Outta body

I feel I must be clear on a point from yesterday's post:
I am NOT in love with Josh.
I did not cry over a "missed opportunity."
It's more of... a sad realization. It's a typical AnoMALIE-ism.
Here, I spent my years feeling alienated, completely tormented by my peers... feeling as if no one understood me, much less liked me... and then years later comes some dude out of the woodwork with these... lines that are straight out of a soap opera.

Do you... understand how much your words could have helped me back when I was getting hurt?
The only reason I'm not dead right now is because I'm my own damn cheerleader, and I have always had this very idiotic sense of hope that refuses to die.

I'm just... so fucking awed by how my life is working out. It's so fake and unbelievable. There is rarely a week I don't sit back, and extremely bewildered wonder "IS THIS FUCKING REALLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?! WHAT THE FUUUUCK?!"

I have moments where I can just sense myself having an out-of body experience... wishing I had popcorn to munch on while watching everything unfold.
Check it, dude! You're walking alone, in a dark street, fireworks going off in the distance... and your childhood friend comes out to you as having always had these extraordinarily sweet feelings for you! And you, like the imbecile you are, just storm off like a cow looking for leafy greens. GOOD SHIT, AnoMALIE!

I can't even cry about... it's so fucking comical to me... so goddamn cynically hilarious.

Ahhhhh... it's so incredible. So amazing... in a sad way... in an enraging way...
but fuck it.

Manos, labios, ojos

This time around, I did not stay in my usual house in Mexico.
It wasn't my hood, so to speak.
I stayed with my aunt, in the more desolate, but secure part of town.
The area wasn't too foreign for me, considering I spent my childhood running around in that neighborhood with my cousins and their neighbors.
One neighbor, I'll call him Josh-- the english version of his name-- has always been my favorite.
Josh is three years my junior. I always treated him like a kid... but kindly. I never discriminated against him due to his skin color (he's pretty dark. Hometowners tend to be on the lighter side, since they've really fought over their "Europeaness" and try to stay as white as possible. There are few people with dark skin in town... and it crushes my heart to see how poorly they're treated for it. It's a trip) or the fact that he is of the poorer families in town. I just treated him like a baby, but always embraced him into our group.
He, in return, would make me giggle... and eventually turned into a huge flirt. This may seem insignificant to many, but for me... considering the rough bullshit I went through in my teens, this meant the world. He was the ONLY boy who did not taunt me, never said a single derogatory word towards me... he actually did the opposite. Josh tried lifting my spirits, and always, ALWAYS threw me a compliment each time we chilled.
He was always crushing on someone. He was lanky. He was awkward. He was funny. He was flirty. He was witty.
I was alone. I was quiet. I was reserved. I was sad. I was fat. I was hurting.

Before the violence erupted in Hometown, shit had been going wrong for about two years. Starting around 2005, the youth started getting into coke HARD. By 2006, every guy who lived in Hometown was a coke addict... it was pretty unreal, not to mention heartbreaking beyond comparison. Josh didn't escape this fate.
Each time we'd hang out, we girls would just look at each other when we'd see our guy friends, acting a fool. Their eyes blood-shot, noses sniffling, and all smiling like... junkies.
How the hell is this going to stop? IS it going to stop?
Then the violence broke out, and it seemed to answer my question. EVERYONE stopped doing coke-- EVERYONE. Those who didn't suffered the consequences: death by cartel.

Our guy friends were now rehabbed, but the damage was done, we no longer enjoyed their presence, and they forever felt the shame of being recovering drug-addicts. We went our separate ways.

Fast-forward to 2012.
Josh is married. He is now the step-dad to two kids. He now lives in the city. He is tall, he is built, he is handsome, he is STILL funny, and he is still a flirt.
I am still single. I am still quiet. I still take a while to warm up. I still wear this involuntary frown. BUT I'm no longer "fat."
We first saw each other my second night in Hometown. He was dropping by to visit my uncles, since he has done that since he was a kid.
I had no clue he was in the kitchen, chatting up my uncles and his parents, so as I made my way to the dinner table-- in my skimpy PJs-- I took a giant step back, completely startled by his presence.
He did the same.
Unable to contain my joy-- hey, it had been a while since I had seen him, and he was pretty fucked up then-- I missed his hand he was reaching out for me to shake, and instead I went for the giant bear hug. He IS my childhood friend, after all. I was overjoyed by how healthy and... happy he now looked, I just did what my heart told me to do.
Josh was startled at first, standing awkwardly in the kitchen as I wrapped my arms around him. As I realized what an idiot I must have looked like, hugging this scared giant in the kitchen, he slowly but firmly returned the hug.
Josh: Holy moly, I... didn't know who you were at first, AnoMALIE! You scared me!
Me: I'm sorry, it's just that I hadn't seen you in so many years...
Josh: You're... you're... you look... wow... you look incredible.
Me: You look great too, man! Look at you! All... not lanky anymore! You're a freaking adult now! Hahaha!

We spent the rest of the nights hanging out on the porch... in the dark... telling stories, laughing... occasionally talking about serious subjects.
He never told me he was married. He always covered his ring when speaking to me.
The gold band would catch my eye, and I couldn't help but look him in the eyes immediately afterward.
Tell me THAT story...
We had numerous moments where we would just hold eye-contact in silence... a quiet sadness completely palpable, permeating the air.
You get me, bro... you always have... but... now... it's final. It's... a done deal. We can't do this anymore. Our time was... will forever be cherished. But it's done. Thank you... for everything.

We adressed this once, and only once... on the night of the fireworks.
It was extremely late, and I had gotten separated from my group. I was walking the dark part of the main street, which was desolate, making my way to the enormous crowd at the foot of the church. I bumped into Josh as he was coming out of his mom's "restaurant," and stopped in my tracks as he spoke to me.
Josh: You dancin' tomorrow night?
Me: No.
Josh: Why not?
He took a step closer to me.
Me: When have I ever?
Josh: Hmm...
He was now directly in front of me, looking down-- this guy is a gigantic motherfucker, I tell you. I could feel him burning a hole through me, even if I was looking down at my boots.
Me: I only danced at the alamo... with you guys... when we were teenagers... remember?
Josh: Oh yeah! Ha! Those were great times.
Me: Yeah. They were.
I turn to my right, to once again start heading toward the crowd.
Josh: To me you were always perfect...
I stopped and looked over at him, shooting him my "Are you talking to me, you fucking psycho? It's midnight... and people can fucking hear you" look.
Josh: You were my dream girl. Sweet. Funny. Smart. Humble... beautiful.
I was still staring at him as if he were crazy... my heart racing up toward my esophagus.
Josh: I'm glad everyone now gets to see the girl I always saw: AnoMALIE.
I was almost crying by now... but completely immobilized... and probably heaving... I don't remember, I didn't jot that part down in my journal.
Josh: You're finally getting the attention I always said you deserved. Everyone now understands AnoMALIE D is one hell of a woman.
My shitty left eye, which was already watery from some allergies, began to cry.
Josh: Enjoy it, AnoMALIE, you are more than deserving of the recognition. Have a beautiful life.

I stood quietly, slack-jawed... heart racing... and crying... in the middle of Hometown's Maintstreet... in the dark... with fireworks booming in the distance... just me and Josh in the shadows.
Me: Gracias...
I turned my back to Josh, and sped walked toward the crowd in the distance... deafened by the sound of the blood rushing to my face.

Centímetros de silencio... palabras no dichas...
Y algo que brilla así de triste entre tus ojos y mis ojos.

1 toma, un puto día.

WAKE UP! IT'S THE FIRST OF THE MONTH!!

Christ. Ok, I'm going to go back to my daily habit of writing once a fucking day. My August and September breaks were good enough.
I would have picked it back up the last couple of days of September, but I've been SO FUCKING SICK for the last five days. The only thing my stomach holds down are protein shakes. Any solid food makes my stomach go fucking crazy and I'm miserable as fuck for about thirty minutes... like my cardiac sphincter is slapping me across the face and daring me to try that bullshit again-- Mom style. Peristalsis makes me its bitch... it hurts so fucking much to feel it contracting... like... that shit is NOT normal.
I don't know what messed me up this badly, but I'm going to go ahead and blame Mexico, like always.
I had to resort to this wonderful third-world remedy:

Hey, look! It's my bedroom!
Where I do a lot of that crying and self-loathing-type bullshit!

So far, so good... though I have not ingested any solid food since downing these magic pills... nor will I, until tomorrow morning.

Here's to an awesome October!
(My horoscope astrology bullshit told me I had a shitty September... and that October was going to blow that fucking month out of the water. See, this is how I KNOW this is some bullshit... 'cause my September was one of THE best Septembers I've had in a VERY, VERY long time... we're talking way back to around 2003. Shit, September was one of the best MONTHS I've had this entire year... so, I don't know what these motherfuckers are talking about)

Expect nothing

So... I've been told I have a tendency to "romanticize" things, regardless of how adamantly I argue to the contrary.
I say I'm cynical, and bitter, and blah blah blah... but I'm not fooling anyone.
I'm a sweet, tender, schmuck.

If I like someone, not necessarily in the physical sense but them as a person, I tend to hold their memory in a positive light. I ditch the shitty truth, like the fact that they have an enormous nose... or their teeth have nicotine stains, or I completely ignore their receding hairline.
In my mind's eye, I see them as perfect, adorable people... with awesome personalities... often, in halos of light, like some MichaelAngelo creation.

In regard to (I'm now traumatized about getting this idiom correct thanks to you, Mooney! hahaha) my love life, this tendency is amplified. This, I fully understand, fucks me up.

L'HISTOIRE DE MA VIE!

I swear I try to correct it, but it's pretty damn near impossible not to see the world through rose-colored glasses once someone makes my heart skip a beat.
Once reality hits, I'm out crying and being my bummy self... hating life.

I mope around for a few months, and then once I embrace solitude, I'm restored.

Hermosura.

... then one day, as I'm quietly reading the nutrition facts on jars of protein powder, a young man accidentally touches my hand as we both reach for the same spot on the shelf... and the vicious, rosy cycle restarts.

Unobtainable

The feelings that hurt the most,
the emotions that sting most,
are those that are absurd;
the longing for impossible things,
precisely because they are impossible;
nostalgia for what never was;
the desire for what could have been;
regret over not being someone else;
dissatisfaction with the world's existence.
All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
-Fernando Pessoa

The night of the fireworks, as I sat on that cold, concrete bench, I found myself talking to a girl for much longer than I wanted.
I was sitting outside because Godson and I hadn't made it to church on time, and we were unlucky to bump into the girl as we were working our way OUT of the church premises.
The chick was Godson's classmates back in high school, but never paid attention to Godson because he was "scrawny." Suddenly, she "has always liked" Godson... now that he has bulked up and is making a name for himself in the fitness modeling world.
Right. We believe you, chick.
So, it was thanks to this chick that we found ourselves taking a seat on the benches outside of church, and talking in the chilly breeze.
I obviously wasn't saying much-- she wasn't MY ex-classmate. It didn't help that she remembered me as "Oh! Una de esas sangrónas" roughly translated to "Oh! You're one of those stuck up/conceited/fake girls." (she claimed she had never seen me before. Godson corrected her, reminded her of a wedding we had both attended-- she was an uninvited guest at MY table. We let her sit there, even if she took Godson's seat, so I don't know why the bitch complained... but whatever, that was four years ago) and then she proceeded to claim how we Hometown girls are the snobbiest, most unpleasant of the entire municipality (she's from two towns over).
Are you trying to befriend me... or get me jailed/excummunicated once the soldiers catch me strangling you on church premises?

Anyway, at one point, Godson left our side because he walked over to greet some other folk who hadn't seen him in years.
MeanChick and I were forced to talk... well, more like SHE was forced to talk, since I was fine sitting in silence.
She tried some smalltalk with me, but since I hate that fucking shit, she wasn't very successful.
Me: Sorry, I'm just really quiet and timid. People confuse it for snobbery, but I really just take a while to warm up and start talking.
Her: Yeah, no kidding... you really ARE really quiet.

She REALLY wanted to get on Godson's dick, and once she found out I was his godmother, who was pretty much like his older sister, she tried REALLY hard to fall in my good graces.

Apparently girls talk about their sentimental life in hopes of bonding.
MeanChick proceeded to ask me about dudes.
Her: So, are you married? Engaged? Dating?
Me: None. I'm single for life.
Her: You don't even have a crush or any of that business?
Me: Well, crushes I'm sure everyone has, I'm not an exception. However, my crush lives far, FAAAR away from me, so it's like... I pretty much have nothing.

A couple of minutes later, the conversation moved on to age. She likes older men, and hates younger guys.
Her: Younger guys are so... childish. I want nothing to do with them.
Me: Oh no, toss them over this way!
Her: What?! You like them young?!
Me: Hell yeah. HELL. YEAH. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've gone the older man route before, but it just DOES NOT work.
Her: They're just too serious, huh? They have their act together, they know what they want. I get it. You like the unobtainable... something that is not a sure thing... something that will never be serious. That's why you like the young guys... crush on guys that... you'll never be able to have. You'll never get serious, always be single.

I ended the conversation there. I zipped my lips, no longer made eye-contact, and probably scowled.
She was correct. So correct.
Bitch.

Rehab

Yesterday marked my return to the gym game.
I could have returned to the gym Friday afternoon, but after a 24.5 hour car ride, smelling of pasilla chilies and cheese, and dealing with an eye-infection, I wanted nothing to do with ANYTHING.

Upon stepping foot in the gym, I bumped into my trainer who was holding a conversation with one of her clients, but immediately reacted the moment I crossed her sight.
Trainer: ANOMALIE! YOU'RE BACK!
Me: Yup.
Trainer: WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!
Me: I was... on vacation.
Trainer: For three weeks?! That was some vacation...
Me: Ok, you got me. I was really in rehab.
Trainer: I was beginning to think you were dead... or worse yet, that you hated me!
Me: Never. I just needed a break... (before I really did end up dead)

That's exactly how I describe this trip to Hometown-- rehab.
My time there all I could really think was how badly I hoped this change in environment would change my brain chemistry.
Please change, brain chemistry, please change, please change, PLEASE CHANGE!

As I suspected, getting completely disconnected from everyone and everything helped... by leaps and bounds.
No phone. No internet. No people.
I just needed to be away, alone... in the place I consider home.
I don't know if that's the way it works for everyone... I tend to be ass-backwards when it comes to behavioral shit.

Chick: Aren't you... like... bored?
Some chick asked me that as I sat outside church the night of the fireworks, September 9th.
I was sitting on a concrete bench outside, since Mass was packed and I had no seat saved inside.
The place was dimly lit, a slight breeze would mess with my hair, and I'd just stare at the "arboles" that would be lit later in the night.

I was behind those wooden structures, in the church courtyard.

My godson sat at my feet-- I was sitting on the armrest of the bench, playing with my camera.
Me: Why would I be bored?
Chick: I dunno... you're the only girl in town... you have no phone, or internet, or a car... times of the day you don't have water or light... I'd think you'd get bored, especially since you're from Vegas.
Me: Nope. This is just perfect... even better than perfect right now, since *Godson* is in town.

Not even the military presence scared me.
Back in 2010, there was this incredible hostility in the air... it was pretty debilitating... and stressful. You'd see the masked gunmen everywhere... shamelessly driving around, intimidating the townspeople.
This year, there were three forces to look out for: the greens, the blues, and the blacks.
The greens were the army dudes. I like them. They're sweet, adorable young guys who are clearly there to protect.
The blues are the marines. They're huge, scary, and rock ski masks, helmets, and dark goggles. They mean business... and stare people down. They're "good" I suppose... but intimidating as fuck. You know something's going down if they show up.
The blacks are... the "others." They are the hired hitmen of... a certain man... who now "owns" my mexican state. They're there to make sure the Zs don't come around and try to set up shop. They extortion people, find any excuse to take their shit. I don't like these guys... I was lucky each time I bumped into them, the Army was present.
Anyway, regardless of this new dynamic, I was always at ease. I chilled outside my house until one in the morning.
I had a lovely dog always keeping me company... and I'd sit on the porch, staring into the dark night, often times seeing the bright stars, and all I could think was:
Braaaain chemistry! You're goooood! Stay this way!

I am such a solitary creature... a solitary, nature-loving creature.
It makes me happy. It soothes me. It cures me.

Calmadita Venadita.

Fuck. Took me long enough to update. My bad.
I've been back since Friday morning... after a 24.5 hour-long road trip that I BARELY recovered from... though I'm still struggling with this fucked up eye-issue:

I scared a good number of people with this shit...

But at least I'm back.

I'm tan.
I'm happy.
I'm calm.
I saw stars.
I saw/smelled wildflowers.

FINALLY saw flowers this summer.
I ran through the fields á la Heidi.

I smelled rain-soaked sand.
I got soaked as I walked in the rain.
I watched lighting storms from the comfort of a porch at 1 in the morning... sitting on a rocking chair... in complete darkness... in complete silence.
I walked my beloved unpaved streets.

I find this infinitely charming.

I chilled in my comfy pink house... even if it's starting to come apart.

Yeah, the walls are coming down...
but I still prefer sitting here, listening to the television, as I doodle away.

I sketched like a madwoman.

In case you doubt my claim of ADD...
I can't focus on just one sketch, I gotta go off and doodle random shit.

I wrote like a scholar... well, like a foul-mouthed scholar...
I laughed. A lot.
I ate... A LOT.

Tacos y cheves, left and right, day and night.

Boys were my sole company.
I made peace with one of my only two female "enemies."
Each night, I was fortunate enough to play with a brindle pitbull who was inexplicably smitten with me-- the feeling was mutual.

I also played with puppies once in a while.

cute sons of bitches.

I rode a horse!
Each morning, I woke up to this beautiful sight:

El UNICO que merece mis suspiros.

Did I mention I laughed a lot and I was happy... and that I did not shed a single tear? Well, I did cry, once, but that was when my godson paid me a surprise visit. After not seeing him for two years, I found myself sobbing with joy as he hugged me. It was really weird, the second time I ever do it... but it was so sincere. I fucking love that kid.

I ADORE being Mexican.

Viva Mexico, Cabrones.