Rainy SF night

Pacemaker: Ugh! AnoMALIE! I swear! Yesterday was horrible! First off, I was in the city (SF) and it was pouring.
Me: Aww. Well, it still looked pretty. I still envy you.

Photo I was referencing. This city can be engulfed by flames and I'll still think it's beautiful.

Pacemaker: No, it gets worse. AnoMALIE, I'm walking across the street when I feel this guy hit my bag. I swear I thought I was getting mugged. I got startled... tell me why my bag disintegrates and everything comes tumbling out. In the middle of the street. Directly in front of Neiman Marcus. I was mortified. I had my huge umbrella in one hand, my Starbucks in the other... and now I had this huge dilemma.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA! I'm sorry... HAHAHAHA!
Pacemaker: So I had to try and rush to pick everything up with one hand before the light turned green... and I just kept looking at the cars like "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but my bag's a piece of shit." And I could just sense all these rich people thinking "Ugh... what's that hoodlum doing in our part of town?"
Me: HAHAHAHAHA!
Pacemaker: So I gather my shit and rush to the nearest store for some shelter. What place was it? Neiman. And you remember what type of doors Neiman has?
Me: Those huge revolving ones?
Pacemaker: YES! So there you have me, drenched and with a ton of shit in my hands, trying to balance my coffee... so I keep nudging the door with my shoulder... then my jumbo umbrella... then I kick it... and finally, I just use my back. I was out of breath and exhausted when I walked to the nearest counter and asked for a bag for my shit. They were really nice, since they felt so sorry for me.
Me: HAHAHAHA!
Pacemaker: I swear... this type of shit only happens to me... or you!
Me: No, had it happened to me, this is how shit would have gone down: My bag would have disintegrated just as a gust of wind would pick up, shit would fly, but not too far, just far enough to get me in the middle of the street... the dude really would have mugged me... then the streetlight would have turned green... and the poor guy behind the wheel of the car I'd be blocking would be James Franco... he'd get exasperated and start honking like a maniac, all while flicking me off... I would have started crying, my mascara would run, I'd spill the coffee all over my chest as I'd try pushing the revolving doors open, I'd break my umbrella while in the revolving door, I'd cut my foot as I'd step out of the revolving door, then, finally, I'd set-off the alarm as I'd walk into Neiman. Security would then search my suspected-of-theiving Mexican-ass and that's how I'd call it a day. And I wouldn't be granted a bag. THAT would happen to me.

Totally.

Pools

Today, I learned how to read palms.
That's how bored I was.
Ok, correction... I didn't really learn how to read all palms, I just learned how to read my palm.

My mom's sister, the one who lives here, has this creepy side to her. Creepy in the sense that she likes all of that occult, sixth-sense type shit. It gets creepy because she's pretty good at it. She can tell when someone's going to die, and that is TERRIFYING.
Anyway, for a good... 15 years of my life, she has been telling me that she wants to teach me how to do the tarot thing and the palm-reading thing, because according to her, it's obvious I'm "sensible" to it.
Ok... ?
But since Mom is such a staunch Catholic, she's been all "OVER MY FUCKING DEAD BODY, YOU HEATHEN!" and hasn't allowed my aunt to say a damn thing to me in regards to the process. NOT. A. DAMN. THING.

Well, today we happened to drop by and pay auntie a visit.
Sister and Mom sat next to each other, and the only spot available for me was next to my aunt.
I was checking out my left hand because I scratched the shit out of it the other day, and the scab is at that itchy stage... and somehow, looking at it eases the itch (NOT. I stare at it to see if there's a spot lifting so I can proceed to pull it off... because I'm gross like that).
My aunt looked over and said "You have a pretty palm," all while grabbing it and proceeding to inspect it.
This is when my brain remembered my aunt's little trick.
TEACH ME HOW TO READ! Palms...
So she started.

Now, she told me all the differences, and what the lines mean, but to tell you the truth, I was only listening to what pertained to me.
She was pretty spot on:
*You like to write. (I've never told her this)
*You have a tendency to get very depressed. (I haven't told her this either)
*Laughter's very important to you... and you like to make others laugh.
*You let your heart rule your head (damn it!)
*You're a hopeless romantic (NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW! Keep that shit to yourself!)
*You're relatively impulsive (and I've gotten into serious shit thanks to that)
*You don't fuck around when it comes to drinking. You have the mercury line (I think that's the name of it. Like I said, I wasn't really paying attention), which means you can drink most people under the table (ta-da! and so I'm validated by my own palm! Take that, muthafuckaaas!).
*Your liver's great, but your stomach sucks (oh God, and how!)
*You're a late-bloomer.
*You're very quiet, shy, and detached... but a lover of nature and animals (now this is not that hard to figure out)

Ok, all good there. She was checking out my fingers and nails and all that shit. She was explaining what other shapes and directions in other people's hands meant... but of course I didn't retain any of it... because she gave me ONE little bit of news that upset the fucking shit out of me.
Aunt: Umm... you don't... how funny... you don't have a marriage line.
I open my eyes wide at her.
Aunt: And you're missing... the attachment line... the one that has to do with romantic relationships.
WHAAAAAT?!
Me: What are they supposed to look like?! Lines here? Wait... isn't that a line? I see a line... come on! I have to have a line.

Turns out I have no "attachment lines." I do have one, but on the "non-dominant" hand, which translates to me having only "shallow relationships." And while I do have a couple of lines on the dominant hand, they're faint... which supposedly mean affairs... which is like... whaaaat? I would never do that!

Needless to say, I came out of it a little upset.
No marriage? Fine, whatever, who cares. No meaningful relationships? Not cool. And why is that funny?
Sadly, so far, it's spot on!
Great.

Who wants me to ruin their lives by reading their palm? Come on... there have to be takers... I'll do it for free! I promise not to see a pool in your future.

(I still don't understand why my aunt told me I had a nice palm, if it basically translated to "bitter spinster bitch" to me. I should have asked if there were any fucking cats in my future... although I take it by her "lover of nature and animals" that it probably means I'll be running a cat sanctuary by the time I'm in my 30's)

24N, 106W

Ever played with the Malaria Map on the CDC's website?
I have. I enjoy it.
In North America, there is no malaria... EXCEPT for a small area in Mexico. What does the map say?

Present in Chiapas, rural areas in the states of Nayarit, Oaxaca, Sinaloa, and in an area between 24N and 28N latitude, and 106W and 110W longitude, which lies in parts of Sonora, Chihuahua, and Durango. Rare cases in Quintana Roo and Tabasco. No malaria along the United States-Mexico border and in the major resorts along the Pacific and Gulf coasts.

What are the coordinates of the place where I (usually) live three, sometimes four months a year?
25.28N, 105.63W, that's... quite fucking flirty with danger. And I hang out at 106-territory when I travel to the neighboring towns, which I do quite often while out there. I spend hours in 106 territory... I camp out in 106 territory. Oops!

This is... well, I've known this since junior year of high school, when my friend tried donating blood for extra-credit, and the nurse didn't allow it because she asked her if she had been to Mexico in the last six months.
Friend: Yes. I was there in the summer.
Nurse: Well, the area with malaria is quite small. Where did you go?
Friend: *Hometown*
Nurse: You're kidding... did you look at the map or something?
Friend: No... why?
Nurse: That's located in the "small place" in Mexico. No 10-points extra-credit for you.

But, I still play with the map... because I can't believe my luck.
And yeah, I once had a case of malaria that almost killed me back in my pre-school days, but to tell you the truth, malaria's a rite of passage for all us Mexican-American kids who venture out to Hometown; we've all had it at some point in our lives. I'm immune to that shit now (and if that isn't weird enough, a couple of people from Hometown have sickle-cell. Well, it isn't that weird if you've taken biology classes... it's pretty much expected... but I still kind of laugh at the thought... although I probably shouldn't)... so... I think that makes me better than you.
(I'M KIDDING!!!)

Anyway, knowing all this about the malaria (even if it's a non-issue in the winter), and the narco-violence going on down there-- the beheadings, the abductions, all of that shit-- guess what this big idiot wants to do for Christmas.
Yeah, that's right... I want to go to Hometown.
I CAN'T HELP IT!
I love it!
I'm a motherfucking salmon, I tell you! I will fight the stream and the grizzly bears to get to the place where I grew up (kind of. I did spend more time in Vegas, overall. But when it comes to the best moments in my life, Mexico wins hands down).

It's not just me, the rest of the household has moments of weakness where one or the other whines "I... wanna go to... Mexico..."
We see our queso ranchero and carne seca reserves go down, and we can't help but frown.
Me: Is the cheese really that important?
Mom: YES!
Me: Like... if someone brought some over from Hometown, would you pay... a hundred dollars for one of those baby cheeses?
Mom: TWO HUNDRED!

Mom wants to go for the food (and family. But the food is the pressing matter right now).
Dad wants to go because he gets to be a lazy, nosey Hometown man who doesn't even pick up his own underwear from the bathroom floor when he showers. He turns HARDCORE macho man out there. It frustrates the FUCK out of the rest of the house.
Sister wants to go because we're probably sober three out of the ten days we're out there.
Brother wants to go out there because... he's sober three out of the 240 hours we're out there... and he gets to hook up with multiple sloppy bitches at least three times a week.
I want to go out there for a more legit reason: I need my wisdom teeth pulled out.
:(
Words cannot begin to describe how SCARED I am over the procedure... but 1) my dentist lives out there 2) It's 100 bucks a tooth extraction out there 3) I don't want the ONE fucked up wisdom tooth to fuck up my useful molars.
... and Ok, I too want to get twisted with my loved ones. That shit's hilarious, and right now, I REALLY need "hilarious" in my life.

So... I think I'm heading out there.
...
....
Such a fucking hard decision.
To live or not to live?
To be paranoid and terrified for ten days, but get my mouth fixed... or stay home and deal with my paternal side's fucked-up-ass Christmas antics?

So hard.

Smile like you mean it

Lau, one of my good friends, recently started a pretty cool job.

By "pretty cool" I mean "I kind of wish I had it. Kind of."

She works at the Barneys in Beverly Hills.

I spoke to her today and asked her how she was enjoying her new job.

Lau: Well, I get commission on what I sell, so that's pretty exciting. I'm fighting fools for the jewelry and suit section. They make bank.

Me: Nice.

Lau: And I also like the jewelry section 'cause that's where I've bumped into cool celebrities. They've all been really nice.

Me: Ooo! Like who?

Lau: Well, I helped Kim Kardashian the other day. She's a cool chick. But my all-time favorite so far has to be Jack Nicholson.

Me: BITCH! I hate you!

Lau: Dude, AnoMALIE... I now understand why that man has had so many ladies in his life. He was such a gentleman! To top it all off, he told me I had a "beautiful smile." Awesome man, quite the charmer.

This warmed my heart.

Why? Because she's part of my "Gummy-Smile Crew." 

Red lipstick. Kudos to Lau.

Complementing our smile is like... telling us we won a lottery.

Gummy-smiles... they're... something.

I'm super self-conscious about a lot of things on my face (actually, I'm self-conscious about everything), but my smile is a top issue... although it might not be obvious, since I have the tendency to smile like a horse on all of my photos:

Ugh... this is what happens when I'm super excited. It's real, but gross.

It amazes me how I can make my upper lip nearly vanish when I'm ecstatic.

I find it ugly and gross. No one should know me that intimately except for my dentist.

I've heard of "corrective" surgery for it, but come on, how stupid would that be? You get corrective surgery on a cleft palate... a deviated septum... a botched boob-job... but for your lip? Weak-sauce, homie! Plus, I'm a chump when it comes to surgical procedures. I've had a total of... zero.

Instead, I opt to just sit there and think of "appropriate" ways to smile.

And I usually end up with shit like this when I think "appropriate" prior to photos:

It looks like I'm hiding food. 

Now it looks like I'm having difficulty breathing through my nose. 

Starting to lose control.

Luckily, even public figures suffer from this:

The president of the club. I love this woman!

It's just inevitable. When we're being real-- like a dog telling you to stay the fuck away from his food-- we flash the gums. When we give up and just want you to put the camera away and leave us alone, you get the fake-not-so-gummy smile. 

We also take into consideration that not many people are happy to be acquainted with our soft tissue, which leads to the safer, fake smile. 

So, when someone compliments the real smile... well... that's... that can get you laid.

I'm stoked Jack Nicholson didn't compliment me on my smile... it would really suck to have to hand over my V Card to a 73 year old player.

What IS up?

Sister has been going out every night since Thursday.
I'd be cool with it if she would return home sober.
Actually, I'd be cool with her drunkenness if she 1) had someone else drive her home, and 2) stopped thinking she was such a badass.

She's having some sort of issue with her ex. He's still going around asking about her, and then proceeds to proclaim her the stalker... so she is going out and getting drunk to prove... she's fine without him? I don't know... she thinks like a girl... I don't know much about that, since I only think like an idiot.

Anyway, I've bumped into her a couple of times after she returns home. It's easy to tell when she's had one too many vodka tonics (such a pussy drink! But whatever) because (besides her fucking incessant "I'm good," "Deuces buddy," and the overload of Rihanna/Kanye/Jay-Z-lyric-related tweets. She then acts surprised when I call her out on it. WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER ON TWITTER, GENIUS!) she becomes hellbent on talking to me. And she turns into a chola.

Sister: So I called out ArgentinianFriend for talking to ExBoyfriend about me.
Me: Oh yeah? What happened? (rolling my eyes. Like I want to hear this at three in the morning)
Sister's tone changes. It gets... scratchy... deeper.
Sister: I told her she better not fucking have my name drop out of her mouth whenever she's dealing with him.
Me: How'd she react? What did she do?
Sister: Nothing, 'cause she knows what's up.
(^ Like, seriously? You only say that when you're a street-fighter with a winning record)
Me: Knows what's up? Calm down, hoodrat. What IS up? What would you do?
Sister half-closes her eyes, raises her chin, and winks at me.
Me: I'm not going to fight her for you, dude. You fucking little chola. "Knows what's up"... who the hell are you talking to, blood?
(back in elementary... actually, for her entire life, she has relied on me to fight her fights. She starts them, and since she's such a horrible fighter, she tags me in to take over the battle. Which I usually DO... but  it doesn't mean I like it. I just hate seeing a bruised Sister a lot more)

She said that last night.
Then she updated her status this morning:
Keep my name out of your mouth, mind your own business, and just please stop obsessing over things that don't matter or concern you. Thanks!
Her friend then commented:
I suppose you want me to take the hidden cameras out of your bedroom and to stop peeking in the window at night as well huh? So demanding.

So it looks like we now know who is responsible for this:

OF COURSE this would be outside of MY window.

Me: Tell that motherfucker he has the wrong fucking window.

I live with a chola suspected of being a stalker... who has a misinformed stalker herself. Nice.
(I'm totally joking, obviously. But that random handprint really IS there. I don't know what the fuck is up with that)

Tender Heart... isn't that a Care Bear?

Something I found that made me scoff (because it turned out to be true):

MGH is more decisive and direct, but also somewhat more naive and simple (psychologically speaking) than AnoMALIE is. You two can balance one another nicely. MGH depends on A's sensitivity and gentleness to soothe, heal, and provide a sanctuary from the world of competing and achieving. A, on the other hand, admires and probably needs M's forthrightness, honesty, and willingness to act boldly.

A is more of a giver, and can be very self-denying, while M is self-absorbed, and can unintentionally take advantage of  A's generosity. M also lacks tact and subtlety sometimes, and inadvertently wounds A's tender feelings.

My "tender feelings." Aww... cute! But I'd rather call them "stupid feelings."
Ok, I'll quit being cynical.

My "tender feelings" were especially tender today. As if the weekend hadn't been SHITTY ENOUGH, I woke up to horrible news-- I won't discuss it here though.
Point is, I spent my Sunday morning/afternoon crying.
Once I stopped being "tender," I went about and submitted two more of my applications (I don't know what it is about feeling miserable, but that shit gets me to work. I get shit DONE when I'm feeling like jumping off a bridge. It's like my brain says "Ok! Before you kill yourself... could you just... do this right quick for me? Please?" and something I've been putting off for months gets completed in a couple of hours. Then I feel all accomplished and I put off killing myself for some other day). So, now I'm for sure getting at least three letters in the mail in a couple of months... whether of acceptance, or the more probable rejection, but they'll be there. Money!

I did get some good news before calling it a day. The good news came courtesy of a couple of texts from Pacemaker.
Pacemaker: Hey lady, what's your address? I'm sending you something.
Me: PEANUT BUTTER?! :)
Pacemaker: OMG. You're so weird. But ok, I'll add some in there.

Feed me peanut butter, and I will be yours forever. I'll even endure verbal abuse ::cough:: Pacemaker ::cough:: for the love of PB.
No one is aware of this secret, and I hope to keep it that way. I don't want anyone to know they can have that much power over me thanks to some smoothly blended legumes.
... And now that I think about it... there has been no peanut butter in my house for over a year... I suspect that might be largely responsible for my shit attitude. Guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow.

Hell of a life

"Pisces are always torn between choices, whether to seek the light or sink into the darkness."

You don't say?

These last few days have been uncharacteristically difficult.
Needless to say, my choice was of the latter.

JC suddenly let everyone know he was in Argentina this morning on FB, he hadn't even told MGH he was going out there. So... now I know what that phone call was all about.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt. We were supposed to be travel buddies. I should have never brought up his girlfriend the other night. I'm such a moron.

I also found out I've been left out of the April wedding. I'm not hurt over being left out, even if I AM going to be the only cousin missing (I'm already practicing my responses to the fucking nosey bitches who are going to ask why I'm not part of it. I'm also practicing my "happy" face I'm going to have to put on for the many "pity" faces I'm going to be receiving. Four months of practice seems fair enough), I'm just upset over the way the bride went about it.
She invited my sister-- and only my sister-- to her house, where she asked Sister to be her bridesmaid. When Sister agreed, Bride goes "I already have 18 couples... so... tell your sister I'm not asking her."
So, I bumped into my sister this morning by the bathroom. This is how she greeted me:
Oh! Last night the Bride asked me to be in her wedding. She said she had 18 couples, so she wasn't putting you in.
Ok...
I went about the rest of my day in solitude, locked in my room, editing (what else?).
Am I being out of line here? Is it bad of me to be hurt by this? Bride could have at least invited me to accompany my sister to her house where she could have maybe told me personally, right? I mean, she is my first cousin and all.
But... what's done is done.
It's mostly my fault for making others think it's Ok to run me over like that. I'm the one who goes out of my way to avoid showing emotion in public (besides rage... I do show a lot of rage. Beating up others and whatnot. Not something a gentle soul would do, I suppose).

Anyway, then came church time in the evening.
I was sitting quietly, biting the inside of my lips (hey, it keeps me from crying. It's pretty helpful). I was looking down at my hands without saying a word, waiting for mass to start, when I felt Sister lean over and whisper in my ear.
No more drugs for me... pussy and religion is all I need...
I had to laugh.

I may fight a lot with Sister, and we may not have much in common, but she knows what to do when I'm at my lowest. She knows when I'm putting up a front, and really just need a hand to get me out of that "darkness" in which I've agreed to sink.
She's a trip.
I love that monkeyface.

And yes, people in church thought Sister and I were crazy... which only made us laugh harder.
If only they knew what I just said... so inappropriate. 
<3