Que Circo

I know my bitching does very little to clear my image of being... well, a bitch.
LUCKILY, I tend to leave my bad-mouthing for blogging purposes only... with the occasional angry tweet.
Since I fight the urge to be outright rude and outspoken, I manage to get humbled in a more quiet fashion... no one else really sees me getting slapped into shape.

I know I was frustrated and angry about the Nebraska family staying over, but they quickly changed my mind.
They turned out to be the sweetest, most easy-going people I've bumped into in a very long time.
Their favorite activity of their stay?
Visiting Circus-Circus... the midway.
... ?
I was incredibly uneasy and irritated at first...
I've never met adults who were so fascinated by a fake circus.
Fucking place is full of clowns and balloons... I fucking detest both!
However, once I removed the stick out of my ass... and proceeded to cover my ears with my hands... I started to have fun.
How much money did I spend?
A dollar.
I spent one dollar, one try, on the skee-ball machine... and I won:

This sweet thing still has no name...
NO, I will not call it "Flipper."

Yeah.
Of course, since this is AnoMALIE we're talking about, there was some motherfucking controversy involved:
The stupid kid next to me took my KILLER WHALE instead of handing it to me like the damn worker told him to. Since I'm NOT above fighting a fucking ten year old over a stuffed animal, I fucking complained and threw a hissy fit.
In the middle of my complaining/threats, my cousin scored the same amount of points as I did, and the worker proceeded to hand another stuffed animal... the gray dolphin.
It was a large brouhaha... and I was being an asshole... and I somehow ended up with Mr. Dolphin over there.
I walked the rest of my Circus Circus visit with that dolphin hanging on my arm... my right hand in a death grip on the dolphin's belly. Of course this had people staring... and oddly enough, dumb-ass teenaged boys hollering at me.
Boy: I'll be your teddy bear, girl...
Me: It's a dolphin... you fuck. And if you yearn for me to grab you in the manner I'm grabbing this dolphin... you might be secretly transgender, wishing for a cheap way to lose your dick.

Back in my teen years, the only place I was ever really allowed to hang out was Circus Circus.
It would usually be a large group, of equal boys to girls. How would my night end? I'd be the one girl of the group who'd end up at the arcade, playing either skee-ball, table hockey, or shooting games with the the couple of guys who wouldn't be lucky to hook up with the girls of the group.
I'd have a stuffed animal or two, but none of which were given to me by a guy... no, no, I had to work for the stuffed animal and earn him through my own athletic merits.
Often times, I'd get to see my crush hook up with one of my COUSINS... which sucks more than watching a crush hook up with a friend.
Not once did I get "picked" by my crush... I never even sat next to him. Not once did I get "hollered" at... I didn't even have a guy tell me something nice, actually.

I'm 27... single... no kids... and I was hanging out at Circus Circus on a Monday afternoon... with a stuffed dolphin in my arms... and teenaged boys hollering at me.

Fucked up way Life has worked out for me.

BUT! This is a happy post!
After having this fucked up epiphany, I went back to smiling as I watched my Nebraska family enjoying the casino so enthusiastically... even my dad got in on the action and played some games... shit, Mom and Dad were even holding hands as they walked through the casino (which threw me for a loop, considering how allergic Pops is to PDA).
Yeah, that's right... I hung out with my parents at Circus-Circus... something I NEVER did until yesterday.

Crazy.

cRAZy kids

I went to bed frazzled as fuck...

Then I woke up to see something that still cracks me up... even just thinking about it.

So, the twelve year old boy is attached to me. I learned how to get him to chill the fuck out and quit pissing me off: toss money at him.

Aside from giving him money (no, seriously... he rummaged through my WALLET... which... at the age of twelve... I NEVER did that... that shit would get my fucking hands slapped so hard I'd lose feeling in them for days), I also play Donkey Kong and Super Mario with him... and not to toot my own horn, but I murder at those games.

Anyway, the boy now thinks I'm pretty legit.

These last two days I've been sleeping on the floor in my parent's bedroom (each night I brace myself to wake up to some traumatic shit, but so far, the only thing that has woken me up is the arctic temperature my parents keep in that room). By the time I wake up and work my way towards the room where everyone is hanging out, it tends to be pretty late.

Not today.

I woke up to some serious laughter.

Why the cackles? Because the 12 year old tried shaving his face this morning.

With MY razor.

You can imagine the sight.

Kid... you're lucky that razor is reserved for my calves...

All morning long, each time I looked at his chin I'd bust out into a chuckle.

What didn't make me chuckle was the fucking chastising I STILL received this morning.

This time, my aunt was the one giving me a talk about how "you don't do" what I "did."

Her parents were worried sick. She's nine years old. That was so irresponsible. What were you thinking?

First of all, I DON'T hang out with kids. I don't know how to handle kids. I DON'T LIKE kids. Second, you guys MADE ME take her with me when I was clearly only intending to take my 20 year old cousin to SUGAR FACTORY. Third, that fucking little heifer was the one throwing a fucking hissy fit at Sugar Factory about "I want M&M WORLD!" I don't know how to handle spoiled, idiotic twats (aside from slapping the shit out of their mouths and telling them to "act right!" But that would have gotten me in trouble in such a public area as the Las Vegas strip), so I did what she wanted in order to get her to shut the fuck up. Last, you of all people, should know this damn kid embellishes the fuck out of her stories. I got this after talking to her for five minutes... you've dealt with her for nine years, you should know this and take it easy on me.

Of course I didn't say what I was thinking... I just wanted the fucking conversation to end. I apologized, said I thought it was going to be a quicker trip (which I DID... but these kids were more indecisive than I am), and that I was very sorry I upset her parents like that (which I was... but when I say "I'm going to the Paris casino to get 20yearold some Sugar Factory," they should have known this was going to take some damn time... they should also know of their child's manipulative nature).

But... again... all I have to do is think of my cousin's bleeding chin, and I crack up.

Crazy kids.

Candy Kids

Yeah, yeah, another cheat update. But I'll be motherfucking damned if I don't update EVERY SINGLE DAY of July. I'm SO close!

Anyway, guess what I've been up to?
Aside from listening to a bunch of back-handed compliments and playing video games like a prepubescent boy... I've been baby sitting the kids.
As if taking care of the 10 year old (who is actually 12) and the 19 year old (who is actually 20) wasn't enough, they decided to add a 9 year old to the mix.

I get to baby-sit them as their parents gamble the night away.

To say I'm frustrated would be... kind of putting it mildly.
I want to punch strangers, that's how irritated I am.
The kids I've warmed up to... but I just want to chill sometimes, and all these kids want to do is eat candy. SO MUCH fucking candy.

I went ahead and lost all credibility, all trust, due to me being "inconsiderate and irresponsible" after allowing the fucking nine year old little jerk swindle me into taking her to the goddamn M&M factory or whatever the fuck that's called.
We were at the Paris... at Sugar Factory... and the little brat got her panties in a bunch and demanded I take her to the M&M place. Upon hearing this, the 12 and 20 year olds joined her strike.
Me, being the EVER vindictive, angry cunt I am, decided we WERE going to go to the stupid M&M place... WALKING.
Wanna boss ME around, you little fuckers? Let's walk... no, JOG over to the M&M place. Suck on THOSE balls.
Of course, while I got my way and irritated the fuck out of the kids... not to mention their feet were KILLING them, I also got scolded by the adults... because this walk took us a great deal of time to complete.
I BROUGHT A NINE YEAR OLD HOME AT MIDNIGHT!
... but only because the little bitch wanted M&Ms at 10PM... she would have been home at a decent hour had she listened to me and gone for the goddamned Sugar Factory cupcakes...
Anyway, the parents were upset with me... and now they think they "know" me. I'm really just a fake-humble girl who really just likes getting in trouble and staying out late. Yup. Totally me. All the time.

At least it gets my mind off things, right?
Right.

I look to the skies and continuously scream "WHAAAAAAAAAT NOW?!"
For real. Just... what else can be expected out of me... what other fucking lemons are going to be handed to me before this month is over?

... I promise I'll never, ever, EVER smile for more than three consecutive days. That shit has cost me a shit-ton of tears and frustration...

Chez angrAMALIE

It appears the universe does not want me to write up the short story... or at least not share it.

Nebraska family has dropped by unexpectedly and I've spent the day cleaning like the crazy person I currently am.
And I'm pretty sure I will not have much time to write things of much substance... though I usually DON'T write shit of substance anyway. I'm such a lazy bum.

But at least it's keeping me from being too emotional or blubbering shit I'll find myself regretting later.
Perhaps tomorrow... when I don't have my little cousins staring at my face as I type away... making me so self-conscious and shit.
Oh, hey kids... just... writing up an important email to my clients, is all... carry on... there's a Wii somewhere by that television... entertain yourselves. Quit staring now. Please... and don't you dare work your way to this side of the screen. 

Ahhhh... I'm such a lovely host.

Did I mention they're fundamentalist, evangelical Christians? Well, they are.
Fun times ahead.
... I'm going to cuss every fucking chance I get.
Ha.

**Update**
WELL!
We're definitely not going to get along...
First, my uncle, who I haven't seen in three years, greeted me with some fanfare.
Uncle: Holy moly! You're a different person!
Me: Me?
Mom: Haha. Yeah, it's 'cause the last time you saw her...
Uncle: She was REALLY FAT!
My uncle then proceeded to mimic how monstrous I was... which always ends up looking like someone trying to imitate an angry gorilla.
This was in front of my parents, my uncle's 40-somthing year old daughter (my dad's cousin) and her 40-something year old husband, and their 19 year old daughter and 10 year old son.
... yeah, that wasn't awkward.

A little later, I was ambushed and interrogated by my little cousins as I washed my face in my bathroom.
I've never met them in my life... so I obliged by answering some of the more normal questions.
Her: So, how old are you?
Me: 27.
Her: So you're all done with college and stuff, huh?
Me: Yup. For the last five years or so.
Her: So what do you do now?
Me: Nothing. I got my Biology degree and then dropped out of medical school.
Her: Why?
Me: Because I didn't like it. I was unhappy and I didn't like my peers.
Her: Do you plan on going to like... grad school?
Me: I tried... like... almost two years ago now. Didn't work out. Who knows, maybe I'll try again later. Maybe.
Her: So like... besides hang out, what else do you do?
Me: Nothing. (think about suicide on a daily basis and cry every other hour)... well, I do go to the gym... and I write... and paint...
Her: Do you get paid for that?
Me: Nope. (I'm pretty much waiting for death now...)
Him: You don't sound very smart...
Shut up, you fucking ten year old twat. YOU still believe the universe is six thousand  years old... I wouldn't talk if I were you.
Me: Ha. Well, what do YOU guys do?
Her: I work for Kellogg's. I have three years of nursing school ahead of me. See how much I like that.

Ah, youth with their dreams.
I remember having those (dreams AND youth...).
The Universe, just having another little laugh at my expense, it looks like.

You don't sound very smart...
Excuse me, I gotta go cry myself to sleep now.

BIG Heart

I don't know why this sort of shit happens to me, but it does.
AGAIN, I had the intention of posting part one of the series of the "short story" but of course! because my life isn't sufficiently out of wack, I get more bad news.

My auntie, the one who likes buying me random shit, the one who gives me (often hilarious but also unsolicited) advice, has been diagnosed with an enlarged heart.
Poor Aunt was freaking the fuck out when she told my mom. Of course I'm told this shit because, as stated before, apparently my bio degree translates to "Doctor" in my family.
Guys, I'm an imbecile, calm down and quit telling me your health problems...

Always difficult to watch someone panic before your eyes.
She was told her final results would be given to her next week... whatever that means.

Seriously, Universe... you done, big man? You good? Or you got some more fucking shit up your sleeve?
I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. Please take it easy on me. Please put someone else in your sights. I'm done. Please.

Preface

Estoy sentada en silencio...
Pensándote a gritos.
I'm sitting in silence...
Loudly thinking of you.

Well. It finally happened. And it was... very true to the way MY story tends to go, it was very AnoMALIE-esque.

AnoMALIE fact #76893: In high school, I asked three guys to prom. THREE. I was bucked off the horse twice, dusted myself off... and finally gave up the third time my face hit the floor. Real talk: I asked three different guys to prom, and each time I was turned down. I spent prom by first failing my driving test, and then taking the longest bubble bath of my life... where I'm sure the ration of my tears to tap water was somewhere along the lines of 2:1.
For a shy girl... I sure do put myself out there when it comes to letting guys know how I feel. Not once have I succeeded there, as in, not once have I heard a positive... but I still do it. I don't know why. My brain will continuously scream at me to shut the fuck up... but my stupid, STUPID heart plows past the warnings... like the real asshole it is.

While in the last few days I've probably felt every fucking feeling that exists in my heart... there is ONE positive: I am suddenly SO. DAMN. CREATIVE.
I've been drawing and writing like a maniac.
The drawing is fine because it stays in my sketchpads, but the writing is a mess-- it's just a bunch of thoughts that I need to reorganize... and proof-read. But it's clear that my brain has kicked up the productivity/creativity in the last two days.
It's the best way I know how to deal.
I know I gained a great affinity for weight lifting because of this intense desire to cope with heartbreak/disillusionment. It helps transform whatever emotional pain I may be feeling into actual physical pain. There's also punishment for anytime my mind is anywhere other than in the lift I'm performing. It cracks the whip.
But I'm not going to lie, I am enjoying the spurt of creativity... even if my esophagus feels as if I've swallowed a gallon of battery acid... my cheeks feel hot as if I've been attacked by a gang of backhanding sumo wrestlers... and my heart feels as if someone ripped a strip of the protective duct tape I've managed to wrap around my heart as means to keep anything from leaving or entering.
Everything hurts... but I suddenly have this urgency to write it all down, before it too gets lost... just like that fleeting sense of happiness I sometimes have the privilege of creeping up on.

I think I'll do this in installments... it's uh... rather lengthy, and let's be honest, you don't have the patience to read it, nor I the attention span to write it.
It IS part of a story... it has always made an appearance in my stories... but those who know me best know this deserves it's own... book... a book I can finally complete due to an ending finally being available, I guess you could say.
No, I won't write the "short story" version of it here... just the skeleton of it. I wouldn't subject y'all to that pain.
And please, don't feel sorry for me... it's just... the way the cookie crumbles for me... always. I just don't understand why I made myself believe that this time around it would change.
Things never change for AnoMALIE.
Refusing to accept that constant was my biggest mistake... so I brought this upon myself.

You can't make someone love you, just like you can't choose who you love.
Back when I was in middle school, I remember watching a Jennifer Aniston film, where she's in love with her gay best friend... and I remember feeling extremely gutted for her after she utters this line:
“I want you to be with me, I want you to marry me, I want you to love me the way that I love you. I don’t really want to see who you are at all.”
My soul felt crushed for the character... especially after seeing, and hearing, the way she pleads the part I underlined.

I want you to be with me...
Fucking words have haunted me since.

Stepford

"Damn. AnoMALIE, I wish I had your life!"

I've received numerous calls and texts from friends and family after this whole Tyson death thing.
It has been nice to catch up, and for the most part, as long as they don't sit there and try to make me reminisce about all the ridiculous... hilarious, sweet stuff my dog did, I'll be good.

The person who has succeeded most with this task has been Pacemaker. That chick.
We were talking about our upcoming trip to the east coast, and the conversation went something like this:
Pacemaker: We should have this trip totally booked by late August. Deal?
Me: Yeah, definitely. We have to work shit out prior to the first week of September.
Pacemaker: Oh, so you're on board for the Hometown trip with me, then?
Me: No... I have to skip on that one. Apparently things are growing increasingly worse. Plus, I have another trip pending... so I wouldn't be able to help out with the plans until mid-September when I return.
Pacemaker: Where are you going?
Me: ... Costa Rica. Mexico's national team is playing a cup-qualifier against Costa Rica on the 9th, and our friends got us tickets to watch it with them...
Pacemaker: Costa Rica's that fun, huh?
Me: Yeah. More like... I like it there a lot, especially now that I have "family" there.
Pacemaker: Damn. AnoMALIE, I wish I had your life!
Me: No. No you don't.
Pacemaker: Yes! Yes, I do! You get to travel to all these places whenever you want. You don't have to work. You can spend as much as you want on whatever you want. All you really do is work out, clean the house, and cook. I want that life.
Me: Ha. Yeah. I'm pretty much a Stepford Wife minus the kids, husband, and sex. Yeah. Dreamy.
Pacemaker: Dang. Calm down, Negative Nancy.
Me: Pacemaker, my dog's dead. I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine right now.

I wish I had your life.
Really?
I know damn near everyone says this (and those who don't will instead say something along the lines of "I'm SO BLESSED!" Which, I know I've said it once or twice... usually when I escape some bad situation, but others just love to drop this line every other day. Shut the fuck up, yeah?), but... my life isn't dreamy. At all.
Maybe someone who loves to spend money might envy my life... some shallow, materialistic person (Christ, I'm sorry Pacemaker... I love you, but your emphasis on monetary issues is the one topic that upsets me in this relationship), but money's fickle-- it comes as fast as it goes. Also, while I pretty much have free reign when it comes to spending, I don't have the heart to spend it. I think of the difficulty with which that money is obtained, and I can't bring myself to spend it on frivolous shit like designer shoes/bags/luggae etc. I've never been one to enjoy flaunting my shit... I'm sure my friends can attest to this-- I always look like a bum. Flaunting makes me feel bad.
Money doesn't get you shit, if anything, it gets many people--especially strangers-- to resent you.

This also makes me wonder... am I THAT good at making it look like my life's awesome? I don't talk! I rarely smile. I SLOUCH! I don't hold eye-contact.
That's the behavior of a person with a dope life? Last time I checked, people who behave like me have serious traumas.
Did I just admit to having serious traumas? Well... it's not like I'm normal, now, is it? Of fucking course I have traumas... and regardless of how much money I may chuck at them, they don't go away. Ever.

My life is meaningless.
Every dream I've ever had has been shot down at point-blank range... with a shotgun.
Kinda rough for a girl whose life has consisted of dreaming, something done in order to endure many of the aforementioned traumas.

Above all, my life is painfully lonely... it always has been.
Whether the room is full of people, or completely empty, it does not matter-- there's a disconnect.
Lonely, more so than ever, now that the only creature that ever understood me is buried behind the "play room" of my house.

When I found Tyson on Monday morning, aside from the obvious sadness I felt over his death, and relief I felt over him no longer being in pain... I was surprised to note I also felt a little bit of envy.
You beat me to it, boy. You were given the ticket out first. You no longer have to worry. You're free.

Sorry to say it, but: be careful what you wish for... things are not always what they seem.