbier side.
My brother, an ex-military guy and boxer, really bugs BBBF about this weight gain:
"damn, biggie heffer...your gut is huge..lose that gut!" -Older Brother on BBBF's (whose real name rhymes with heifer and is spelled similar to "heffer") Myspace pictures.

Apparently, this really enraged BH (I am now going to reffer to BBBF as BH for Biggie Heffer), so he then went on my bro's page and wrote some "mean" comments on my brother's page. BH made fun of my brother's ears (and that's something you just don't fuck with when it comes to Older Brother. No one jokes about his ears) and BH also referred to him as a "tool" (for reasons I am unclear about).
That's when things went super sour (I mean, when I saw it happen, even I winced in anticipation)
So now, OB (older brother) goes to his own Myspace and posts this picture of BH:

With the caption reading: Kids, don't drink, or else you'll end up looking like this guy!

OB proceeded to make it his main picture (I just LOVE how Myspace ruins relationships with such stupid shit).
This in turn, made BH turn HELLA HEARTLESS and since he's a graphic designer (or something to the affect of), he Photo Shopped this picture of my brother: To this much more disgusting version: I woke up today, checked my Myspace (because that's how I do), and was greeted by that last picture.
AHH! What's that?! WTF happened to my brother?!
I saw what the whole deal was... and I couldn't bear looking at the picture because I'd get goose bumps (I still do... it grosses me out).
People were commenting things like:
"Oh shit! OB's a meth addict!"
and
"HAHA cabron ef, your a master of the photshop" (this guy's a total idiot... I can't even be offended with the shit this asshole says)

Ouch... Older brother got clowned on!

OB was livid for a while... not to mention the rest of our household (I wasn't LIVID, livid, just a little surprised... wanting to laugh but feeling it was wrong)

All I can really do is shake my head... boys cross the line pretty damn bad.
And imagine, all this because one poor (24-year-old) boy's insecurity was poked and now he went off and humiliated the (23-year-old) offender (better put, a guy with a beer gut couldn't stand the fact that "best friend" goes around not only telling him, but also telling mutual friends that chubby needs to hit the gym... and chubby then proceeds to turn all Stephen-King-Carrie-White on "best friend" and humiliates him in front of all the hot girls of Myspace. Damn... Hardcore! Riiight).

Who would have known boys have the same sensibilities as girls?!
(BH went so far as to tell me to "tell your brother to quit that shit or else..." man... gimme a P, gimme a U, gimme an S-S-Y!)

However, this all took place between late last night and today in the afternoon... they have since fixed their differences like the adults they are (but that gross PhotoShop picture will live in infamy at this house) proving that while boys are sensitive like little chicks, they know how to resolve a conflict a lot better than grown as women.

That's why I have more male friends than female friends (and proves why I'm still friends with the asshole guy that called me Betty la fea that one time).

Todd is stupid, throw rocks at him!

I was strongly disappointed today.

I may not draw often... I kind of gave it up for a while thanks to DeviantArt. I see so many good artists out there (and they STILL don't make it), and the whole "Well, your shit looks nothing like this! Give it up, Lame-O!" mind-set invades me.

All this looking through people's art makes me become somewhat of a fan for certain artists.
Being that I'm sort of sarcastic... and caustic... and cynical... I like my art the same way (don't get me wrong, I almost faint over Edgar Degas' work as well).
I became a fan of Mr. Todd Goliath. Sure, his art isn't spectacular, but I liked the little sayings of his (I became a tool and bought a couple of backpacks and a binder with his "art" on it. I still carry around the binder that says "Please don't feed the boys," but now I just feel stupid walking around with it. Maybe I should just have a big bonfire and burn all my David and Goliath shit?).

Well, today, Best Bud Chase showed me an entry in the Something Awful forums... and it rocked my world. Turns out Mr. Goliath (Goldman) is a plagiarist. He not only copied worked from some guy that I can't think of his name right now (he/she posted something about it HERE ) but he went as far as to steal from DON HERTZFELDT. I love that man (D.H.). I freaking LOVE that man.

As said on one of my previous posts, I too had my art ripped (sure, it was a 5th grade thing, but it still affected me to the point where I no longer share my art work). Thanks to that, there's nothing I hate more than people's style/art/creation/writing being ripped. I have no problem when due credit is given, but when some ass tries to pass someone else's work as his/her own... that's when my blood boils.
I'm upset I ever liked this guy... I would have been more upset if I would have actually gone through with the purchase I was ever so close to committing (almost a grand for some stupid, lifted artwork. Fuck. that.). Stupid Venetian... making me feel like I actually wanted to buy one of stupid plagiarizing ass Goliath "creations."

People like him don't deserve the respect or space given to them by others.

Grrrrrrrrr. So. Angry. (and disappointed).