Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Not to my daddy!

I don't think there's a person out there who enjoys seeing their parents upset... well, maybe if your parent is an undeniable piece of shit human... but other than that, I don't think anyone of sound mind enjoys his or her parent's pain.

Yesterday my Pops came home so upset, he didn't eat dinner and he went straight to sleep-- at 7 PM.
This man loves food.
He also brought home a dozen fancy donuts he hadn't touched. He had been planning a surprise for Mom and I... but instead, he just left the box of untouched donuts on the kitchen counter and went to bed.

Daddy was upset... wildly upset, and this of course, crushed me for Daddy.

My dad is honest to a fault, way too many people judge him a dumbass for this reason (myself included, much to my shame). Nothing upsets him more than being accused of dishonesty, and yesterday, that's exactly what happened.
A high way patrol man staked out his place of work for forty minutes, harassed my mom about my dad's whereabouts, and waited for Dad to return from a cement job he was working on.
Once Dad arrived, the cop accused my dad of causing an accident on the highway after his truck spilled rocks over a car. The driver of the car filed the report saying he had pulled over to a rest stop and spoke to my dad who had supposedly assumed responsibility.
1. During the time the report was filed, Dad's truck was empty, he has the receipt from the gravel company stating his fill up time as 14 minutes after the report was filed.
2. Dad NEVER spoke to anyone. He never pulled over at said stop. Luckily Dad, due to his years in the truck-stop game (44), is close friends with the owner of the truck stop in question, and he now has footage of what transpired in that location... you know, the fact that he was NOT THERE.
3. Since when the fuck do cops respond to "minor" accidents? Didn't we recently change that rule and now there has to be a serious injury in order to get cops involved? Who the fuck is this driver to have so much importance to call on a cop to pick up his case over a fucking broken windshield?

Dad was most bothered by the fact that the douchebag claimed he had spoken to Pops, also upset over how the cop treated him and my mother, and more upset over the fact that Pops lost his cool and dropped numerous curse words in his ire.

Hearing all this, and seeing my poor dad's defeated look when he walked into the house yesterday fucking gutted me... then infuriated me.

You know, I defend the law enforcers damn near blindly. I like to imagine a world where there is no corruption and shit like that... because I can only stand ONE Mexico-level of corruption in my life, and that spot is taken by Mexico.
You hear all these fucked up stories of cops doing shitty things, and think "Well, what the fuck was the douche bag civilian doing to piss off a cop like that?" And when the answer is "He was an honest Mexican business owner"... it makes the pit of my stomach hurt and my mouth/throat run dry.
It's scary and sad and infuriating and confusing.
What do you do?

Uncool. So uncool.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Retourne

Wow.

As I was too busy dwelling on last week's events, a friend learned her cancer has returned.

And like that, I am ONCE AGAIN reminded to quit fucking wallowing in the hurt inflicted upon me by a well-established prick. Reminded how petty it all is... and how HUGE the problems of others really are.

Oh sweet, sweet girl.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Therapy, my way.

As predicted, this strong, violent episode of unadulterated rage produced a surge of creativity.
In two days, I manically created this:
 


Today, my mind's like "Are you gonna finish this or nah?" to which, of course, I'm like "Nah, man... I'm actually pretty happy and calm now. Thanks for the outlet, Brain... but I'm good now. Fuck the details for now. I'll finish this sucker next time someone makes me irate... or the next time I come across some fucking imbecile drunkard. And I'll stop talking now because I'm starting to get angry again."

But for real, I'm so much better now. Sure, I still feel a little tear coming up when I let my memory wander back to some of the mean, idiotic shit MGH said and did... but I just force myself to be happy by thinking of things like... dumb music lyrics... or the fact that my brother is hollering at one of my close friends from high school (this I'll discuss in much more detail in the near future, you know, when this story gains more material).

I wish I could become creative on command, not after some fucking traumatic life event or whatever.
Anyway, painting is great... and drawing psychopaths is fun.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Shitstain

That cop-out, that fucking ire-inducing cop-out:
I was drunk.

... Yes. You get a fucking pass for "being drunk."
You're so drunk and unable to control your actions, you go about and wreck shit, and humiliate others, mistreat others... but OH! Shit! WAIT! HE WAS DRUNK! He didn't know what he was doing! It wasn't REALLY "him" doing it... it was the drunk alter ego... he's not REALLY like that, so let's not hold it against him. Let's sweep it all under the rug and hope he doesn't target you again the next time (probably tomorrow) he gets inebriated... you know, when he gets "awesome" and hilarious and cool... because he's so fucking cool when he's drunk... he's FUCKING HILARIOUS.

No. Fuck you. Fuck that shit.

You know what gets me to "black out" and "not be myself" and lose control? Rage. It doesn't happen often... but there are those rare moments, where I am SO infuriated, I am completely BLINDED by rage.
So... with your drunk logic... I can FUCK SHIT UP... and I mean, I will fucking DESTROY things as well as PEOPLE... but see, I was BLINDED by my angry episode... I wasn't really ME... I was just really, REALLY angry and that shit overrode any logic in my head.
So I get a free pass, right? I punched holes through your walls, broke your fragile shit, and smashed your face against the hardest surface I could find... but it's ok, because that wasn't really me, I was just REALLY REALLY angry... like the Hulk.
That thing I did to your eye? Well, isn't that just ever so unsightly... and I'm sure it sucks for YOU to walk around with it... but see, I supposedly (ah, yes, "supposedly"... I LOVE that word. I fucking LOVE when drunks drop that word. FUCK having any sort of accountability... I mean, can anyone REALLY PROVE they did/said what you're claiming? "Supposedly"... beautiful word, really) did that while in that blinding fit of rage... you can't really hold ME accountable for doing that to you... because I DON'T REMEMBER doing that to you... so... it didn't really happen.
I mean, you KNOW the REAL me... I'm a pleasant, quiet little girl who is too scared to even hold eye-contact with you. That ugly angry episode was just... a bad moment... a rarity... so... free pass, right? And no, no apology, because REMEMBER, I DON'T RECALL ANY of this ever happening... so... I don't feel like I'm the one who needs to apologize... maybe next time HulkAnoMALIE shows up, you'll force an apology out of her.

Fuck that.
If I were to injure anyone in my fit of rage, I'd be doing jail time. If I fucked up people's possessions, I'd be sued for the damages. I'd be HELD ACCOUNTABLE... regardless of whether or not I remembered ever doing any of it.

It isn't funny. It isn't cool. It isn't... it isn't worth being around.
Excuse me while I label you persona non grata and keep my fucking distance... because I hear shit smears quickly, and quite frankly, I could do with one less fucking shitstain in my life.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

FUCK YOU DRUNK PIECE OF SHIT!

So. FUCKING. ANGRY.

I HATE MOTHERFUCKING DRUNKS.

Next motherfucking drunk I deal with, I swear to fucking god will get punched so MOTHERFUCKING HARD ACROSS HIS VERY FUCKING STUPID IDIOTIC SLOBBERING PATHETIC IRRESPONSIBLE FACE I will make that motherfucker forget his motherfucking BIRTHDAY!

I fucking HATE drunks.
HATE.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Weird.

Ha.
... Ha.

...
Because I'm a fucking MASOCHISTIC MORON, I've been hanging out with Mario since yesterday.

I'm fine while we actually hang out. His girlfriend is a sweet shy girl, and his friend and his friend's girlfriend are nice... but you know, I'm clearly a FIFTH wheel and that shit is hardly fun.
And with Mario being Mario, he has thrown a couple of stinging comments for comedy's sake... so while it does get a laugh from everyone-- myself included-- I'm left to sulk when my stupid brain begins analyzing the degree of "fucked-up-ness."

It also sucks dick to surround yourself with couples when you're as single as a fucking dollar bill.

All in all, I'm currently really wrecking my own emotional stability, and I feel like an asshole for asking to be left off the hook for tonight.
But I had to. Had to.

This isn't fun.

Best they can do

I've been on the receiving end of some very sweet compliments from guys recently. It helps, a little, to ease the hurt incurred Thursday night.

Another wedding, Thursday night.
I was actually excited about this wedding, since I had been told it'd be a very intimate affair (the fact that this was going down on a Thursday aided in fueling this false sense of security).
Intimate = not many people = comfortable.
Of course, I should have known better, considering this was the wedding of the girl whose bridal shower I attended last month where the ladies hounded me about my single status and the girls shunned me for being hopelessly single.
Sure, this was going to be "intimate"... but how about the quality of the people? No one promised that to be "comfortable."

Comfortable this wedding was not.
Since I'm single, OF COURSE my paired up friends (ALL of the girls at this place had a partner of some sort. Except for me, of course-- the eternal bachelorette/spinster/cat-allergic-catlady) thought they'd do me a solid by sitting me at a table alongside single dudes. Of course.
1. They were younger than me.
2. They were divorced.
3. They had children.
4. They were bald-headed ex-cons.
5. Covered in tattoos.
Rad.

The outcome? They were treating me like garbage... THEY were upset they got stuck with me.
Ahhhh, this familiar spot, yes.
I had a wonderful flashback to the summer of 1999... the beautiful time when the boys in Mexico decided to bully the fucking shit out of me for being fat... when they'd moo and oink at me when I'd walk by. The awesome days when boys would be absolutely disgusted at the mere insinuation that they'd have a crush on me, or WORSE, ME on them.
(Just mentioning that shit makes my stomach drop... it's insane how my mind still remembers the exact feelings all that shit elicited in me... it's so fucking vivid)

It was SO FUN to sit there and see these bald-headed cholos treat ME like the leper... how appalled and annoyed they'd get when others at the table tried getting them to talk to me. Shit, even ACKNOWLEDGING my presence seemed to irritate them.
I'm not quick when I'm upset. I don't know witty comebacks to throw at jerks who cross a line with me... not this line. No, I freeze. I am so shocked and upset at the realization that adult men can still treat me this way, I lose my power to speak.

The worst part was that the ladies at the table would not relent. They'd continually poke around to try and encourage them to hit it off with me.
I'd look down at my phone and play games, hoping any conversation topic relating to me would end once they'd note I was mentally checked out. I also did it to avoid seeing the look of disgust on one particular dude-- he was SO annoyed... and even looked insulted at the fact that "this was the best they could do?"

What was my sin? I have no clue... sitting at the table? NOT being a bitch when I took my seat, and actually smiling?
I walked into the venue ten minutes after the party was allowed in, looked for my table, found my table, smiled and greeted everyone that was already seated, and I took my seat. I looked around and admired the decorations and food, and the bride and groom. I was being me and minding my own business.

When the insulting glances and snide remarks finally made me reach my breaking point, I excused myself to the bathroom and did what I do in public restrooms-- I cried.
When I returned to the table after sniffling away the emotional injury, the main jerk was gone-- and his mom STILL tried giving me his number.
???
I proceeded to stuff my face with a cupcake... spending the rest of the night calmly watching the rest of the room hit the dance floor.

It's shit like that which fucks me up. I can hear 100 compliments every day for a month and never believe a single one... but give me ONE "Ugh" or disdainful stare and I will be emotionally fucked up for MONTHS. I will believe I'm disgusting for fucking MONTHS... if not forever, which seems to be more accurate.

A fucking cholo made me feel like a hideous monster and reduced me to tears at a wedding... ain't that some shit.

Hey, AnoMALIE! Why do you have massive social anxiety, again?