PJs

Lent begins today.

I decided to forgo the entire "I'm not cussing" promise, it's never going to happen... and like I've said before, I actually turn into a worse person when I give up on cussing.

I'm still dealing with some shock issues... from what I've seen and heard these last four weeks.
The issues range from that cheating scandal with the Costa Ricans, to a couple of terrible health issues (not my own), to hearing the most unexpected person trashtalking me.
I'm all sorts of sad... like, disappointed sad, angry sad, heartbroken sad, confused sad... but not deep-depression sad.
It's a sad that makes me turn into a mute... because my brain is having such a shitty time processing everything.

So... as I sat in church today (I realized 30 seconds after taking my seat that I was wearing MY PAJAMA TOP... YES... THAT'S how mindfucked I am currently) I kept thinking about what to do this season.
There's the whole dietary upheaval thing I'm gonna do (I MUST... for SCIENCE!), but that isn't going to make me a better person... it usually makes me a worse person, with my low-carb/no-carb rage.
What can I do to become a better person? My heart is so... shocked... it's kind of reluctant to be a better person. I am bitter, and confused, and... disappointed.
I'm on a kick right now, an "I refuse to continue being a doormat!" kick, that turning the other cheek when I feel wronged seems counterintuitive.

So... I uncomfortably sat in church, in my pajama top (as though this were some sort of nightmare, but it was real life), wondering what the hell I was going to do. Then, with Mass yet to begin, I hear an angel, sitting directly in front of me-- this 60-something-year old lady, hair white as snow, say "SHIT! I FORGOT TO TURN OFF MY PHONE! Oh! I mean, CRAP! I don't even KNOW how to turn off my phone!"
I laughed as her group of equally snow-haired ladies joined me.

I'm gonna laugh. This Lent, I'm going to laugh. Maybe I won't be a super nice girl, but I'm gonna laugh every day... just to fight off this ugly, dark cloud of "WTF?!" that's trying to creep into my mind.

I WENT TO CHURCH IN MY PAJAMA TOP, GUYS! My night-mask-stained, sweaty pajama top. My gosh... man oh man.

No subtraction

It's that time of the year again: Lent.

This year, I did NOT go ahead and attempt to give up profanity. That shit is never going to happen.

Instead of giving anything up, I actually decided I am going to:
Smile at least once a day;
Be nice;
Be friendly.

Add instead of subtract.

This is where I end the post. I've been fasting all day, it's my most grueling gym day... my head hurts and I'm pretty sure I'm delirious.
I need sleep.

I did it all for the cookies

Lent was on the 13th.

I had a difficult time deciding what I'd give up.

I once again went for the no cussing thing.

However, knowing that I'd most likely break this promise within MINUTES of leaving the church parking lot, I decided I'd make a second "super easy" promise.

No sugar.

I thought this would be "super easy" because I've dropped sugar from my diet, for over 45 days, FOUR TIMES in the past two years.

Big mistake. BIG FREAKING MISTAKE.

I am like a pregnant woman right now. I'm craving some crazy stuff... like eclairs-- I don't like those things because they don't agree with my palate. Suddenly, I find myself contemplating the best bakery to find the tastiest eclair in the city.

Mexican sweet bread-- I LOATHE it, yet now I find myself eyeing my mother's conchita as we enjoy our late night tea time.

There are also those bastard Girl Scout Cookies.

I've NEVER had Girl Scout cookies... EVER... yet for some freak reason, a stupid scout was setting up on Sunday outside of church, slangin' her freakin' sugary meth.

AND I WAS SO TEMPTED! I have no clue what those pieces of crap taste like... yet there I was, for an hour, absolutely tortured as I debated whether or not to purchase some cookies once Mass was over.

I'm alone... I have my wallet in the car... Mom won't know... I'll just sit in the car and finish it before coming home... like some Bulimic high schooler... Oh my goodness... what the hell am I doing?!

I ALMOST ran to my car-- I'm absolutely serious right now... that's how fast I walked out of the area.

Crisis averted.

This morning, I check out Facebook... only to see Subway is GIVING AWAY free cookies.

WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! What is this garbage?! WHY NOW?!

My birthday is a little under two weeks away... NO SUGAR on my birthday? What THE FUCK was I thinking?!

I should have just given up sex and drugs again.

(Get it?)

I'm an idiot.

Sugar-induced Lent Rant

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Mardi Gras, we meet again.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Yuhhhhhhhhhhp.
Mmmhmmm.
Yehhhhhhhhp.

First of all, did I participate in today's festivities?
Half-assed.
Considering that I don't eat dairy and my carb count is ultra low, I don't really give a fuck about gorging on food.
Drinking's out of the question as well... since I'd rather EAT my calories-- heaping slice of chocolate cake... peanut butter cupcakes... BROWNIES! Yeah man, I'd overdose on that good ol' sugar over drinking myself silly.
But to each their own.
However, since it IS Pancake Day, I DID make myself three almond protein pancakes... topped with agave-nectar-sprinked banana slices (that were also sprinkled with cardamom. Shit is BOMB! Try it, PLEASE! You'll thank me later).
I also went "crazy" and had some string cheese.
I finished it off with some nice carne asada.
That was me going crazy for Fat Tuesday... in preparation for tomorrow's fasting to kick off good ol' Lent season.

This past week, I've wrestled with what I'm going to give up this year.

I'm definitely not giving up cussing. That's just never going to happen.
I'll lessen it, I'll settle for that. I can handle that. However, it's definitely staying in my life because I become extremely frazzled/frustrated and angry without cuss words.
So
1. Take it easy with the cuss words.
I'll also smile.
2. Smile, idiot.
3. Play nice, asshole.
I'm really mean. REALLY, really mean. I make my poor momma sad. That's never cool.
4. Shut your face and move on.
I harp on shit... and run at the mouth as of recently. Serious apology to my poor followers. Definitely has to stop.
5. Don't. Talk. Shit.
Ohhhh baby. This one's getting the best of me. In the last month, I've felt on the verge of exploding because far too many people are getting a hold of my shit. I now only have this spot to vent. I say this because Pacemaker has found my twitter and instagram (DEAR LORD! Do I fucking love instagram!) accounts... and that girl... she's the fucking town crier. I say something right now, and the entire bay area knows in five minutes... Hometown finds out within three hours.
It feels like I have the meanest muzzle on. It's a terrible feeling. Incredibly frustrating. Like I have an anvil on my chest (agonizing pain that has managed to fuck me up physically. I've been so distracted at the gym--place where I supposedly vent my frustrations by lifting heavy shit AND by kicking/punching like a wild boar-- that I've managed to fuck up my left rotator cuff AND my lower lumbar region. Never clean-and-press/clean-and-jerk while thinking of someone who pisses you off... you'll live to regret it, kids).
So... in hopes of not hurting too many feelings (I don't know why I fucking care to spare so many fucking feelings, but I do. Because I'm an idiot), I hope to just shut the fuck up and bottle shit up until I have time to go out into the mountains and just break shit out of people's sight/ear-shot.

Plain and simple: I'll be a good, happy girl.

I'll also do that usual meatless-Friday thing we Catholics have been doing for centuries or whatever.

Fingers crossed I don't suffer a motherfucking stroke within the next 40 days.
Yeeeee-haaawwww!

Expect to see things added tomorrow... you know, once this fucking sugar high has died down (so I've kinda been snacking on some mini snickers/starbursts while typing this shit up... and a couple of MuscleMilk Protein Bars... those things... magic. Fucking magic. Gotta get those in before midnight strikes and fasting time begins. I'm such a glutenous, cheating little bitch) and my mind has cleared and I'm all holy and whatnot.
Christ, that was a meanass run-on sentence.

Mean-muggin' moments

Tomorrow is my last day.
TOMORROW!
You can't see it right now, but I seriously have one of those ear-to-ear smiles going on.

This has probably been the best I've done with the no cussing thing.
I wasn't perfect about it, obviously. I had plenty of arguments where I just let the bad words fly... but for the most part, I was pretty fantastic... once I got over how stupid I felt yelling "CRAPPY APPLES!" (what does that mean? I have no idea. That's just the first word association my brain made one day, and it sort of stuck)

These last few days have been all about church and self-reflection and whatnot, but all I can really think is "AnoMALIE... *NUMBER* MORE DAYS TILL YOU CAN CUSS!"
It's getting me through the irritation of dealing with the hoards of ill-behaved people at church.
Like yesterday, everything was cool... except for this one freakin' kid (about seven years old) sitting directly in front of me.
He stared at me the entire mass. He rested his back on the front bench's back (making sense here?), and faced me dead in the face the entire time.
I did that thing where I acted as if I couldn't FEEL him burning holes through my head, but I couldn't help but laugh a couple of times 'cause all I could think was WHAT THE HELL IS THIS KID'S PROBLEM?!
and then Oh maaaan... three more days until I can flick off little twats like this one. THREE MORE DAYS!
But there came the time when I couldn't relax by thinking about my proximity to cuss-a-thon 2011 ('cause that's how I'm celebrating Easter. Some people hunt for eggs and OD on chocolate... I go on cussing tirades, Tourette's style... a little unconventional, but what can I say? I love my cuss words), so I had to use the missal to cover the kid's face.
I came home and looked at myself in the mirror. Was there something on my face worthy of those terrifying stares? No. He was just a creeper-in-training.

Anyway.
Speaking of laughs:
Wanna see what trend I've started amongst Hometown young girls? This pose:

what the... someone please put the respirator back in her mouth!

This young girl likes to hang out with me during my Mexico Summers. She's... 18 now, but she has been following me around since she was 15. After a week of being around me, she starts talking like me... even walking like me. By the end of summer, she's pretty much a younger version of me (only WAY easier... not that I'm easy).

This is my version, back in '09 (MEXICO! I MISS YOU SO BAD!):

My sister is going to murder me for this...
Then again, my hairy eyebrows and FACE make up for her glasses

We both look retarded (the 18 year old and me, not my sister and me. Sister doesn't look retarded at all), but I did it as a mock-mean-mug. I don't know WHAT the heck 18-year-old was trying to do.

I find it hilarious that a girl would try and copy that face... and NOT give me credit.
I kid! They don't need to give me credit. I don't want to be considered responsible for girls lookin' like stroke victims.

My word of advice? Think of something that irks you, THEN make the face. Don't go off and look like... you're out in space and someone's removed your spacesuit.

Tyra Banks, eat your heart out! (Oh man! I also get sarcasm back! While I do occasionally write it on here, I definitely have refrained from using it while holding conversations. I've been REALLY good with that)

Hobo Fridays

Fridays are a freakin' pain.
What are they called... Lenten Fridays? Something like that.
I don't normally crave meat... but like clockwork, every Lent, when it comes to Fridays, I'll spend the day eyeing steak and all that bloody mess.

However, counting today, there are officially TWO more Fridays where I have to put up with this. TWO!
It couldn't come sooner.
I've spent the last few Fridays holding my breath as I force myself to eat shrimp on Fridays (that vile garbage. PUKE!). No matter how hard I try, or how I prepare the shrimp (well, I know I can muster the courage to eat them in sushi, but they have to be done in tempura batter), the consistency of the shrimp is just too disgusting for my tongue to tolerate.

Last week, I was feeling brave.
Mom prepares amazing ceviche, from what I hear. I've never tasted it, but every single friend or family member who has tasted it has fallen in love with it. Salvadorans, Filipinos, white (what else can I call them?), they taste the ceviche and they return for THIRDS. One Filipino friend ate a freaking GALLON of it. Also, ever since Rafa was in the army, when he comes home for breaks, his one request is always ceviche... and Rafa's a goat when it comes to eating: he inhales anything. So to request ceviche... I guess it must be good... right?
So, last Friday I was like
Ok, I can handle this... if so many people make such a big deal about my mother's ceviche... I kind of have to try it. All these people can't be wrong.
I had Mom make me some ceviche Thursday night, so it could be ready for Friday lunch time.
I was actually giddy when it was time for bed.
Ce-vi-che! Ce-vi-che!
Friday afternoon, when it was finally time to eat, I pulled out the ceviche, and took my first bite.
FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
Sister: So... ?
Me: It looks like brains... and it feels like wet boogers... this is... torture.
Sister: Well fuck you too!

Sadly, I proved I will NEVER like ceviche. EVER.
I was nice and finished my little bowl Mom had so kindly prepared for me... then I declared myself an eternal enemy of ceviche.
Sorry, Mom.

So... that was a failed experiment (I even tried it after pretty much starving myself. When in those conditions, I can eat a rock and it'll taste glorious to me. NOT ceviche).

Now I limit myself to eating tuna straight out of the can on Fridays. I call it "Hobo Friday."

April 29, I'm going to gorge on filet mignon and skirt stake. Be ready!
Fuck seafood (except salmon and sushi)!
(yeah, I'm cussing... but I'm just so passionate in my hatred for that stupid food group, I can't help myself. Plus, I only have a little over a week of censoring myself. SO close!)

AnoMALIE: giggling baby

Nothing starts your day off right quite like waking up at 6:30 in the morning on your own.

I woke up early to beat the hoards of terrible Catholics who seem to cram churches only on special occasions.
Ash Wednesday is particularly difficult, because:
1- I fast all day... so I'm already cranky and ready to stab a... moron if they invade my space.
2- The bad Catholics who pack the church only get worse as the ashes are about to be placed on people's foreheads. NOTHING irritates me more than an imbecile (not a cuss word. Deal with it) who only shows up for the imposition of the ashes (I think that's what it's called?) which is at the very end of the hour long mass (really, come on. It's AN HOUR. People spend over an hour mindlessly surfing Facebook, don't give me that bologna!). It's the thing that irks me the most.

Anyway, I went to the earliest mass, 7:30AM, which was in English.
No, I still don't know how to pray in English, but hey, I can read the scriptures and stuff that are in the book... and I definitely understand the priest's sermon. I was right at home... except when praying was involved.
I had a laugh-attack before mass started. I don't know if it was the hunger, or the lack of sleep, but I started to laugh (out loud) when I noticed how old everyone in church really was. No one there was below the age of 60... SERIOUSLY. For some reason, I found this hilarious, and in my lunacy, I giggled like a baby (no, really, a baby)... for about 30 seconds... uncontrollably. The more I tried shutting up, the more I'd laugh... especially when I'd see the poor old people look back at me in fear.
Then I giggled some more when I noticed D getting irritated.
I had to think of a sad memory in order to get some sort of control over myself. I also had to close my eyes and not look at anyone. GRAY HAIR was making laugh.
Way to make my people more likable to the church white folk who are already irritated by us loud, obnoxious Latinos. Way to go, AnoMALIE!

Anyway, besides my irreverent display of... the giggles, everything went fine... because white people behave themselves! Spanish mass is a circus with all the crying/screaming/running babies (I'm such a grouchy old lady).

I came home and decided I wanted to gym-it.
Only one tiny problem: I cussed at a lady as I drove to the gym. I said one bad word, in spanish, and caught myself.
I'm still good, though, because that's the only cuss word I've dropped... no, wait, I cussed in the morning because I got acetone in one of my paper-cuts. BUT, no one has been around to hear me cuss, so I still think I'm ok.
I'm speaking like... almost Ned Flanders. Everything is a "moron," "jerk," or "dum-dum." I'm "sheesh"ing and "crud"ing. There are also a lot of "fudge-sicles" and "hole-y macaronis" in my life right now.
It's... a sight to see.
But of course, this brings me to a topic that almost made me lose my cool, and threatens to relegate me to trucker status:
As if on purpose, I received my invitation to the EuroTrash party last night.

It immediately caused conflict in my head.

I want to go. Why? Because there's this ridiculously handsome guy going. By "ridiculously handsome" I mean "what kind of deal did your parents strike up with the devil... and can I meet them so I can shake their hand?!" The "Hi. I... just forgot my name..." type beautiful.
He looks like David Beckham when Becks was in his 20s. He's THAT good looking.
I don't think he'll pay attention to me, not at all, but hey, I don't mind just being in the presence of such beauty. NO straight girl minds being in the presence of unbelievable male beauty.

Then, once I control my hormones and slap the idiot teen girl that lives inside me, I remember how pretentious the entire event will be.
Uh, hello! You were slighted and only added once you showed humility... well, more like... submissiveness. You really gonna punk out like that, moron?
I won't be missing out on much if I refuse to RSVP.

I "made peace" by basically biting my tongue each time Birthday Boy said something outrageous or... self-aggrandizing (I'm surprised I can still talk). I also talked sports with him... I'm talking "I gave Gorman High School props" type talking (everyone knows I DESPISE their sports teams. They were by and far the worst when it came to proper sportsmanship conduct). That was all, though. That's as much brown-nosing that my stomach will permit.
I didn't do it in hopes of getting a party invite. I did it because--I can't lie-- I felt terrible about knowing I upset Birthday Boy so much, he went to the extreme of publicly... hating on me. This guy, while quite full of himself, never bothers to address the haters... and suddenly you had him getting all "Twitter-War!" on me. It was killing me (with both rage and sadness). I just wanted to let him know that while he did upset me, I sincerely lamented ever hurting HIS feelings in the first place... even if it was a misunderstanding.

I also think he started to feel guilty... 'cause come on, how can anyone be mean to me when all I am is nice? That, and maybe the fact that he invited both of my siblings, and both WILL attend (that's right, Rafa is making a special appearance and flying all the way from Jersey) probably got to him.

Whether it was a guilt trip, or forgiveness... or some hidden, cruel motive (wouldn't that suck?), Birthday Boy decided to invite me last night.
Party's Friday.
I have yet to RSVP. I just stare at the invite and beat myself over the head trying to make a decision.
I don't want to be part of the lofty crowd... but I also don't want to further anger/irritate/insult Birthday Boy by not showing up to his event.

Decisions, decisions.

You know what I didn't have a hard time deciding on? My manicure:

Please excuse my manly deltoid... she's out of control.
Instead, be distracted by how those 3 fingers look like they belong on 3 different hands

I tried showing off the blue, purple, and silver glitter... because they make me feel girly. It didn't really work... but eh.
Which reminds me, I have to explain my reason why manicures made my Lent list:
I don't put much effort in looking girly. I go through phases where I do my nails on a regular basis, but then there are times when I grossly neglect my hands. I find I'm in the mood to do my nails when I'm upbeat and happy. So, I'll keep my nails nice to show the world that Hey, I'm happy, and I care.
But don't worry, I'm just filing my nails and painting them... not giving myself talons:

Neta? Que onda con esto? DAN MIEDO!

Seriously, ladies-- WHY?! You look DANGEROUS (if not deranged) with those things.

Mardi-fuckin-Gras!

It's that time of the year again: LENT.
It begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday.
Today, of course, is the day of drunken debauchery, aka Mardi Gras.
I'm not participating in the debauchery, however, since my health hasn't been the greatest lately (words I thought I'd be muttering MUCH later in life, but uh... looks like 26 was late enough. Fuck).
Instead, I'm sitting here wondering what the hell I'm going to give up.
I haven't had the BEST record when it comes to this 40 days/40 nights business. My vices are STRONG... although I don't have many.

1. I don't have much of a drinking problem, so giving that shit up isn't that difficult. 
I haven't had a beer in... umm... a couple of months. I do, however, drink a fair amount of hard liquor. Vodka, tequila, and scotch are... well, let's just say I won't turn it down whenever someone offers me something along those lines (I WILL turn down brandy. That bullshit gives me the worst hangover imaginable. I don't like wine or champagne, either, so... eh).
I WOULD give up liquor, but I have to think about the April 2nd wedding... and I already promised a few family members and friends to join them in the celebratory drinking. A drunken AnoMALIE is somewhat coveted by that side of the family, only because they have never really seen me drunk... just buzzed... and when buzzed, I'm pretty fucking social, so they enjoy that. I've agreed to appease the masses so they quit bugging me about it for a while.

2. I don't do drugs.
I've never done any drug. Well, I HAVE almost OD'd on NyQuil... but does that really count? I was sick... and couldn't think clearly, so I went ahead and did it. I was also hooked on sniffing those sharpies back in the day... the dry erase markers or whatever. I'll admit to liking that back in 5th grade.
But I've never smoked weed... although I have been present multiple times while others smoke, and my cousin used to be a big time seller. I was in fourth grade when his kids showed us giant cans full of weed. That was memorable.
Anyway, since I haven't even tried an easy-peasy drug like weed, I certainly haven't tried hard shit like crack or heroin. Coke I'm not interested. That fucking stupid drug wrecked Hometown and my childhood friends, so I have ZERO interest in the piece of shit.
So... giving up drugs is stupid... since I never started, and I never will try it. There goes that vice.

3. I don't smoke.
Don't get me started on this one. I fucking HATE IT. 'nuf said.

4. I don't fuck.
How can I give up carnal pleasures when I don't participate in this either? AnoMALIE, YOU'RE BORING! I can't complain of the itch for a quickie like many of my friends... I frankly don't give a shit about it... so... I can't say I need to give this up. Maybe I should start? HA. NOT.

5. I don't eat fast food.
I gave this up a few years ago... and I did it for a number of years. Now, it's not like I don't eat it at ALL.  On occasion, I'll crave an In-N-Out burger and go ahead and get one... or maybe something from Arby's (yes, I'm 50 years old)... or Buffalo Wild Wings to sober up. But for the most part, I don't eat the fast food. Useless to give it up when I don't care much for it.

I have a rough time coming up with my lent list... until I accept that I'm not perfect, and that I do have some pretty mean vices.

1. I swear... not like a sailor... but like a possessed demon.
I can't help it. It's TERRIBLE. I know. I've tried giving up this stupid vice since... was it 7th grade? Something like that. And each time, I break it within MINUTES. I'm in the church parking lot with the ash cross still on my forehead and I'm already cussing out the dumb animals (i.e. people) who won't get out of my motherfucking way! Before I drove, I'd be fighting with Rafa for flicking my ear on the way to our car... stuff like that.
I've had plenty of guys tell me "there is nothing uglier than a girl with a dirty mouth," and each time, my response is "Does it look like I give a FUCK what you think? You weakass dickface." Well, that last part I'll change up a bit, but seriously, I really don't care what those pussies think.
When I DO get upset is when someone brings up the fact that people use curse words because they lack an advanced vocabulary. It's kind of true. I've tried that thing where you interchange the cuss word with a real word... and it was HARD. It's not hard because I don't know words (I have great vocab skill. My AP exams and SAT proved this point, only to have both the MCAT and GRE back me up on this), it's hard because I can't think up the words fast enough. Often times when I cuss, it's because I suffer a paper cut (just today, I got THREE. What kind of shit is that?) and it's A LOT easier to scream "SHIT!" or "FUUUUUUCK!!!" instead of sitting there and thinking of polite things to say, when all I really want to do is burn down the entire rainforest for being responsible for stupid injury-inflicting paper.
Also, I DETEST using the weak words like "darn!" "shoot!" or "bologna!" Use the real word: Damn! Shit! Bullshit! Or nothing at all.
Word I DO use is "Ouch!" but that's because it's a legit interjection to denote pain.
ANYWAY. I do feel bad about others thinking I'm some neanderthal when I go on my cussing rampages. I wreck the good, smart girl image I originally give off... and that's kind of a bummer.
I could do without cursing so much... even in my writing (a tear rolled down my cheek as I wrote that. It's like my soul is getting ripped out. I'm being sarcastic).

2. I really, really, REALLY like cheese.
It's my life. Ok, not that intense, but it does make me happy. My diet probably consists of maybe... 50% cheese? I don't know... but I'm pretty sure I'd starve to death if cheese were unavailable in my house.
I see this as a vice because I really do exaggerate in my ingestion of this... delicious dairy product.
Now, I could give up dairy entirely, but that would be unhealthy. I'm a girl. I need my calcium and vitamin D. Plus, I'm not intolerant, so I'm scared if I stopped ingesting ALL dairy, I'd acquire some sort of intolerance. Milk intolerance = DEATH for me.
BUT, I have to take this out. I need to let go of... this wonderful creation. It wreaks the most devastating havoc on my diet, and I accept it.

3. I'm really sarcastic.
I love sarcasm... a lot... but many people are confused/insulted/irritated/etc by it. It has caused me numerous headaches with family/friends/acquaintances, because I'm starting to get to that point where the sarcasm-sincerity line is getting blurred.
What would my life be without the sarcasm (besides Emo and lame)?

There are a few more, but I don't want to depress myself any further.
Point is:
I'm giving up cussing, for the billionth time.
I'm giving up cheese, for the first time.
And
I'm giving up sarcasm, for the LAST time.

I fear I'll be a very frustrated AnoMALIE... especially since I promised to not even write cuss words (this makes me very, very sad).
I won't even say "bitch."
Or "ass" (this one feels like I've been kidney punched).

Also, I'll have my nails nicely manicured at all times.
Just never again this color:

Heroes in a half-shell... TURTLE POWER!
Oddly enough, I was NOT a ninja assassin after trying this color.
(especially not w/those wrists of an 8-year-old ballerina)
But I did look radioactive.

My apologies if the next 40 days will be packed with boredom... depression... and... retardedness (is that a real word? Guess what? I DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUCK!).
Puta madre, que chingados estoy haciendo?! Soy una PENDEEEEEEJAAAAA!
Alright. I'm done with the cuss words.
(lucky for me, it starts tomorrow... had it started today, I would have suffered a heart-attack with that Barcelona-Arsenal UCL game. I was battling with the fact that I love Fabregas... but I ADORE Barcelona... and I hate Van Persie-- his game, that is. As a person, he's quite sweet. The red card, the own-goal, my fucking asshole Madrista friends... I was NOT a nice girl today. The victory? I only got NASTIER. I can't watch soccer without cussing and flicking a few people off)

No estaba muerta... pero tampoco de parranda

I'M BAAAAAAAAACKKKKK!

Oh man... I feel as if I have been holding my breath underwater for these last couple of weeks.

I'd elaborate, but I'm tired.
Just thought I'd share a little on why I was gone for so long:

Seeing as how not cussing for 40 days and 40 nights was most likely going to fail (and while it did, I was quite good about it this time around... there were only 2 people I'd cuss around, and it was usually in Spanish) on me, I had a back-up plan-- no blogging.

I was tempted... and while I did read other people's blogs and comment once in a while, I kept away from my own.

I did write in my on-line journal once in a while... the much more personal one I've had since high school, but since it's of such a private nature, I didn't consider it blogging.
However... I learned a tough lesson in this short while:
LOCK UP YOUR PERSONAL SHIT!

Yes... my private diary was found by a family member... and shit went south after that... to the point where my private journal is now locked, with no one allowed entrance, but me.
This I find fucked up... because the journal has helped me so much. People were free to contact me and give me advice, console me, talk me out of bad ideas, etc. I love it.
Now, thanks to a nosy dumb fuck who misinterprets and over analyzes shit I wrote five years ago, I'm forced to keep any new readers away.

Aside from this, life has been growing increasingly fucked up.
Like I said, I'll elaborate in the future.
I'm tired... but so fucking damn happy to be back!

I CAN CUSS!!
P.S. Happy Easter to all you who celebrate :] This used to be my favorite holiday... many of my fondest memories were created on this day.

colorful language

So, yet another Ash Wednesday has come...
and I have given something up once again.

No, I didn't give up sex, drugs, or rock n'roll...

I kept it even more difficult:
No cussing.

Again... for the... 12th?13th?14th?15th??? year in a row.

I already said "F*%&ing!!" and a few colorful words in Spanish... all this before noon...
but still...
I'd say I'm doing pretty good.

Here's to 40+ days of talking like Ned Flanders!
Holler!

Green "tortillas"

Mission "Garden Spinach Herb Wraps" are an abomination to all that is considered food... or non-toxic (I'll take a bite of Play*Dough before I ever eat one of those green monstrosities again).

It's even more atrocious that they're kept next to REAL tortillas... with REAL flavor... as if Mexicans are somehow responsible for this disgusting creation unworthy of being eaten, even by... starving rabbits.

Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my mouth shut and only shout "Gahhhhhhh!!! This... suckssssss!" as I ate that terrible "wrap?"
I did--mentally-- drop the F-bomb about five times "F*ck! This is so f*cking nasty! F**********************ck! Gahhh... f*ck this S#!t!"

However... I'm holding up nicely... kind of, when it comes to not cussing.

Day 2 of dull(er!) AnoMALIE is in progress... but it looks like I'll make it through cuss-free.
Cuss count: Still just the two from yesterday.

Shiny metal things

I stepped outside to feed Tyson today, and what was the first thing I saw?
The saw and ax (there's even a machete there) have been sitting on that bench for a while now, but I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't stop for a second.

Why so jumpy?
American Psycho + 1 AM + sleepy AnoMALIE = Jumpy AnoMALIE.

While the movie wasn't scary... seeing an ax on the bench in my backyard did startle me for a second... that saw doesn't help, either.

I thought I had seen the movie before... but I guess I'm confusing it with a different one.
Pretty badass... and I was surprised when I found myself laughing in parts (come on... feeding a stray kitty to an ATM machine? Bwahaha! And the issue with the business cards won me over).
It also made me understand Mr. D. a lot better than I thought I did.
I appreciate him/his humor a lot better now (I'm still slightly intimidated by him... like... in a good way, I suppose... but never, ever, ever will I be in the same room as Mr. D. and a sharp object/strong powertool in my life).
The dark humor made me feel guilty at times... but that wouldn't keep me from laughing out loud at 2 in the morning (I'm sure my mother now suspects I'm somewhat deranged... poor mom).

I'm just glad I watched this thing before I began this whole lent thing...
Uncut DVD version + naked Christian Bale= ain't nothing gonna keep me from thinkin' bad thoughts!

Anyway...
Here starts day one of dull(er!) AnoMALIE.
Cheers.

Cuss count:
2 (I dropped the F-bomb while looking at Manchester tickets... then again when I mentioned a certain guy and I called him "F*ckn' retarded." All in all, this is a pretty good start)

Gearing Up

I canceled my phone's Internet service on Saturday.
It's only my 3rd day without it, and I already miss it like crazy.

I also changed my text messaging plan (hijole, TravelinDin, el muchacho que nos atendio la utlima vez nos atendio el Sabado, y se recordo de nosotras. :) Es tan simpatico ese chavo)... but Obnoxious Guy will NEVER know of this... never-fucking-ever.

Anyway, Lent beings on Wednesday... so right now... I'm swearing it up like a sailor.
Once again... and I do believe this marks my tenth year doing this, I am giving up cussing.
This time, however, I will attempt to accomplish such feat by broadening my vocabulary.
I'll also brush up on my Portuguese/French skills.
I'm going to be one boring little girl.

May God help us all...

P.S. I feel miserable right now... do you know how bad it feels to stifle a cry for two hours? Sheesh! That's what I found myself doing all throughout Atonement last night. Now I feel this heaviness in my chest... and my throat hurts. I'd still watch the film, however... repeatedly... until I would find it pointless to cry... kind of like I did with Pan's Labyrinth... although I'm sure if the timing is right, I'll still shed a tear with PL.
P.P.S. If my mind serves me correctly, I do believe today marks my one year anniversary with this blog.
I'm still not attached to it like I am to the other one... and I'm pretty sure it won't last me nearly as long.

Oh Lent, why must you pain me this way?

Today marks the first day of Lent.

Needless to say, I was a little bit neurotic. I mean, who wouldn't be after 19 hours of not ingesting anything but a sip of water and a vitamin? Add to that the longest school day, and you get... well, a very neurotic AnoMALIE.

However, I can't complain about lent this year as much as I did last. It couldn't suck nearly as much as it did last year. Why? Because Ash Wednesday fell on my 21st birthday. That has been the only day I've ever wished I was born a pagan.

Instead of drinking the rounds and partying till sunup (I didn't even have class the following day!), I fasted (yey, hooray!), went to a super packed Mass, then went to bed. No cake, no drinking, no nothing (but then again, the birthday before that I happened to go watch:

The Passion

with my family. The entire time I kept thinking: Happy Birthday to Me... as I watched two gangster in front of me bawl their eyes out).

So yeah, the only thing I can really be upset about this time is feeling crappy the entire time while in class, at times almost being driven to tears because I'm... well... neurotic (when malnourished!). I didn't even go to church this year (mainly because I had class during the times mass was available), I just got the little ash cross printed on my forehead because my mom couldn't stand the thought of her little AnoMALIE not getting some sort of blessing.

As a way to amend that bad move, I've decided that this year I'm SERIOUSLY giving up cussing. On the real. I do that far too often... to the point where I sometimes don't even know I'm dropping the F-bomb around children under 5. I'm like that one cartoon character on Tiny Tune Adventures (Fowlmouth) that had to be bleeped ever few seconds.

The only times I can now control myself is when I'm in a group where there's a really fundamentalist Christian... or Mormon (I've never been able to cuss around them comfortably) present. Only they can control my potty mouth because I fear making them feel bad (screw the children! j/k).

Aside from that, I also decided to stop gossiping. I find it easier since there are only certain people that bring that characteristic out in me. I'm just going to have to avoid those people for the next 40 days, then after that I think this whole... gossip problem will be resolved (or you know, lessened in degree).

Sadly, the potty-mouth AnoMALIE will be no more... except in my short stories, cause ain't nothing getting rid of that!