Oh my Lebanon!

That right there is my birdcage veil.
I had never heard of such a thing.
It WAS restricting like a fucking cage.

"So what do you think I am?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, side smirk adorning (yes, fucking ADORNING) his face.

Sister accidentally captured mini-Richard Gere while snapping a shot of our table setting.

The question came from the guy sitting left kitty-corner from me at the 12-seater dinner table.
My sister, Betty, and I had been taking guesses at the ethnicities of the two boys sitting directly in front of us-- the so-called "billionaires."
After perhaps five minutes of guessing, I had been the only one to correctly guess one ethnicity-- the one of the guy who wasn't even sitting with us, the stink-face uptight dude. I correctly guessed Russian for him... imagine that!
We girls had been too enthralled by the boy claiming Brazil and the big eyed pretty gentleman who claimed being "normal" to notice the one sitting furthest away from the dudes-- Richard Gere... Richard Gere's offspring. He was leaning back, looking at us all play our idiotic game, like a bunch of kittens running after the red dot of a laser on the ground. When he spoke up, we were downright startled... quickly feeling embarrassed about our rudeness to the sweet guy.

Richard Gere was looking right at me, with the sexy smirk... grin... smile? I don't know what to call it, it was just a slap to the face... a nice one.
"Japanese?" asked Betty.
"Nope." His smirk turned into a wider smile.
Yeah... I can see where she guessed that, he did have almond-shaped eyes... but his eyebrows were too thick.
"Ummm... you are...." began my sister.
"Lebanese?" I guessed. Lebanese is always my go-to answer.
The eyes on all the dudes at the table grew wide. They all seemed to choke on their spit... except for Richard Gere, his eyes seemed to glint, and he nodded.
"Yes. Yes I am." said Richard Gere, raising his glass of champagne and toasting at me.
Are you kidding me? That is CLASSY AS FUUUCK! ...I think I'm sweating in this 60 degree weather...
My jaw dropped and my eyebrows raised in surprise.
The dudes started to laugh.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked. "He's not really Lebanese, is he?" I asked Brazil and Gentleman.
"No, he is. He really is. You go it right," said Gentleman. Brazil nodded.
I looked over at Richard Gere and gave him MY side smirk (toothier than his... because I have a giant mouth), raised my left eyebrow, and cocked my head to the right.
"That's cool," I said, my smirk turning into a smile.

I was trying to showcase my drinks for the night:
unlimited champagne, red wine, water, and Patron.
The hilarious Brazil was caught in the middle.

I raised my glass of champagne and looked only at his eyes.

SEXIEST motherfucker in the room... that Richard Gere.


Best. Wedding. Ever.

The way he looked at his bride made my heart melt.
Those cobblestone streets made my feet bleed.
That trip made my soul HEAL.

A Danny

This wedding was full of beautiful surprises.

The groom prepared everything... to the exact minute. The only thing the bride had to do was show up to the events.

I watched Danny (the groom) as his bride walked down the aisle, up to him. He cried the whole time.

He cried so much, I eventually shed a few tears.

At the reception, after their siblings and his parents took turns at saying a few words, he walked over to the mic and presented his bride with a new surprise.

He told us how his bride loves music, and so, he grabbed a guitar and pulled a stool behind him to take a seat.

Danny: I have never played the guitar... I haven't even TOUCHED one until right now. But... *bride* loves music, and I love her, and I would do anything for her. She is my everything. I am yours, *bride*, mind, body, soul... I am yours and only yours in all sense of the word. So, without further ado, here's this song I wrote for you.

Danny's Friends: Have you ever heard him sing? He doesn't sing... silence! We need to hear this!

Danny "sang" his song as he strummed basic chords on the guitar.

His bride cried the entire time.

I cried.

My entire table cried... even the guys.

The entire night was loaded with these sort of... heartfelt, heart-warming surprises... at the top of the hour, every hour.

I had never experienced anything like it.

Firework display at one hour, dancers in stilts at another... mariachi band a different hour... mini cakes at another... bottles of Patron and Grey Goose slightly after.

Ignore the fact that all this must have been expensive as shit... but just think about the SENTIMENT.

THAT is what had me crying.

I say, I genuinely feel... I have convinced myself, that men like Danny do not exist... that love like Danny's and my friend's is non-existant... a fucking fairy tale that we've all been brainwashed into believing is out there for each of us.

To come face-to-face with a love like theirs, it made me... it left me... vulnerable.

It exists. It's possible. It happens. It's beautiful.

My right eye-- that's the eye that had a constant stream of tears running.

I smiled the entire time.

I say I don't, but I sincerely want a love like that.

I want to believe that somewhere out there, there is a guy who feels that strongly for me, feels I'm worthy of such treatment... and proceeds to do his best to provide it for me.

I want a guy whose beautiful, sweet, thoughtful surprises will keep me crying with delight.

I hate admitting that, it does nothing for my attempts at self-preservation.

Watching out

I intended to write last night, but I was falling asleep by 10PM... so that didn't happen.

ANYWAY.
My week in Mexico (well, week in San Miguel. I'm not counting my days in Mexico City for now) was fun.
I know I actually killed it by complaining that one day... but that was posted under severe stress... that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Anyway, the day of the wedding was incredible.
The wedding itself was amazing... something I had never seen, much less experienced.
I had been upset BEFORE heading out to Mexico, under the impression that I was going to be paired off with that impossibly gorgeous/intelligent/successful guy... who attended my dream school. This stressed me out because... well, I have difficulty speaking to "normal" people, you know, people like me... so the idea of speaking to anyone who is wildly successful makes me panic.
My biggest fear was that this guy was going to WANT to get to know me... ask ME questions. The thought was gag-inducing.

Originally, the week in San Miguel was going to be spent doing "team building" activities... to get to know each other and bond and whatnot. There were seventeen couples in the wedding, we sure as fuck had to try to get to know each other.
For the most part, we all bonded... all but the elusive group of five frat brothers of the groom. These frat brothers happened to include the Columbia boy.
Most activities were Christmas related, initially... because it just so happened to be CHRISTMAS TIME. The reason the frat bros weren't joining was because three are Jewish, one Muslim, the other Buddhist. Of course, we didn't know that... all we were told was "They're billionaires. So-and-so owns this and that. This other guy owns this..." so we all just assumed they were snooty and didn't like rubbing elbows with poor people.

For the week, we would sometimes bump into the boys... but since we never crossed a word, we'd just keep walking away... like a bunch of uncivilized... savages.

The day when we were supposed to REALLY bond, D and I spent the entire day out of town, since the rest of our family flew into Mexico. D and I were the only people missing form the group.

Fast forward to the wedding day, and the moment when we are coupled.
I finally met Columbia boy, and learned we had been switched out... because in my heels, he was down to my shoulder.
I was moved to the guy in front of him, an older gentleman, who was as tall as me. I had no objection, because the guy turned out to be very understanding and cool.
Fast forward to the reception.
No one was paying attention to the frat bros, so the poor guys had to entertain themselves. That was during the eternal cocktail hourS.
At the banquet hall, D, Betty (girl I had sworn I'd never forgive), and I sat with all the frat bros.
Well... guess we're gonna have to talk to them now...
That seemed to be the sentiment in at the table... the mutual sentiment.

These boys were FUN.
So fun.
Well, one, the older one, was a dick. We'd smile at him when we'd make eye contact, but he'd straight SCOWL at any one who'd do it.
Well fuck you too, bitter bitch!
But the other guys were a riot.
A good hour was spent playing the guessing game, where the guys had us guessing their ethnicity.
Another hour was spent talking about life in Las Vegas.
The entire night was spent trying to ignore the fact that they have more money than they will ever be able to spend...
It was terrifying, intimidating, exhilarating, hilarious, and fun.
The best thing was that we had no internet connection... so we were unable to google them and see HOW MUCH they actually own.

I came home and googled them.
I proceeded to hold in my gagging.
They. Are. RIDICULOUSLY rich.
Yet so normal.

It must suck to have to hear that all the time.
I'm NOWHERE near as rich as they are, yet I often have to deal with guys referring to me as being "loaded" and only approaching me in hopes of somehow scraping some money off me.
I can't even being to imagine what life must be like for these boys.
I'm sure it was a relief to go somewhere, and sit with a couple of girls whose main concern was figuring out which one of them was Russian, which one was Lebanese, and which one was "normal" (that's what he claimed). We treated them like we would any other cool dude... and I hope they appreciated it... which it seemed as though they did... since SOMEONE was finally speaking to them.
This was such a bizarre event... a bizarre dream sequence. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
I'm glad I lived it.
***

While waiting for the dollar dance to begin, Columbia boy started a conversation with me about what I did for a living. I told him about my Bio degree. He was all about the Rebels... which took me for a loop. I never would have imagined him even knowing about the Rebels.
I told him where I lived-- streets-- and he knew exactly what I was talking about, since apparently he visits the city once a month for work. He asked me if I was a teacher. I told him no, that I was looking into schools for writing.
Him: You write?
His eyes got huge (bigger than they normally are-- which are pretty big. His eyes were OH so pretty... huge brown eyes one could stare at for hours), a large grin crossed his face.
Me: Yep. I sure do.
Him: What do you write?
Me: Fiction. Short stories.
Him: Of what?
Me: Umm... I guess they tend to be... dark comedies.
He was smiling... this pretty smile... of like... it's that look of intrigue dudes tend to give me when they think I do some cool, unexpected shit. I don't know how to explain it beyond that. It's a look of entertainment-- like telling someone you wrangle Komodo dragons for a living or some shit.
Him: Dark comedies? ::sweet smile:: I'm definitely going to look out for you then ::holds eye contact as I smile from ear to ear::
Me: Ha... are you?
Him: No, really, I am. Watch. ::smile::

Guys, I swear my knees got weak, and had I not been about to enter the ballroom for the dollar dance, I would have excused myself to the bathroom and fist pumped the fucking air the moment I entered the privacy of a stall... jumping as high as possible in my three inch heels.

He made my fucking life with that three minute exchange.
Sweet, sweet guy.

Impossibly Perfect

Wow.

You know how I hate running my mouth about things because then things only grow worse?

Well, for most of the day, I was away from my computer, away from my email (fuck getting that shit on my phone. I refuse to read my email that way. That would just keep me glued to my phone). I checked my mailbox after I finished my rant here, and I saw an email from the bride.

The names of our partners and our seating chart.

I read my partners name, and did only what any other human would have done: I facebook checked that shit.

Bad idea.

He. Is. Gorgeous.

FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

A graduate from Columbia... Law.

Did I mention he is fucking gorgeous? His profile photo is this... impossibly perfect candid image of him smiling (open mouth) while looking away.

... ?

Oh god...

This is right about the time where I'm HELLA wishing for that naco dude who only listens to corridos and whose sole aspiration in life is to own a cattle ranch somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I want THAT dude.

The fuck am I supposed to talk about to a beautiful creature who graduated form the university of my dreams?

I am a grouchy med school drop out... who only wants to spend her life writing, painting, and lifting heavy objects... occasionally punching bitches in the face. I curse up a storm... I'm timid to the point where it should be-- and probably is-- considered some sort of disorder... I am bitter and sarcastic and distant. I'm in a life-long battle with depression, struggle I am pretty sure I'm LOSING-- hard. I don't fuck. I don't hook up. When I drink, I tend to cry... or pour my very idiotic heart out... or just fucking fall asleep in hopes of keeping my mouth shut and eyes dry. I don't work. Never have... well, there have been little stints, but they've all ended in a very embarrassing fashion.

I am a mouse who never speaks, only smiles... and spends social interactions praying the night away that NO ONE will notice her and allow her to leave inconspicuously. 

I think this is the time I'm going to go to bed and cry myself to sleep.

Ya vali verga... fuck.

9 days away

Good God... the panic is starting to seep in.
I leave Saturday afternoon... and what do I have ready? Absolutely nothing.
Well, no, correction, I do have my bridesmaid dress ready to go. That's it.
I don't have shoes, or jewelry, or... makeup... or... fuck, dude, I have NOTHING.
I must be the worst at packing.

I'm also a little scared. Just a little.
Ok, no, I find myself trembling when I think about leaving. I'm not cool with this.
On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the MOST anxious, I'm probably an 8 right now, on the social anxiety scale.
I'm starting to think of standing in front of all those people... and I'm not a happy camper.

I am fucking hurting right about now.
Someone needs to slap some sense into me.

Used Condom

It is astonishing how fast this year is speeding by.
I'm fuckin' dying.
Not literally... at least not to my knowledge.

The wedding used to feel like it was decades away... and now I have less than two weeks to get my shit together.
Today was the day I decided to take my dress for alterations.

This fucking dress PISSES ME OFF.
I don't understand the fucking purpose of getting your measurements taken, to ultimately be told "Yeah, so according to OUR chart, your bust is a size 13--if we made it-- your waist is a 10, and your hips are a size 15, if we made it. So... you might want to think about your largest part... so... it's either a size 14 or 16 dress you're going to have to order."
A size 14 or 16... when my waist is a 10. I dropped 200 bucks at a bridal shop to buy a PRE-MADE dress... that did not fit my upper body... not only was it baggy, but it was too short on my TORSO. MY TORSO! I'm 5'9"... how the fuck is that a freak size? AND ON A SIZE 14! What kind of fucking standard do they follow for a size 14? An obese midget? WHAT THE FUCK?!
AND THEN they charge 200 more fucking dollar for alterations... TWO-HUNDRED-FUCKING-DOLLARS.
Yeah, like I don't have anything better to do with four hundred dollars, so I'll just burn them on a fucking IDIOTICALLY SHAPED DRESS.
Why not just charge the four hundred dollars upfront and MAKE THE DRESS ACCORDING TO MY MEASUREMENTS?! Accommodate my freakishly long torso, big tits, and HIPpopotamus lower-half in one fucking shot.
Don't give me a fucking dress that will lead me to uncontrollable tears the moment I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and notice I resemble a dick covered in a fucking used condom. FUCK!

SO ANYWAY... I go ahead and put on the dress, proceed to scratch the fuck out of it as I mistreat it while looking in the mirror... and of course I cry. I'm offended by what I see AND I'm frustrated, AND it makes me feel like the ugliest piece of shit walking this planet.
You're a FREAK! YOU'RE ABNORMAL. THIS is why guys don't like you... you don't fit into the NORMAL shit... you will ALWAYS be a fucking heifer, dumbass.
I HATE dresses to begin with, but when the dress makes me feel like a fucking freak of nature, it makes me miserable. It makes me feel like such an abnormal... ugly... stupid excuse for a girl.
Why can't I be normal and fit in a pre-made dress?
I don't feel so out of the norm... and my ass is actually SMALLER than the average Latina's... yet here I am... still having to buy a BAG for a "dress."

So yeah, I've basically been crying all goddamned day because girls here are expected to be noodles with stupidly narrow hips... and because evidently I can never ever be considered fucking NORMAL.

FUUUUUCK, I HATE WEDDINGS!

Sweetheart? SWEETHEART?!

I was really hoping my friend had forgotten about me agreeing to being a bridesmaid at her Mexican wedding.
Then I received her group message today.
It was a photo of the dress and information on how she was mailing us a sample of the dress fabric.

NO WAY.
FUCK!
DAMN IT!

I'm officially a bridesmaid when I was never really... formally asked. I was just unlucky enough to be sitting at the same table at the sushi restaurant my sister had chosen for us three to catch up. Supposedly D and this friend were going to talk about the wedding plans... then suddenly the bride-to-be starts talking in plural... and I kinda hoped it was her having shitty grammar.

I don't want to go to Mexico in the summer. I don't want to go to Mexico... ever.
Fuck, man. Damn it.
There go my plans for August.

P.S. The dress? It's strapless, sweetheart neckline. The color? Tiffany blue.
Someone please just... shoot me now. I'm going to be a miserable wreck for the next 5 months.
Strapless sweetheart neckline...
Can you hear the wailing? Can you see my fucking mascara running from my eyes, my red nose covered in snot? God. Fucking. Damn it.

Three little daisies.

I have a tendency to enjoy hanging out in groups of three.
I blame the fact that I have two siblings... so three just seems extra natural to me.

My friendship circles have always been groups of three.

There's my group of the Musketeers.
This is my group in college composed of my good ol' bestie and my dude buddy Kyle. We were three homies dealing with college shenanigans.
Then Kyle got married and it sort of died.
Now my bestie's getting married.
So... it's just me... the lone wolf (no motherfucking Hangover refferrences, please!), watching my buddies fall in love and me continuing on... I guess kind of like Bambi, I know I've used that reference here.

Then there's my teen group.
My early teen's group.
Three girls: me (13), my second cousin Cristi (13), and my second cousin from "the other side" Denise (14).
We were three girls, eagerly awaiting our turn to grow up. We'd be in Mexico, and spent our days walking the railroad tracks, heading to the bridge, and we'd giggle about our crushes as we'd throw pebbles into the river... and ok, we'd also spit into it as well.
Cristi and Denise had bangin' bodies... and I... well, I was the tall, fat, quiet, awkward one.
I was the girl the boys would herd, befriend, all in the name of getting ME to talk about THEM to Cristi and Denise... all so I could hook them up.
This hurt. Bad. But it also was responsible for the ease with which I now befriend guys.
Anyway, I sat back and watched as these two were worshiped by the guys... and how they each started growing up... started... well, being in normal, functioning relationships. How they were wanted.
I remained the quiet, loney, child, left to only listen to these girls gush about the different guys... and me not knowing what that shit even felt like... but hoping that sometime in the near future... maybe when I lost weight and gained tits or an attractive ass, maybe then I'd have some stories of my own.

Cristi proceeded to get married in '08... I was a bridesmaid there. I have never cried as bitterly as the night I got home from that wedding. It was a terrible experience. It broke my heart.

Denise seemed to be going my route. She was hardly in the "news" and hardly dated. It seemed like maybe she'd keep me company in this club of lonely hearts.
But alas... she became engaged in July.
Yesterday, she messaged me and asked me to be her bridesmaid-- I accepted. I will be there, accompanying my last "trio" friend as she leaves me alone in the "single" boat and joins the ranks of the married.

It's like I have an out-of-body experience. I stand and watch as everyone gets taken out, and I'm slowly being left behind. Alone. On the field.
I'm told to be patient, that everyone eventually gets plucked out of that field...
but I know, I FEEL IT, I know it's just something that was never meant for me.

Soul mates?

Today marks my parent's 30th year of wedded bliss...

Dad: Feels like it's only been a day!
Mom: (mumbles) ... under water!

Obviously I inherited Mom's bleak outlook on love and marriage. The woman knows how to crack me the fuck up.

My folks are hardly soul mates... but they know how to deal with each other's bullshit... and trust me, BOTH have some horrible, annoying habits.
Me: Mom, had I been you, I would have divorced Dad ONE WEEK into the marriage. Fuck that shit.
(one week into the marriage, Dad straight up told her he only married her so she could cook and wash the dishes, like ALL women are SUPPOSED to. Total romantic, that man)

I'm not one to put up with someone else's bullshit for the sake of companionship... so... I'll just be alone. Forever.
Unless I find my soulmate... which is improbable... because he's always married or in some committed relationship.

Truth be told, my heart will always belong to him:

Abundance of symbolism.
Don't expect anyone to catch it, per usual.

physics-philia?

Damn it!
I ruined it.
I was going to try being consistent with my blog this month. I was trying to gun for an entry a day, only missing the week I'll be away. But no. Bummer. I fucked it up.

I guess I'll see it as a positive, considering I was still riding incredibly high from the whole Costa Rica trip news (yesterday Dad confirmed that we have a fishing trip date set--I don't care for fishing, but Daddy loves it, and it brings good memories to me. AND, far more exciting news for me: trip to Corcovado National Park is set. I'm surprised I didn't piss my pants with that last bit of news. Words can't express how ecstatic I am about that, seriously. Childhood. Dreams. Yes, I was that kid watching all those nature--and Nature-- shows on TV just for the fun of it). I'm hell of annoying when overjoyed, it's best to shut me up.

The joy factor is... well, I'm still up there, but a little more controlled.
No promises for tomorrow though, since Ruffles is coming to town and will be with us until Easter. Everyone knows I'm obnoxiously happy when my broski is in town.
I'll try and keep it calm until then.

I'll mention "travel" one more time because yesterday, Mom and I realized we're going to be doing a bit of it over the summer, for weddings. One wedding will take place in boring ol' Nebraska, and another will go down in Santa Rosa.

I know a good deal about the Nebraska family, so I didn't bother with their wedding site (how strange... to have one of those. We are getting so fucking white-washed). However, while I know a good deal about my Napa family, I don't know much about the bride, my Napa Valley cousin. I decided to visit her wedding site.
Homegirl's hilarious, and I was having a pleasant time reading her site.
The Bio section, the wedding party section, and the ceremony section were fine... then I got to the "Our story" portion.
I was sitting at my kitchen's bar, Mom was cooking at the stove, Dad was in the dining room... and I managed to startle both.
"That's fucking DISGUSTING!"
Mom: AnoMALIE! Your mouth!
Dad walks into the kitchen.
Dad: What happened?!
Me: She's marrying her HIGH SCHOOL PHYSICS TEACHER! Fucking GROSS!!
Mom: Your mouth!
Dad shrugs and walks away, shaking his head.
Me: Motherfucker's OLD!
Mom gives up trying to shut me up, but walks over to me.
I begin reading the paragraphs aloud, so Mom could see why I was grossed out.
Mom: Well, it was obvious he's much older than her, just look at the picture.
Me: The dudes a white man... sneaky when it comes to deciphering their real age.

Turns out he was her physics teacher back in '98, and they didn't meet back up until two years ago. He was in the checkout line at Safeway, and she spoke to him first.
"Aren't you Mr. ***, physics teacher at *high school*?" she asked.
Bullshit, homie... trying to act like this was all serendipitous. You KNOW you had the absolute hots for the guy back in high school and the moment you saw him in that checkout line you jumped for joy. You knew exactly who he was... you little Lolita.

After being completely grossed out for a few minutes, I remembered I have her same issue. No... not like that, I'm just like her because I too had a weakness for a few of my teachers.
Something about a guy educating you is just... irresistible. I dig it. Way too much.

Get it, girl!

I'd just NEVER go for my physics teacher... that's just... no. No. No. NO.
And not one of my high school teachers, either. The thought gives me grossed-out goosebumps.

Sluuuurp!

Friday night.
Time for some laughs, right?
I mean, I've been extremely aggressive recently... especially yesterday. As I was driving out of the gym, some asshole dude in a BMW was tailgating me as I was trying to pull out of the parking, then he honked at me for not taking a U-turn at the moment HE wanted me to, to which I responded with looking back and flipping him off.
Once we both did our U-turns, he did the tailgate shit again, and when he was going to pass me, a car got in his lane, so I sped up.
I can be a cunt right back, you son of a bitch.
SO he almost crashes, but maneuvers his way out of the trap only to speed off... all to no avail, because the streetlight turns red on him. I get right behind him, turn on my high beams, and arrange my car far enough so my lights hit his side mirror in the right spot where he's getting blinded.
LICK MY CLIT, MOTHERFUCKER!

It's behavior like that which one day will get me killed...
(Funny enough, a couple of minutes prior to that incident was when I penned a new nickname for myself as I kicked and punched my way through kickboxing class: AngrAmelie. I was laughing for the rest of class and up until that fucking asshole driver pissed me off. The sound of the nickname is so close to "acromegaly" that I couldn't control myself and I'd find myself chuckling to myself, like a total mental patient)

ANYWAY, since I'm aggressive, and I want to cut that shit out... and it's Friday... I'll mention something from last week that is/was quite mortifying to me, but hilarious to Mom and Sister when I let them in on it.
I'm always game for making fun of myself... so I'll write it here.
Plus, I want to get this shit out in the open just so the embarrassment will quit haunting me:


Day- Saturday, October 29th.
Place- The Gold Coast Casino ballroom (I think that's the spot? It's that place right across from The Palms).
Occasion- Pacemaker's cousin's wedding.

Part I.
So, last week's wedding was a trip... as I'm sure everyone can guess.
Sister and I made a very uncomfortable splash because the majority of Hometown was present. They hadn't seen us in a while, like... possibly over a year... so, when they saw us,

Baby Sis got that posing shit on lock!
She's precious!

Me? Not so much.
Dig all that mess in the background?
In my defense, it belongs to pretty-girl D. It's her room.

they kind of freaked out.
Most were very kind and would go so far as to touch us.
Many had this look on their face... where their eyes sparkled and shit. Those kind of broke my heart, because I could see the sense of... admiration/happiness they had in seeing "Wow, she actually FINALLY did it... she's not fat anymore!" It felt strange to know all I had to do to garner their approval was to drop weight. Very strange/uncomfortable/sad.
I'm sweet. I'm funny. I'm smart... but what catches your admiration is my ability to fucking drop 50 pounds in 6 months? WHAT. THE. FUCK?!
Anyway, point is: there was a TON of attention being given to Sister and me.
It was like being on a reality show, where people are checking your every move.

I'm socially awkward... to a damn near unfathomable degree... but I was trying SO HARD to act confident. Happy. Comfortable. NORMAL.
The biggest test came when it was dinner time. Buffet style.
I had to stand in line for about fifteen minutes... answering questions, "gracefully" accepting compliments from the Hometowners... staying straight and not slouching.
That test I passed with flying colors.
I also passed the "serve yourself" portion of the test. I thought I'd surely fuck up right there because I'm clumsy as they come. I trip on some of the most impossible shit... like a spilled pea or something of that ridiculously stupid nature. I also often tremble like a fawn when in public... you know... that whole social anxiety shit of mine... I thought maybe that would kick in and I'd turn all Parkinson's as I'd be in the middle of serving myself some of the chicken marsala... that would ultimately end up on my dress... or worse yet, on the person next to me's dress.
But NO, NONE of that happened! I even managed to serve myself half a plate of steamed ASPARAGUS! That glorious vegetable! And none of it--not even the tasty juices-- ended up on the floor (uh... ok, maybe that's a half-truth... since one of the times, when I cut my asparagus and placed it on my fork, in my... child-like enthusiasm, I kiiind of missed my mouth and the asparagus fell to the floor. It's scientifically proven that I can NEVER be a smooth operator)!

No... the horrible incident happened the moment I reached my table with my goodies.

Part II.
So... recently, for some unknown reason, I've been excessively salivating (like how I try to keep it classy and not just say "Lately I've been HELLA drooling, dude!").
I'm sure you all now know where this is headed...
Smart people would probably hypothesize that I'm drooling because of my change in diet. I've had to tweak that shit so my metabolism doesn't fry or get too accustomed to my meals. It's a way to kick that motherfucker in its side to keep it on its toes, so to speak.
When I see food that really appetizes me, my mouth goes crazy. A totally new phenomenon for me.
I always joke about drooling... especially when I refer to a dude I find very attractive... I joke about him making my mouth water and whatnot, but of course it's a lie. I've never been able to drool over food (unless it was Tabasco sauce... even the smell of that shit has made my mouth water since I was a toddler)... because I apparently fucked up that part of my brain in middle school when I thought anorexia sounded like a good idea.
But recently, I've caught myself swallowing an abnormal (for me) amount of saliva.
If there's food in sight, I need to be careful before I speak, because I don't want to spray any innocent folks standing within spitting range.

I guess social anxiety makes me forget important shit... like SWALLOW YOUR FUCKING SPIT, YOU ANIMAL!

Part III.
I arrive at my table at the reception, second only to my sister.
Everyone is still in the buffet line, except for the family sitting at the table directly in front of me.
Ohhhh... you should know where this is going by now, or else we can't be friends...
I start fiddling with my silverware, trying to make room for my salad plate, AND my dinner plate. There are so many fucking forks, and knives, and glasses everywhere, but not room for my damn plateS!
The Universe, yet again plotting against me! I can't hold TWO fucking plates for too long before something eats shit and I make an ass of myself! MOOOOVE these fucking glasses and forks out of my fucking wayyyy!
As much as The Universe tried fucking up my day by putting that new little too-many-glasses-and-silverware trap in my way, I kicked it in the balls and set both of my plates on the table without any stains, or dropped food, or injuries to me or third parties.

Then I committed the fatal mistake... of sneaking a triumphant glimpse at my plate of asparagus as I was pulling out my chair to take a seat.
My head was bowed, looking to make sure I wasn't sitting on anything (terrible habit a girl acquires when raised with a bunch of mischievous boys who like to fuck around with ketchup packets, tacks, and other sharp/sticky object), and that's when it happened:
An ENORMOUS amount of drool escaped my mouth... and landed on my seat.
FUCK. ME.
SHIT.
FUCK.
GODDAMN IT!
WHY?!
What did I do? What any other human does when they do something stupid/embarrassing/incriminating which can be used for decades for blackmailing purposes: I looked around to make sure no one saw.
DID anyone see?
I sure fucking hope not.
I made eye-contact with one of the girls at the table in front of me... and I gave her my best "YOU SAW NOTHING HERE. YA GOT ME, BITCH?" look.
Poor thing, I'm sure she didn't see shit other than me giving her a menacing scowl... as I wiped my seat with the cloth napkin in my hand.
It took me about two minute to compose myself. I was busy trying not to burst out in maniacal laughter, 'cause that's what I do when mortified. I was also finding it hilarious that no one had just witnessed such a potentially traumatizing event in my life.
Here I just drooled all over my seat like some Saint Bernard, at a wedding, and NO ONE saw! Not even D, whose sitting INCHES away from me! AHAHAHAHA!

I took a deep breath, waited until the last person at my table took his/her seat, and then proceeded to eat my drool-inducing asparagus.

...
I then took a potty break and released the asparagine-laden nuclear waste known as post-asparagus-piss...

Universe: 75687120
Me: 0

No Candy Here

I swear I've been meaning to update.
I just get so fucking tired when the time comes to crank out the sentences.

If I were to type exactly what would be on my mind, without the use of editing, it would look like this:
hfgouh8024579623FUCK!worksucks.Can I just sleep the whole fucking time? Weddings are fucking retarded. I hate people. Jesus, can't I just sleep?! My hamstrings hurt like they've never hurt before. I almost fell today going up some stairs. That would have been funny. Painful as fuck... but hilarious. Not to mention embarrassing. But it would be worth it... as long as I wouldn't crack my neck. being a paraplegic isn't something I'm down for. oh goddddddd! i don't wanna shower tomorrow!! I'm sleepy but I still have to bake protein banana nut bread!! Why is pissing so underrated? There's a fucking reason for it being known as "relieving oneself": because the goddamn relief you feel with the release after holding in your piss for so long is... unlike any other. Ah, pissing, you feel fucking good!

Ok, enough. I can't. It's painful to continue with the free thinking shit. It's a little embarrassing... because really, that's what's going on... the misspelled words and lack of proper punctuation and all.
I need to capitalize my "i"s? Fuck you, brah.

Just a tidbit of what went down over the weekend?
-Pacemaker was in town... we had fun, we became irritated with each other, we shit-talked each other, we ignored each other, we hung out with each other.
-I slept a total of maybe 18 hours since Friday. Not nearly enough as my body requires. But NO! AnoMALIE wanted to party.
-Far too many compliments regarding my "transformation."
-FAR too much shit-talking in regards to how I probably went about this "transformation." Yes, people now suspect I went under the knife... which INFURIATES me to a degree I once thought was impossible.
It's called HARD WORK, motherfuckers. HARD WORK and DISCIPLINE.
I may not give the vibe of a hardworking chick, but you'll be fucking hard-pressed to find someone with my level of discipline. That's the kind of shit a person acquires when you've been raised by a woman more than one person refers to as "Hitler." Woman raised three little soldiers, just ask anyone.

ANYWAY, this last bulletin has been what has made me the most frazzled these last few days.
I don't know from what angle to attack it on here. It's just this huge blob of bullshit... that... I just don't know where to start. It's kinda like trying to eat one of those sandwiches with the over-easy egg inside. You want to bite it, but you just don't want to end up covered in egg-yolk the moment you make up your mind on which end to start devouring that sandwich.

SO, while I'd love to make some Halloween-related post... no, really, I would. I have some wack memories of this holiday, I just can't. I've been WAY too mindfucked by this weekend's happenings to make the holiday any justice.

How about I just post a photo that... well, is very much me... and kinda Halloween-related.
One of my high school friends posted it, and it pretty much made my day. She's my fucking twin:

AHAHAHA!
...
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Happy Halloween, kids.

In every way...

The monograms used at Monday's wedding were J and N. They were everywhere.
Their first dance was to "Unforgettable."
Dude sitting next to me was named "Darcy."
A mutual friend of ours was sitting a table away from mine.

Unforgettable, thats what you are. Unforgettable, though near or far. 
Watching the groom, the way he'd gaze into his bride's eyes... it was killing me.
Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me. 
Such sincere... adoration. There's no other way to put it.
Never before has someone been more... 

I've always been cynical saying that sort of shit is impossible... that no one is lucky enough to find someone who will look at one with such... tenderness.
Unforgettable in every way...
But Monday proved me painfully wrong.

and forever more (and forever more)

thats how you'll stay (thats how you'll stay) 

By the end of the night, I was wondering why the hell I wasn't drunk... then I'd look over at Mom and realize Oh yeah, that's why.

thats why darling its incredible

Woman took care of that for me. She was so buzzed, she attempted hooking me up with the bride's cousin... who happens to be a TWICE DIVORCED, single father of two... two separate BabyMommas... and he's only 28.

that someone so unforgettable 

Well, look at that, even Mom has given up on me... Twice divorced, single father of two, huh?... probably really IS the only thing I can find by now...

thinks that I am unforgettable too.

And I accepted this sweet little fact: the only person who can't find someone to stare at her in the same fashion I was currently witnessing... is... me.

I hope he'll... at least... occasionally... think of me...

Lifetime Moment

First and foremost:
Today is my broski's birthday.
I feel extra emotional this year, since, you know... he's going to be living in the SECOND most dangerous city in the world in a little over a month.
I'm back on that "He might die! I need to let him know how much I love him!" mode.
I missed him a lot today. Had he been anywhere in the vicinity, I would have hugged the shit out of him... possibly even bitten him a few times... 'cause we're barbaric like that.

I'm in a very... loving mood... for my siblings, that is. Overall, these last few days I've felt extremely attached to both my siblings. I just want to squeeze them... and oddly enough, I'm eager to hear their stories-- even if it's just their work complaints.
I think yesterday's wedding has a lot to do with this behavior.

This brings up part two of the post: The wedding.
Good part:
I love the family involved. The girl who got married is the girl I refer to as AnoMALIE05, since we have the same name.
She and her now-hubby are some of the funniest people I know. They're also very welcoming and... well, awesome friends. Their respective families are the same way.
These kids had been dating for... something like seven years? The love and devotion these two have for each other can warm any monster's cold heart. That includes me.

The way he looks at her makes my cynical-ass shut up.
He sincerely worships this girl.

The "Eh..." part:
This was the first occasion some of the MEN of my acquaintance saw me in... about a year?
By "MEN" I mean "Dudes I had a MAAAAAD crush on back in my teens but would only give me a head-bob as sign of acknowledgement."
A good few of them have crushes on my sister (anyone surprised? I hope not, 'cause this is a recurring theme, in case you haven't noticed).
Anyway, as far as they've been concerned, I'm pretty much a dude.
Wellll.....
I'm vindictive, right?
So... I went to this shindig in a tight--but very fucking classy, ok?!-- dress, which had a pencil-skirt thing going on, and a sweetass belt cinching my waist (love my fashion terms? "Fucking classy" "sweetass." Vogue is definitely my bible). I was rocking some five inch Santana heels (that man knows the way to my heart. His style is perfectly synced with mine)... I was six foot one for this thing.
ANYONE who knows me knows I'm conservative AS FUCK in attire... because I'm shy and probably have the soul of some re-encarnated mormon.
But for this occasion, I thought against it.
Fuck this shit. I've worked hell of hard for this body... and I want to show these motherfuckers what they missed out on when they opted for the fucking ghetto, slutty cholas instead of me ten years ago. SUCK MY BALLS, ASSHOLES!
What happened?
The majority didn't recognize me!
It was like a fucking movie, I tell you. Those corny teen movies... the Lifetime movies... those teen dramas where the fat/nerdy/loner chick changes drastically, then all the dudes suddenly start thinking she's awesome.
Ahhhh, come on, guys! How trite can you get?!
Guys were hugging me, kissing me, holding on to my waist as they spoke to me.
I, per usual, was awkward... and I'd bend as far away from them as possible when they'd hold me by the waist... sometimes staring at their hand.
Are you gonna move that or should I move it for you, buddy?
This sort of shit would probably excite a normal girl, or at least make her happy.
But not me. I'm resentful, remember?
I'd find myself getting angry. By the end of the night, when I had finally had enough of these dudes putting their fucking hands on me, I decided to just say goodbye and walk away... leaving a couple of dudes mid-sentence of their "Hey AnoMALIE! What have you been..." as I worked my way to the exit (don't get me wrong, I'd still do the courteous hug-and-kiss thing we Latinos do, I just wouldn't chit-chat and I'd most definitely wriggle out of their grasp).

... the shit I had to do in order to garner other people's acknowledgement as a human being. Marginalized for being "fat"... not up to their fucking standards of "beauty."
Shame on them.
SO yeah, that made me go "Ehhhh..." yesterday (I always thought that moment--"The Lifetime Moment," so to speak-- would be... happier, I guess. Not so rage/tear-inducing).

The bad part:
It was only bad because I allowed myself to get sad.
Seeing so much love... made me sad.
It happens to all of us single ladies.
I couldn't be happier for the married couple, they deserve all the love in the world, but it's still nearly-impossible not to feel sorry for yourself.
The way he stares at her! It's indescribable. It's beautiful. Everybody deserves that...

But don't worry... I ate a box of chocolate-covered "red velvet cupcake balls" (six "balls" per box. They were each smaller than a ping-pong ball... I would have eaten another two boxes, had they been available. WORTH. IT!), I was back to being a complacent bitch two seconds after feeling sorry for myself... because it's impossible to be pissed off after stuffing yourself with CHOCOLATE-COVERED RED VELVET CUPCAKE BALLS!

However... I did wake up with a hideous pain in my gut. I had the balls as well as the linguine to thank for that (it wasn't like I was going to turn down the fucking meal the married couple had paid for. Come on now. It's common courtesy to eat what they serve). I jump-roped like Money Mayweather trying to work that shit off as soon as I crawled out of bed.
And yeah, with that I end the "bad" section of the wedding... as well as this post.

Lucky Ducky... or not.

OK guys, I'll come clean:

I haven't been entirely truthful about something.

Today I get to rock this:

Uh-oh...

That's right. I'm getting married.

Not.

Hell fucking no.

But I am wearing that.

I get to spend my day doing one of my most loathed activities, and that is to attend a wedding. A Chunti wedding, of all things.

That's where the ring comes in (thaaank you, HnM).

Had it been a normal wedding, I wouldn't have busted out the cheap jewelry. However, since this is a chunti wedding, I have to pull out the big guns.

Guys at these things are hard-headed as fuck, and they will not take "No!" for an answer.

Guy: Quieres bailar? (Wanna dance?)

Me: No.

Guy:... porque? A poco tienes novio? (... why? You actually have a boyfriend?)

Me: Yup.

Guy: Donde esta, no lo veo? No esta aquí, no te puede ver... entonces, bailamos? (Where is he? I don't see him. He isn't here. He can't see you... so... shall we dance?)

Me: No.

I've just adopted the "look-at-my-ring-finger" method. I've been "engaged" since I was 18.

Anyway...

I'm going to the wedding to show my support for a cousin who... hasn't been the luckiest person on Earth.

Poor guy was dealt a bad hand from the moment he was born, and he just hasn't been able to pick himself up. Well, NOW is when he's trying his best... since he was locked up for all of his 20's. Now that he found a girl whose willing to overlook his shady past, he's trying to do everything right.
I'll always root for that sort of thing... blame it on Edward James Olmos and all of his cholo movies from back in the 90's.
Anyway, as much as I want to show my support of this guy cousin of mine, it's just inevitable that I'm going to have to deal with the chuntis. That's why, instead of being my typical cunt self, I've opted for the ring, so I can send the guys a silent signal of "No. Not interested. Ever."

(This didn't work out for the church portion of it. OF ALL PEOPLE, my cousin's DAD--aka the groom's father--was the biggest fucking creeper who kept looking down my shirt and... just kept trying to FLIRT with me... being a total creep. Fucking DISGUSTING. I HATE dirty old men. Ridiculous idiots)

Ma vie en rose

So I survived.
I even took photos.

There's a catch, though:
I only went to the church part of the wedding.
Originally, I had planned to go to the entire shindig, I mean, Rafa's here. Nowadays, there are few opportunities I get to party with my brother.
However, I felt so sick, I ended up opting out of the reception.
I'm sure the stress and drama added to this blinding headache that kept me form the party.

For the time I spent at the wedding, I was very civil and friendly (except for this one baby sitting in front of me. At first, I played along with him... even sticking my tongue out at him--caught on tape, mind you-- after he started doing this sort of serpent thing with his tongue. With this kid, I played the usual church charades people always played with me when I was little. Then the game went all wrong. We were kneeling, except for the baby, of course, he was standing on the bench directly in front of me. I was minding my own business, closing my eyes and doing the prayer thing, when what did he do? He MOTORBOATED me. Yeah. What was MORE embarrassing was that his dad saw. Do you know how hard it is not to slap a two year old's face as he buries it into your exposed cleavage? VERY DIFFICULT. After he did that, I stooped to his two-year-old level and I made mean faces at him. Freakin' little jerk. How can a child already have those impulses? Creep).
I hugged and kissed all the bride's relatives (not the groom's, obviously, since I don't know them). I acted as if this last week never occurred.

I thought the day was a hit... until I caught a glimpse of a photo a certain dude took of my family and me with the newly-weds.
I kid you not, this is unedited:

Is it obvious they hate me?

What the HELL is that?
Oh, maybe I should explain that I'm to the far left... behind my mom... my hair's a little visible... see it?
Yeah, me neither.

I laughed it off... of course, I still feel the need to slap this guy in the back of the head while calling him a jackass (this is when cussing would REALLY come in handy), but I laughed it off. It's not like I love photos anyway. I guess he did me a favor by intentionally cropping me out AND letting me know how he REALLY feels.

There is one photo out there someone managed to snap of me... and it bummed me out to see that it's more than obvious that I'm quite miserable at this point in time. My eyes are just... dead.
Uh-oh.
But at least my smile still exists:

That mani was popular with the high schoolers at the wedding.
One day I'll start acting my age.

I surprisingly got that shot while trying to take a proper photograph of the cool "ombre" mani I did to go along with my pink shoes and purse for the event.

See the mud?! MFing MUD! In 90-whatever degrees! I was furious!

See, I can be a girl when I try (but somehow, I STILL get dirty like some mischievous little boy).

3-1

He made me cry with his vows.
They were lovely song lyrics of his own authorship.
The way he looked at her wasn't doing much to stop the tears. I had to look away to gain my composure and look like my normal, cold self.
He looked like a kid on Christmas. Seriously.

He NEVER smiled.

When I met him, he was miserable. He was sick, literally. Fragile, pale, depressed... with a mystery illness no doctor could crack.
I befriended him because my best friend thought he was cute, so I wanted to help her reach him (I will go to extremes to hook my friends up, but I'll close myself off when it comes to my own happiness... go figure). I was like Lenny from Mice and Men in that relationship... damn near breaking him into pieces each time I hugged his poor fragile body. But I did get to know him, and he became Kelley's best friend... and he was my "Give me what your Oma sent you from Germany... you know... that weird spice thing I can't pronounce but I eat ravenously at your place... and some gummy bears" friend.
That was six years ago.
Then last year this chipper girl who looked at least four years older than us (she's actually three years younger than the youngest) approached us Three Musketeers... weaseled her way into our clan... and he fell madly in love with her. She was the epitome of his undesirable girl... and he fell in love with her.
Alright, dude... if you say so.

Anyway, it's his day, so I won't talk shit.
You know who was getting shit-talked the entire night? This girl.
Ok... it wasn't much "shit-talking" as it was... light teasing. I was the only "single" person there. Sure, Kelley's boyfriend went sans Kelley... but it was still weird.
Everyone was paired off... and everyone was talking "Alright, who's next?" And I'd be there like "Get the fuck out of here... I'm not even willing to commit to reading a book... much less marrying a dude." And OF COURSE I was pitied the entire night.
It was awkward. Extremely awkward. AND THERE WAS NO LIQUOR!
Fuck me in the ass! Shit!
There was kissing everywhere... girls sitting on their boyfriends/fiancés laps... hand-holding... it was my nightmare. No lie. Wherever I turned, there was some sort of PDA going on.
At least I wasn't the only person uncomfortable... Kelley's boyfriend was keeping me company. We spent the night occasionally flashing the Vulcan salute... since Musketeer is a die-hard Star Wars guy.


Wait... wait... I did have ONE male all over me: Musketeer's dog!
:)
That little beast-- all two-pounds of awesomeness that he is-- was "defending" me the entire night. Sitting in my lap and growling at anyone who approached me.
So I guess I can't complain.

But I'm still sad.

Gringos and Gypsies

I'm Mexican. I'm used to this sort of wedding:

Thinking about ever wearing that dress in public still gives me anxiety

It's really the only type I've gone to.
I'm used to very long courtships and engagements of about half a year... I mean, you can't plan a reception for 200+ people in less than two months.
Quickie weddings aka "White Weddings" are foreign to me... but not for long!
The male member of my Three Musketeers gang (Mom gave us the nickname) is getting married... in exactly a week.
I saw him at the Halloween party over the weekend... the guy in the sexy gypsy costume. He made no mention of his plans, and neither did his fiancé. They asked me what I was doing with my life, and wanted details, but when I asked, they just "Eh, hmmm, you know"'ed me.
WTF, bro? That's all I get?

Last night I was notified of GaGaHater (Musketeer's fiance. Remember that story a while back?) posting on my wall. I noticed she had written the exact same thing on Kelley's wall (the other Musketeer).
That shit must be spam. Fuck it, I'm not checking it out.
Then Kelley texted me.
Check your email.
I did. And there it was, an invitation to Musketeer1 and GaGaHater's wedding... that will take place in a week.
WTF?!
They've requested we go semi-formal, but NO JEANS! and we must wear chucks.
Do you know how hard that is for a Mexican girl? I'm supposed to wear chucks, but not jeans?! WTF?!

I don't know... I'm just going with the flow. It's hell of short notice... but it's not like I have much of a life to worry too much. Looks like I'll be attending my first White Wedding... in chucks.
You white folk sure are weird... :)

Also, totally off topic (well, sort of):
Today I found out gypsies are Romanian... hence the term commonly used on them-- Roma. WTF? Was the dude at the party calling me a gypsy?! WTF?!

NOT AnoMALIE... although I too could take on two motherfuckers like that.

I AM NOT a gypsy.

And that is my "flipping out" comment of the day.

Let's just get one more in there: WTF?!

punctuRED equilibrium

Oh last night...
Where do I start?
Ok, I won't recap the night, that's just painfully unnecessary to experience a second time. Let's just say I ended the night almost leaving for the ER instead of my house. Two things were wrong: my stomach and my head.

First, the stomach thing: I have no clue what made my stomach hurt so bad, but I blame the salmon of the night... or... I don't know. It was a sharp pain in my stomach that would make the tips of my fingers go numb. Go figure. I was almost in tears by the end of the night. Totally not fun.

Now the head thing: I ended the night with blood running down my neck. Sign of a good night, right? Not really. On my way out of the showroom, I was hugging and kissing people, saying goodbye, all the usual talkative-warm-Mexican-thing.
Well, suddenly, I felt a guy headlock me from behind... a short dude, because I had to bend backwards.
It was my (very drunk) cousin, and as he went for a kiss on my cheek, he managed to headbutt me in the process... right in the ear. I was wearing earrings that weren't my usual hoops, but rather studs, and I felt the metal end poke the shit out of the side of my head.
At the moment it all occurred, I just yelped a little and pushed my cousin off me, I didn't want to appear any more neurotic than I had the entire night due to my stomach pains (hey, you try being happy when you feel like the baby alien in your gut has turned into a ninja with full blown regalia). I didn't think to touch my ear or anything.
I finally grew a little more conscientious about my ear when I noticed a girl stare at my neck in what appeared to be horror. As I reached for my neck and back of my ear, I felt something warm. I brought my hand back to my face, and there it was-- blood. My entire hand was covered in blood... front and back. It was a disaster, and terribly embarrassing. The blood was oozing out of the fresh puncture wound (blood running all the way from the back of my ear down to my neck) my drunk cousin had made with his headbutt. Sexy.
I had to walk out of the casino with my hand glued to the back of my ear (not literally, but that would have been great).
The look on strangers' faces in and out of the casino were priceless.
WTF do Mexicans do at their weddings?!

Once I was home, I removed all makeup and changed into my PJs, making sure I photographed my misery:

My excitement is palpable, right?

(That one's for you, Mooney. Check out the locks-- damn near turned them into dreads. Putas marañas!)

Oh, and before I end, one final thing:
Know how I was prepared not to breathe the entire night? Well, that was a no go. It appears my freaking body is still dropping sizes or some shit... because my bastard dress kept slipping down. That shit was awesome (NOT!) when it came to dancing La Vibora de La Mar:

But at least I didn't fall (no, that's not my family. It's just some video I found on YouTube that best describes the shit you should expect out of this game).

Sobria

The countdown has begun.
In two weeks, I will be irritated as fuck... probably crying... and totally uncomfortable.
It's my cousin's wedding... and her bachelorette festivities have already begun.
Tonight is nightclub/???? night. I agreed to an hour or two of nightclub, and none of ????.

I'm trying to be a sensible bridesmaid... especially since a couple of them are already fighting over shoe-color... so I'm refraining from partying too hard.
I'm really worn down, especially after this recent Chicago trip and all the shit that occurred there... so it's best if I steer clear from alcohol. Give me liquor right now, and rest assured I'll be that drunk girl in the corner, blubbering about heartbreak and drinking to oblivion.
I try so hard!!! But no one loves me!!! I hate my life!!! 
While I don't mind doing this in a private setting (nah... actually, I do), I think it's best if I don't get a drop in my system for my cousin's big day... or any of her festivities. I'm considerate like that.

SO, it appears I will not be drinking... at all...
I'm going to handle all this shit sober
Hooray!