Hoe a Housewife?

I know I said I'd make this heartwarming, but what better way for me to celebrate Mother's Day than by talking about my favorite subject, and area of expertise: hoes!

You know... most hoes do turn into mommies... and if you don't believe me, just tune to Maury on any given day of the week, and you'll see plenty of proof ("You are not the father!").

Let's start off with what occurred yesterday:

OK... so my family's quite conservative. I guess it goes back to my grandpa (Mom's Dad). He was terrified that one of his daughters would turn out to be a hoe because supposedly there's strong selection towards that in our gene pool (I guess that makes sense... I mean, how else would there be so many of us?). He knew he suffered from it (he had 3, possibly 4, other families) so he was like "I'll be fucking damned if any of my kids turn out like me!"
Well, he raised his daughters with one of the strictest hands I've known, and all 3 of his daughters turned out right (in comparison to my grandpa's siblings who had children that were, and some still are... hoes).
Mom then learned from that, put it to practice, and now, well, I've been known to call Mom "Hitler" once or twice.

So, the people from my folk's town (tiny, where everyone knows each other's name, and if they don't, the person in question will respond with "I'm *fill in the blank*, daughter/son of *paren'ts name*, the son/daughter of *[possibly deceased] person's name*") know of this little problem in our family.
They themselves are pretty fucked up (and who isn't? It's little towns where the most fucked up individuals are bred), yet they try their damn best to point out the flaws in everyone.

Our family, luckily, has turned out to be pretty tame. My siblings and I are known as "the good, studious kids" in town, and we are... big time.
This, however, pisses some people off... and they make it their mission to try and catch us in a mistake (do you know how much stress that causes us? I feel like fucking Tweek whenever I'm out and about with the homies, for crying out loud!).

There have been rumors spread about us in hopes of ruining our "reputation":
1) That Little Sister was getting married... when she was 16 (this made my sister almost box the lady that asked Mom in Little Sister's presence).
2) That Older Brother joined the army because he knocked a girl up and my folks kicked him out of the house (this made my brother confront many guys at a wedding, while intoxicated, and threaten to hang the guilty people from telephone wires. It embarrassed the shit out of us).
3) That I was a lesbian (this one made me cry).
4) That I was pregnant (this one made me... I don't know... I was sort of offended. How the hell is a lesbian going to get pregnant? j/k).
5) That I was banging an older, married man from the same town (this one made me sick. The guy wasn't even hot--SARCASM!-- and I never talked to him!).
6) That I was being shipped off to a convent because I was not interested in boys and also because Mom was scared I was going to convert to my dad's religion (this one made me laugh. Silly people, if I ever convert to anything outside Catholic-Christianity, it'll be Islam. Hello!).

I mean, there's a ton of that kind of shit out there. I hear most about myself... since... well... I'm right there to get it. They usually find it "suspicious" that I haven't had a serious boyfriend (to their stupid knowledge), that I don't enjoy dances (they don't stop and think "Wait, she probably doesn't like the music... or getting felt-up by the dipshit-boys present. Ah... smart girl!" Or maybe, you know, I just expect respect from others by first respecting myself), that I'm still in school (because who the hell wants to learn anything that isn't kitchen oriented?), and all I ever do whenever in Mexico is play volleyball/visit the park or go on hiking trips (what the hell is wrong with this girl?!). Why don't I just get pregnant and quit being weird, right?
No... I'm weird because I'm not a "regular" girl who puts on war paint and looks like a whore at dances.

Well, anyway, thanks to my desire to be... normal, quiet, and shy, I get this response from bitches that ARE skanks:
Es una mosquita muerta.

Literal translation being "She's a dead, little fly." Symbolically, it means... umm... well, that I'm a sneaky, hypocritical, two-faced bitch.

Mosquita Muerta? I have no idea where the hell they've seen me getting felt-up, fucked, or even making out with anyone. They must have super powers... or maybe they've just confused me with my Doppelganger.

I always say people judge according to the way they live... and well... now I know why one of my harshest critics was the way she was (besides the fact that she once caught me calling her Pinocchio AND Michael Jackson. But you know, you can only take so much before you resort to name-calling):
She has now ran away with the town priest!

Yes Siree, Bob!

Who the hell needs television when shit like this is happening in your hometown (well, not my hometown... well, it is my Mexican hometown)?
I guess the bitch really wanted to catch one of my siblings, or me, in a bad situation so that she could comfortably say we were all... hoes. Or maybe so she could feel better about liking a priest that much.
Sure, I've thought one or two priests were attractive... but I immediately retracted. There are SO many men out there... why try and get with a dude who's "married" to God (I've said I have a homewrecker theory... but I wouldn't even think about wrecking that home!)?
No, homie, I'll go for a dude that... well... doesn't have me competing with God.

This happened the other day... and I still keep mulling the idea over in my head.
How the... why would... oh man. That's jacked...

I'm not really "happy" about the news. I haven't even told a soul (well... I'm blogging about it, but I'm not mentioning names). Only me, Mom, and Little Sister know about it... and that's because Pinocchio's Worst Enemy told us (and Pinnochio's Worst Enemy's engaged to a guy that lives in Mexico).
I'm feeling pretty bad... and sad.
I didn't know she was that lonely/desperate.
A priest?
DAMN!
That priest always made Little Sister and me uncomfortable.
Little Sister: God, forgive me for what I'm going to say... but I feel like that man's undressing me with his eyes!
Me: I know! Why do you think I'm pinning anything that's V-necked?

The man was alright... but not anything out of this world (he did have some amazing hands though... I mean, physically. They were very pretty... to the point where I could be like "Screw the face... will you look at those hands?! I could marry those hands...").
Running away with the town priest.... not even I could invent such a story... such an ending to Pinocchio's love story.
:(

Another skank story, with which I'll end this post because it's getting too long and no one wants to read so much:

This weekend a good amount of my relatives were in town for graduation. My cousin (let's call him Eric), who's like a brother to me, graduated this weekend so we were all hanging out and in full celebratory mode.
Well... I tend to be a little loud/obnoxious when happy (If I'm not already when upset).

Today, Little Sister and I decided to take out Eric's sister, Ariel. Ariel's living in Florida for now... and it's the first time she's out of the state/house. We've been missing her a lot, so what better way of catching up than by visiting the mall?
We were giggling a lot (she was telling us some crazy stories about Florida girls. She says they put Rebel chicks to shame in the Hoe Department)... and we reached the bathing suit section of the store.

Me: Man, for some reason, I'm really wanting to visit the beach this summer!
Little Sister: Well, why don't we check out the bathing suits then?

We three chicks begin checking out the suits. I pull out an orange bathing suit that looked like this:

And comment to my sister: Wow... look at this whore-y one! Maybe, I should get this one!

We laugh, I put away the suit, and we continue rummaging.
There's a Colombian/Venezuelan lady with her husband checking out the suits to Ariel's right (it was Little Sister, me, then Ariel).

Wife: (giggles) Oh! Look at this one!
Husband: Ew, for what? For your ass, gut, and love handles to be hanging out of it?
Ariel: (to Little Sister and Me) Man... the guy next to me's brutal.
Me: Poor lady...

We continue looking at the swim suits, a little quieter, and Ariel gets increasingly uncomfortable. The husband and wife continue looking... and the guy's getting meaner.
We reach the area where the husband and wife were initially, and I pull out a swimsuit identical to the orange one, but this one's blue.

Me: Hey, look, Little Sister! Another skankalicious swim suit!

The wife is standing next to Ariel, and looks over. Little Sister, Ariel, and I laugh and make fun of the suit. The wife leans in on us and smiles shyly.

Wife: Excuse me, can I see that?
Me: Oh... yeah, sorry... no problem...

I give the lady the swim suit, and Ariel gasps.
We walk away as the lady heads off to the dresser to try on the suit.

Me: (whisper) I said "Scandalicious!"
Ariel: (loud) No, you said Skankalicious!
The Venezuelan/Colombian wife lady looks over to us.
Me: Ariel... only to me... this shit only happens to me!

To say I felt horrible at that moment would be an understatement.

When I put my foot in my mouth... I really shove it.

Yeah, Baby, I like it RA!

For the last... hmmm... maybe 20 years, Mom's tried making me eat fish.


It used to work when I was a toddler.
I still remember she'd force me to eat shrimp with ketchup back when I was around 2 (yeah, I have weird memories in my head. I can go back to being one and a half and having an unfortunate incident in the cradle. I told my Mom the story, and she stared at me, "How do you remember that? You were one and a half?" I dunno... I guess I have a gift for remembering traumatic events).

I remember not liking shrimp back then, either.
I'd sit next to my brother, Mom would bring in little plates for both of us, then she'd sit behind us (with that fucking leather belt--with burros, Charros, and cacti printed on it-- hanging around her neck) and tell us we weren't going anywhere until we finished our 10 little shrimps.
My bro would guzzle them down without any effort.
I remember sitting back staring at him eat each one with amazement.
I on the other hand, would hold one shrimp in my hand... and just stare at it (stupid pink and white headless little animal).
"You're not going anywhere until you're done with that," Mom would tell me.
She'd excuse my brother and he'd leave to the bedroom to play some Nintendo.

After about an hour of sitting at the kitchen table, and me crying and dipping the same shrimp in the ketchup, Mom would leave to the living room to watch her Novela.
"Y tu te me quedas sentada ahi hasta que te los acabes!" (You stay seated there until you finish them!)

Since our "house" was a ghetto, tiny square, any movement to the kitchen would be noticed from the living room:

However, older brother would be sneaky... and he'd wait behind the wall and then crawl on over to the kitchen whenever the Novela played its "suspense" music (I guess this made him feel cool... he had a thing for Rambo around this time).

Once there, he'd eat nine of the ten shrimp on my plate. I remember smiling and giggling because he'd make a game out of it (aww...right now I'm feeling warm and fuzzy inside remembering all this). I guess he did it to make me stop crying. I'd try feeding him my tenth shrimp, but he'd shove it back in my hand.

"Eat the last one in front of my Mom," he'd tell me.
"But they're nasty!"
"She won't believe you ate them all if you call her to show her your empty plate. She'll think you threw them in the trash," (something I had been guilty of in the past) he'd say.

Brother would sneak back out of the kitchen, the Novela would go on a commercial break, and Mom would walk back in to the kitchen to check up on me.

First, she'd inspect the trash can, the surrounding area, the sink, then my plate.
"I'm almost done," I'd tell Mom.
Older Brother would then walk out of the bedroom, head over to the kitchen, and stare at me as I shoved the last shrimp in my mouth.
I chewed that thing as if it were a cyanide capsule.
"Crybaby," he'd say and walk away (to this day, we still have this sort of relationship. Why? I don't know).
"There, that wasn't so bad," Mom would pat my head and leave.

Stupid ass shrimp... getting me in trouble since then.
I've tried to like them, really, but they're just so nasty... yet tasteless. It's gross.
I've also tried liking fish since apparently they're good for you.
It's something about their smell... their texture... I don't know... it's just so... not appealing to me.
To this day, I can't wash the dishes after someone's eaten fish on them because I end up fainting before I finish scrubbing (ehh... I've also had to dissect crayfish--or something similar-- in labs since eight grade... one of the most brutal things you could ever do to me).

Is it because I'm a Pisces?
I am a fish... therefore I do not eat fish?

Yesterday's discovery proved that to be sort of... wrong.
I'm a cannibal... of the worst kind:
I like 'em raw!
Turns out I've just been eating my seafood the wrong way.

Eww, eww, eww... yet... OMG... so damn good.

Thanks to my Sushi-addicted little sister, last Saturday I decided to try... I think it's some sort of Uramaki. Previous to that, I had given a California roll a try, and was absolutely appalled by it.
However, this one roll... it was so tasty.

Me: Yumm... what's this sweet sauce thingy on the roll?
Little Sister: It's... (inaudible)
Me: What?
I eat another one.
Little Sister: It's... eel sauce.
Me: Like... the ugly little bastards that live in the sea?
Little Sister: Yeah...
Fuck... I should probably be throwing up by now... but... it's so good...

So, over the week... that's all I could think about.
God, I could really use some Sushi right now... Screw it, come the weekend, I'm having some of that.
It's what got me through Finals and the study time.

So yesterday, since Fridays have now unofficially turned into "I Love My Sister" day, I went to a movie (The Ex... which bummed me out because I like Zach Braff, and to see the theater so empty made me sad for him) then to RA to take care of my Sushi craving (it's like I'm pregnant or something).

I do like that Uramaki... but I quickly learned that I STILL don't like other types of fish. I think I may just like crab. I tried salmon... and although I had to force myself to swallow that thing (I tried 4 of the little... tiny roll things), I'll probably still eat that kind of Sushi roll. I also tried one calamari (fucking nasty and never, ever, ever will I eat that again. Never.) that made me swear never to put anything like that in my mouth again.
It was still a good way to end my excursion out with Little Sister.

It took twenty years of "You better eat that!" and 21 years of support from the siblings to finally get me to open up to fish. Sure, I haven't fully embraced it... but it beats getting screamed at by Mom and having to dip shrimp into ketchup for hours before finally getting a sibling to eat it for me.

Fuck you, shrimp!

This fish... is OK with RA fish.

The unthinkable has happened:

I, AnoMALIE M., have tasted-and liked- Sushi.

Yes. First it was Boba. Now it's Sushi.
I'm definitely Asian.

More on this later, when I come back from my Fantastic Friday.

I'm enjoying this week so damn much... it should be illegal.

Thank God for Casein!

(Grocery store, 8:45 PM. I wanna get home ASAP to watch Survivor, but Mom's hanging out at the dairy section)

Me: What are you doing?
Mom: Your Dad wants me to buy him this really good milk he tried at his friend's house the other day.
Me: Really? What was it?
Mom: It's this special milk made with Soy Sauce...
Me: You mean... Soy Milk?
(Mom makes a grossed out face)
Mom: Yeah... that.
(Mom looks at a carton of Silk)
Mom: Look! It's white!

Yep. My Mom's a cutie.
I love having Mexican parents!
XD

Día de las Mamis Mexicanas

Querida Madrecita:
Feliz Día de Las Madres!


Con mucho cariño,
Su Niña Peleonera.

Mexican mothers have it real nice here in the U.S. of A. They get their day celebrated twice whenever the 10th of May doesn't fall on a Sunday.

We've never done anything out of the ordinary... we usually just hug Mom, excuse ourselves for not having anything to give her ("We're broke... if not, you'd have some bomb ass car waiting in the driveway..."), then we let her choose the day's activities.

She usually chooses to go to a buffet... and there's nothing in this world I dislike more than going to a buffet.
To kill it, Mom absolutely adores sea-food. There's this one particular buffet she digs, one that makes only sea-food. She loves that place... and she always wants to pick it, however, since yours truly over here would rather pierce her tongue with a rusty nail than eat at a sea-food joint... Mom usually picks something she thinks I'll like (i.e. The Olive Garden... which I'm fucking sick of).
I (always) turn the place down and let Mom know that, since it's her day, she can go out and stuff her face with crab legs, oysters, calamari, etc. (don't you just love how gently I put it? "Stuff her face," I'm an awesome daughter. However, I kid you not, Mom was raised to be quite the frugal person, so she takes full on advantage of a buffet and literally stuffs her face)

That's exactly what Mom's up to right now. She's out with Daddy at their favorite buffet, while Little Sister's working. What am I doing? I'm trying to chill the hell down!
I saw my Final grade for biochem... and I almost passed out.
I also almost hyperventilated, and then I started screaming "Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my God, am I dreaming?!"
Yeah, I'm overly dramatic... but I'm so glad this class is done with and that I passed very nicely... now I can most definitely graduate in the Winter (if only I hadn't been such a fucking slacker and actually done everything on time... I would have been walking on Saturday. Oh well. I think it's me subconsciously refusing to grow up).

Anyway! This was supposed to be about my Mom... but I then had to ruin it all by checking my grades and getting all hyped up about that instead.

Sorry Ma, I really do try to be sentimental... but it's just so hard!
Just know you're my lovely Mommy that I love because you gave me life, you taught me to love school and how to be crafty (although I suck at it), how to be disciplined (how can I forget the spankings with that leather belt that had burros, cacti, and Charros printed on it?!)... you played Nintendo with me... got me to love Super Mario Brothers... Punch-Out!!... and Rambo... and... knives? (better post on US Mother's Day, promise!... you know... unless I see I aced histology... then I'll freak the hell out again. Sorry, Mamacita!)

My tormentor: Biology.

I've thoroughly enjoyed this first day of break.

My Suns won game two yesterday, I went to bed late (sort of. Not as late as this past weekend, but I lasted past 2 AM), woke up later, and I've finished all my chores (eh... sort of. I have finished my daily workout though, and that always makes me feel better).

I can't say this semester was horrible, but I can't say it was great either.
It blew last year out of the water (fuck 2006... really... I fucking hated it and I still make myself sick thinking about it), but it came nowhere near 2004.

Here's my ode to all 3 classes of this semester:

Histology:
Oh, Histology... how you will be missed.
I'll miss the professor falling asleep mid-sentence.
I'll miss the weirdos that sat behind me and cracked jokes about anything and everything.

I'll miss the many ways in which this class traumatized me: (Yeah, that's a 70-something-year-old lady's LEG! Supernumary breasts freak me the FUCK OUT)(Dude behind me said "Oh my God! That's Awesome!" when he saw this in class. I, on the other hand, touched my thigh and wanted to vomit)
I'll miss the lab that drove me insane because I had to sit around for 3 hours Mondays and Wednesdays.
I'll miss the lab TA who'd get so nervous he'd stutter the wrong words ("Rolex formation" rather than "Rouleaux formation," "Penal gland" instead of "Pineal gland"), and who I also made uncomfortable with my comments (i.e. Quit bending over so much, this isn't a strip club! or just calling him "Kyle").
If I would have bumped into this class a year ago, I would probably still be interested in pursuing something in the Bio field.
It just didn't happen for us, Biology... let's move on, ok? You'll find better, smarter people (that don't cheat. Motherfuckers...), and I'll quit vomiting and passing out prior to exams. I was too much of a dreamer for you, anyway (need proof? Scope this out, my Biology 190 notes: Need I say more?).

Biochemistry:
Fuck you man... you ruined my life last year (and you ruined all hope/desire to join the medical field. You made me hate Biology. Not even O-chem got that distinction).
But... Carper was a riot... a little weird... but he made me laugh.
Nice final... very nice final.
Never again do I want to stumble upon anything Biochemistry related, you hear me?
Man, I freakin' hate you.

Mammalian Physiology:
F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.
Hate does not describe my feelings toward you. Not even close.
I thought maybe I just sucked ass at physiology... but cell phys in Fall '06 proved that theory to be quite wrong (I count acing that third exam as one of the biggest victories in my life... even above leaving the ghetto!).
No, no... I just don't like mammalian physiology.
I used to blame the professors... and while I'm not fond of two of the three, they weren't really the ones to blame (or... maybe they were... because I didn't suck at histology and they'd sometimes be covering the same thing in both classes. Maybe I just connected a lot better with W than G,Y, and R).
I'm ecstatic that I leave you behind... as a very, very awful chapter in my life.
YUCK... just... fucking EWW.
Fuck you, burn in hell, Mammalian physiology.
I hate you. So, SO, bad.
A ton.
Just in case I didn't get my point across clearly,
Fuck you.

With Love,
AnoMALIE

Ah... well, that felt great.
Now, if you don't mind, I got some books to burn and a Bloody Mary to sip on as I watch with tears of joy in my eyes.

Thank you, Diosito, it's over!

Lovely Baby Sis:

On the real, dude:
I love you and all...
But PLEASE... por favor, si vous plait,
NO MORE READING.

Imagine this thing never existed.
Cool, monkeyface?
Cool.

I have an entry devoted to school (I'm FREE!!), but that will wait 'til tomorrow. I'm so tired.

This just couldn't wait, thought... it was important to set the younger sibling straight (there are some things siblings just should never know about) before I go on with my blogging life.