Verde pa' la depre

This is the kind of shit I write up while slightly intoxicated:

Truth

Me mata que no puede pasar ni un día en el que no piense en ti.
Quisiera que eso fuera otra de mis exageraciones, pero es completamente verdad-- estas en todas partes.
La manera en que me haces sentir invisible es inaudito... ya quisiera yo tener ese poder.

Unos días tu recuerdo es mas fuerte que en otros.
Ultimamente, con todo lo que esta pasando en el mundo del deporte, estas resplandeciente en mi mente.
Recuerdo como hace varios años, me tratabas como amiga, pero ya ni pordiosera soy. No me haces en el mundo. Y yo de terca intentando demostrarte que valgo la pena... que enfadosa, me disculpo.
Algún día haré que entienda mi corazón, ya que sé que incomodo es tener a alguien que te admire tanto mientras tu solo quieres que te dejen en paz.
No se que me pasa, pero lo intentare de corregir. Te dare la tranquilidad que buscas.

...
People ask why I don't drink... uh, hello?!
This toook me HOURS to type, with a shitload of spellchecj. My Baaaad!

***

Hmmm. Nice one, AnoMALIE.
I'm still happy, just that whole drinking shit only amplifies my hidden feelings... obviously. Hence my usual apprehension towards the activity.
I did feel a little bummed with the outcomes of today's games, however (the Netherlands loss pissed me off, and while I went for Germany... my heart was just holding on to that hope that MAYBE Portugal would do something). As much as I complain about little bitch Ronaldo... I still like the actual country of Portugal... and Ronaldo is a total asshole when he loses... so it makes it THAT much more difficult to like him.

But every negative feeling always manages to die down when Mom prepares my favorite food:

Obviously the abundance of avocado is courtesy of... me.
I love that shit. LOVE it.

Mmmm... Enchiladas Verdes.
The sun is out, my friends. It's lovely... and life is aiiight.
Fuck anything else.

Makin' good on a drunken promise

Starting tomorrow, my family will be complete.
For now, I just have to settle for having Rafa bug the shit out of me.

As I drove him home from the airport, he got all brotherly with me.
Rafa: Damn, this last weekend has been... the first time I go... you know, full speed.
Me: As in...
Rafa: The partying.
Me: Oh, you mean it was your first time spending all three days drunk as fuck?
Rafa: Yuuup. Completely hammered... all three days.

This came as no surprise, having known his intentions since the moment he stepped foot at school:

Yup, that's the Brotherovski I know and love.
And yes, I approve of this behavior, at least when he's with his Princeton homies.
I adore the Princeton crowd.

Hello, I use Facebook, Einstein.
Rafa: And uh... I don't know if you remember... about... how... Jaz had told you guys to give me her number so I could one day drunk-dial her... ?
Me: Yeah, I do, she told ME.
Rafa: Well, I remembered. And I called her.
Me: HAHAHAHA!
Rafa: She was all... groggy. I mean, I called her at four in the morning, so of course she was going to be all "ehh... hhhhellohhh?"
Me: Oh Christ.
Rafa: I was like "Yo, Jazmin! So I'm calling to make good on that promise!" And we took it from there. We talked for THREE HOURS. God... I don't even know how I did that... I've never talked for that long... and I remember the majority of what was said.
Me: Wow.
Rafa: She's so... she has matured so much. She's more of an adult than I am! Her head is on straight... she gives good advice.
Me: So I'm guessing... you guys talked it all out...
Rafa: About... her sister? Yes. We did... and I mean, it's a sad situation, but she's so chill about it... It made ME chill about it. Like Jaz said, as long as she's happy... it's all that matters.
But God, man... I'm just glad I got it out of my system!

...
:(
If I were a better sister, I would have had some nice words to follow that with... but I get a knot in my throat each time I THINK about his fucked up love story with Alo.
I felt a knot the moment I realized he didn't even utter her name.
"As long as she's happy..." ??!?!?!
Oh my God... ahhh, my heart! What is this? The fucking Notebook?!

I wish I could forget his drunk-dial from years back... where he was sobbing into the phone as he wandered the forest in the middle of the night, drunk and confused... and only thinking about how he was NEVER going to find a girl like Alo... how his life would never be complete without her.
:(
I don't know... drunk, heart-broken boys break the shit out of my heart. Knowing my brother can BE a drunk, heartbroken boy makes me infinitely sad.
Rafa!! What happened to the trouble-making, hyper, silly boy I grew up with? What did they do to you?! :(

But, but, but! I think he's finally over it.

Thank you, Venus.

Not so sweet revenge

Ok, now that the dust has settled and I've had over four hours of sleep, I get to elaborate on the happenings of last night.

MGH is Fucked. Up.

Well, WAS... I'm sure he's doing better now. 

After coming home from visiting the newly-widowed friend/cousin, I came home and let MGH know I was home and he could drop by whenever he wanted.

He showed up with his friend who brought him to town (a really cute kid, btw. Who is actually really smart. Even when intoxicated, his vocabulary does not take a beating. "I personally hated Tao... very presumptuous" Wait... did he just say "presumptuous?" Holy shit, son, I think I love you!).

They had no plan as to what they were going to do, so we just suggested we take it to the strip and go from there.

The friend, whose name is--surprise, surprise-- Jose (yet I found myself calling him "Pedro" the whole night... and I was sober) remembered O'Sheas and the beer pong... so we went.

Of course, we couldn't hit up the place without getting some yardlongs, so we did that first.

The boys played fours games, four games they won. By the fourth, however, MGH was fucked. up. He couldn't even stand straight.

Getting him back to the car was a fucking hassle. He kept approaching EVERY SINGLE GIRL on the strip... kept trying to hook up.

God, I'd hate to be Heather.

He'd also call black people "Nigger" each time we'd walk past one. I was fearing for my life on that one.

It took us about an hour to get him from O'Sheas and in the damn car. 

I was FURIOUS. 

Extremely uncooperative, annoying drunks are the fucking bane of my existence... especially when they start digging into MY time.

Once IN the car, I kept fighting with him over the seatbelt. I'd try to keep it on him, and once that annoyed HIM, he went ahead and kept undoing MINE.

GOD DAMN IT! I HAAAAATE DRUNK PEOPLE!

After the seatbelt struggle, he passed out on the car door, with the window down.

He was sweating profusely.

When he'd wake up from his blackouts, he'd cry.

What. The. Fuck?

***

MGH spent his more-lucid beer-pong moments walking over to me and squeezing my biceps... or sitting on my lap.

His line of the night was:

I don't want to sound disrespectful... or like... offend you... but... you look... you look so... fit... like, really, REALLY fit... like... you used to be like this (puts his arms on the side of me as if he's hugging a larger person) and now you're... (squeezes my arms together). I don't want to offend you... but you look... really, really good. You've changed a lot. A LOT!

I had to assure him repeatedly that he wasn't offending me. I also had to thank him, because that seemed to shut him up for longer periods of time.

In the parking lot, he apologized for pissing me off.

Me: What would Heather think of you flirting and touching such fucking ugly girls?

MGH: I'm single.

Me: Right now you are, because she's back home and you're here.

MGH: NO. I'm. Single. Right Jose? Tell them!

Jose: Yeah. He's single.

Me: When did this happen?

Jose: Like... four days ago?

Me: What? Why?

MGH: She's just... it's girl stuff. She left me. She dumped me.

Jose: I don't understand why you were with that girl. I fucking HATE Heather. She's so fucking mean to you. I'm glad it's over.

MGH: Yeah. Fucking girl stuff. Her excuses were fucking girl stuff. And she left me. I'm single. I've been single for days.

The cat was out of the bag.

Everything was making sense-- his flirting with every fucking girl in our path, his constant hugging of me... the physical contact he insisted on having with me. His Vegas trip.

It was... pathetically sad.

I felt terrible for him... but there's no way in hell I'd ever... "help" cheer him up.

Our time is gone.

Instead of feeling nothing for him, as has been the case the last few times I've seen him, this time I was feeling repulsed. Not that he was making me feel sick... but I just didn't want to be in contact. I didn't want that type of attention from him.

This will never work, son. Let it go. 

I also felt... well... a little angry. It's that damn resentful trait of mine.

I say we're cool... and we are, for the most part. But the back of my mind will NEVER forgive a person who was so... vain... and didn't give me a chance based solely on my appearance. 

They didn't care how kind I was, how cool I was, or how funny I was... how willing to do anything for them I might have been... how I damn near worshipped them. They threw it all aside because I didn't match their mold for physical attractiveness... and that is something I NEVER forget. It'll eat away at me for life.

Ah, yes, So-and-So... wasted three years of my life trying to convince him I was a good catch... that he wouldn't regret choosing me... but he kicked me to the curb because I was fat. Screw my good deeds, my kindness... how awesome I made him feel... he thought that was useless and went for the shallow bullshit in a girl. Ah. What a shame. Bummer dude. Good luck with that, 'cause I'm sure you'll be hot for life.

I promise you, no matter how much I ever liked you, or how desperate I may have been for your attention... the moment you discard me, is the moment you discard me FOR GOOD. I'll be your friend... but I will NEVER, EVER... EVER take you back in the "romantic" sense. EVER. I won't even let you know what my hand in yours feels like. 

My tears are that valuable to me. Your disdain is that meaningful to me.

Lick my ass all you want, but my resentment and anger will never allow me to let you back into my heart. 

That, and I'm vindictive. If anything drives me in this life, it's spite. I want to see you hurt. I want to prove you wrong. Call it cruel... call it vicious... I don't care. Life made me that way... and I'm down to give anyone a dose of that medicine the moment they hurt me.

***

As I sat in the backseat next to MGH, watching him drool and wipe away giant tears from his eyes... I didn't feel like "justice" had been served. A year and a half ago, I would cry myself to sleep, swearing this new bitch of his would hurt him... and that I'd enjoy every single fucking minute of his pain.

But I sat next to him, making sure he was safe and comfortable... rubbing his back like you do a newborn, constantly reassuring him life would be ok. 

And that he was a great guy.

My heart would drop that much deeper into my stomach the moment I'd see another one of his giant tear drops fall into the palm of his opened hand.
This isn't fun anymore.

Ahhh-haaaa!

Everything makes sense now!

Well... I'd rather be an alcoholic than a dumbass.

Taking the memory out of Memorial Day weekend

Rough weekend/week.

God... what day of the week is it?

I'm not quite sure what's happened since I last wrote... but what I can remember:
1) Slutty shirts= Loaded drinks... I mean, why don't you just bring me the fucking rum bottle already, instead of my 13 dollar so-called "Mai Tai"?
2) I'll eat any kind of seafood when buzzed... and it actually tastes good to me.
3) I'm a flirt... an annoying flirt, when intoxicated.
4) I will never again wear a white top when going out to drink... I spill all over the place and it turns into a wet t-shirt contest we ALL DO NOT need to watch... Jesus...
5) I go a little crazy with the "tip" when drunk... I somehow owe $1,136 bucks on my credit card, all from this weekend... FUCK ME... I'm DEAD!
6) I fought the urge to drunk-text Mr. Darcy this entire weekend. I almost confessed to him on... Friday night? I'm not sure what day it was... but I'm just glad I somehow held that back.
7) I went to a beauty pageant... it was the worst 6 hours of my life... WORST.
8) I learned beauty pageants are rigged. Where the fuck has integrity gone in this country if we can't even trust beauty pageants?
9) I somehow went to mass twice this weekend... both times thinking about, and looking forward to, the great sins I was going to commit later on those nights... I'm horrible.
10) A close friend of mine told me about their recent attempted suicide. I didn't know how to react to the news. I just sort of sat there... with a glazed-over look, debating whether to empathize and lend my shoulder for them to cry on, or go ape shit and start knocking things over while screaming at my friend what a bonehead, selfish move that was. I went for the "bob and smile as I grab for my right foot to place over my left knee with my left hand" look. I hate being passive-aggressive... that shit's going to kill me some day.
11) I saw a lot of Jason Bourne this weekend.
12) Oh my God... what did I do yesterday?
13) I've been fighting off a pinched nerve near my left ass cheek... it REALLY annoys me and paralyzes me at the most inconvenient times... but I don't feel it at all after a couple of drinks.
14) I'm tired... so fucking tired... and it's noticeable... I keep hearing it from everyone.

I need a break from this break.
Please... no more drinking.

Not so free in that zone

Well, I guess after last night I can mark three things off my "To do before I die" list:
1) Check out a gay bar.
2) See a drag show.
3) Get my ass grabbed/fondled by a female stranger.

Now, honestly, none of that has ever been on my list (no shit, Sherlock), but it all happened last night.

Before the bar thing happened, I accompanied Chase to her band practice, and I was astonished by the similarity between one of her band mates and Ray Romano's voice. I mean, the likeness is uncanny.
The entire time, I found myself thinking "Keep talking!!! I feel like I'm in the presence of Ray! I miss Ray..."
I also wanted him to keep talking, or anyone else for that matter, because I was stuck listening to the one other person there who's not part of the band (but thinks she is), the wife of... I think he's a basist?
She talked... and talked... and talked... even when all I would do would be smile... or nod... or look in her direction.

She was trying to force me to drink a Bud Light... but she couldn't hear me saying "I don't like beer!!" Instead, she thought I didn't want to drink because I felt bad about "wasting her money."
She leaned in to me and screamed:
"Listen!! I make in one day, what you make in a year!! SO DRINK UP!! Don't feel bad about wasting my money."
I smiled... held back my urge to grab the open beer, turn it upside down on her lap, then get up and leave... but instead, I screamed "I. DON'T. LIKE. BEER!!!!"
"What kind of person doesn't like beer?!"
"Umm... me."
So she went on and drank... I think maybe 7?
At her 7th, she then proceeded to talk to me about what a sham marriage is. She told me never to get married, unless I found that ONE guy who'll still give me butterflies in my stomach each time he kisses me... then it's ok to get married.
I nodded.
Then she went off and talked about boobs.
How big boobs are great... how she loves her boobs... and how people thought she got her boobs only to call attention.
She then goes:
"If I wanted to call attention, don't you think I could just do this..."
She grabbed her left tit and proceeded to lick it... and I mean lick that thing like a hungry baby calf .

O...k....
What do you do when you see a 37-year-old woman licking her left boob in front of you?

I was more than ecstatic when it was time to leave the place.
Sure, bummed I wasn't going to hear Ray Romano's voice anymore... but fucking alleviated that I was no longer going to see this lady do weird shit to herself in my presence (if you want to do weird shit, do it in the privacy of your own home... or I guess a club).

Anyway, from there, we called our group of friends and asked where they were.
Where were they?
Free Zone.
And a little hammered.

I was reluctant at first (here I have family members constantly thinking I bat for the other team because I refuse to get a boyfriend... and now... if by some off-chance they see me walking into a gay bar... I can only imagine the damn roaring rumors this action will spark), but seeing the state DiabetesType1 Friend was in (she greeted us a block away from the club, because that's where we found parking), Chase and I decided to go in and check on the other two girls inside (Chase said she heard FutureDentist Friend screaming "Woooo-hooo!!" over the phone... so it was safe to assume she was tipsy as well).

En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo... God, here I go...

The bouncer at the club was a lot more cautious about letting me in the place than any other bouncer I've encountered.
He checked my ID meticulously... then made me remove my glasses... inspected my ID some more, and finally let me in.
Was it because I was smiling in person?

We then got in and saw why FutureDentist Friend was screaming: a drag show was going on.

Yes... we were up close and personal with the drag queens.
I must say... those guys have great make-up skills... and it saddened me to see three of the four had better bodies than me (How can they control their boobs like that?! And no, I'm not talking padded bras... I'm talking BOOBS).

As we stood there watching the show, some fucker decided to sit next to me and smoke his damn Kools...
That, along with the shot and Mai-Tai DiabetesType1 Friend bought me, made up my mind to get the hell out of there and hit the dance floor with the buddies.

So we danced...
And danced...
and danced.

It was comfortable because there weren't any guys trying to rub their crotch on you... or even staring at you. Well, actually, there were only two guys doing that... and I'm guessing they go to the club to do exactly that, bother the straight girls that only dance with their female friends to have a good time being dorks (there was no one to impress, so you know, whatever. I've never really felt that before... except maybe a couple of family get-togethers where I've danced my ass off like that).

Anyway, I noticed gay dudes are pretty touchy feely.
They won't think twice about moving you over by grabbing you firmly in the waist with both hands.

Well, then... thanks, dude... I guess... that's better than you poking my ribs with your elbow... I suppose.

And the ladies?
Well... there were a good amount of chicks that looked straight to me. Most chicks that weren't straight were there with their girlfriends... so there was not much to worry about.
But of course, since you're dealing with AnoMALIE and her shitty luck, of course she was going to be the one to get groped by an overly aggressive lesbo.

I was standing there... minding my own business,

Man... they have a pole in the middle of the dance floor!!

when all of a sudden I feel a small, slender hand grabbing the small of my back.

Whoa, there, buddy, if you want me to move, just push me!

The hand then proceeds to caress my entire left ass cheek in an S motion down, and when it reached the bottom, she cupped her hand, then spanked me lightly.

HEYYYYYYYYYYY!!

Instead of screaming, or punching her--like I would have done, to anyone grabbing my ass, had I been my usual self... or had I not downed alcohol at the speed of light upon entering the establishment-- I stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

Did I... did she... I got... Oh my God...

I just turned to Chase and said
"That girl just touched my ass..."

So what did we do?
We went to the very far corner of the dance floor and made an impenetrable circle where we danced until the back of our necks were soaked in sweat. I took the spot directly in front of the wall... so no sneaky bastards (female or male... what a hassle) could get behind me (why must I have such an irresistible ass?! To the wrong people, of course... 'cause you know, we're talking about ME. My ass could never be irresistible to someone like, say, Cristiano Ronaldo).

So there you have it... I went to a gay bar... and while it was fun to see guys weren't being your typical creeps who want to slip GHB into your drink or ass rape you on the dance floor, it was a little annoying to have to watch yourself from the ladies. It was also depressing to see the good-looking drag queens... they do a better job at being a girl than I ever will.
:(

Just sad...
Now if you don't mind... I gotta go shower...
My poor little ass is just a tad bit disturbed...
the Body Pump instructors didn't warn me about this.

Drink up! Merry Christmas!

What have I been up to this past week?

Sweet, sweet lord...
Oh so much.

And by "Oh so much," I mean "I can't remember most of it because it's all a fucking drunken haze."

While I have in my possession photographs from two of my three drunken episodes of the past week (I was smart enough not to bring one for the EBT/CSID outing last Tuesday, I did take some to the drinking events I went to Thursday and Sunday night), I'm only posting photos from Thursday, since it was my graduation party/21st birthday party of one of my buddies.

Tuesday's outing will never be mentioned again after today.
To summarize that day in less than 500 words:
I went out, freaked out thinking they were taking me to The Green Door for a minute, got tipsy off two Cuba Libres (I fucking hate rum), got a little vocal about my true feeling towards EBT (e.g. "Well, I did think you were cool before you started fucking all those girls... like my cousins," "You know... sometimes I just want to fucking erase you from my world... but it's so hard because you're so cute and smart... and you know, I act like I hate you and want to ignore you... but if you wanted to kiss me right now... I'd totally be all for it... you have green eyes? Dude, I thought they were hazel... I love green eyes!" I'm such a slut, dude), EBT gave me "the talk" (no, he didn't tell me where babies come from... although I'm sure he wouldn't have been too bothered in showing me. He gave me the "If I haven't approached you sooner, it's because I'm thinking seriously about you. I'm getting old... you're finally free... let's see where this goes... maybe we can settle down together" talk), and I laughed/cried as I tried to turn him down gently (My last words were "Give me a month or two..." when I really wanted to say "Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!!" ... but he has green eyes!! God, I'm such a moron. I just figured come February, I'll be in London and his ass will not be able to follow me there).
From this day forward, I will say no more on the subject of my outing with EBT on his birthday. It never happened, yeah?

Ok.
So I "recuperated" all Wednesday.
Then came Thursday night.
I'll let the pictures do the talking (no, I won't, I'll have to add captions):

(This here's the view from our suite... it was a fucking awesome suite... number 2253-- aka my age next to my basketball jersey number-- and it was all by sheer luck, the number of course. We got the room free thanks to our Mexican hook-ups... hence why being Mexican is fucking awesome. While we're known for doing the "dirtier" jobs... we'll have some of the best connections thanks to that, and of course, we'll all group together to bring a great night out to fruition. It was a beautiful thing, really, the team work... brought a tear to my eye)

(That's a diagram of where our room was located. See the red dot? Yeah... we were THAT great at hooking it up. 22nd of 23 floors, room facing the strip, smack dab in the middle. Too bad it was a girls night out... we didn't have any guys to impress and then bed because they'd be so turned on by our powerful connections... j/k, guys wanted to come, but we'd never give up the room number. Fuck them if they thought they were going to party with us and our liquor)

(That right there was the first thing "The Girls" did when they saw the view from our room. I, being an innocent goody-two-shoes, was mesmerized by the Bellagio being across the street... "The Girls" just wanted to flash the people on the strip. Hoes. J/k The girl in the far left is blurred because she really went all out when it came to flashing the strip. Nut.)

(Then the drinking began. The girl in the pink was buzzed... singing and dancing on the pillar there... and throughout the night, she bumped the hell out of the slab... to the point where she was bruised the next morning. To the left, you can see the goodies the butlers--yey!! Butlers!!-- left us. Sure, there was plenty of liquor, but they also gave us SO much cheese... I swore off [fancy] cheese the next morning.)

(Now the drinking is getting serious... with our neat-o game of loteria. I, of course, lost this round and had to take a swig of Crown Royal... after I finished off half a bottle of Absolut, one you'll notice is not in the picture, 'cause guess what? It's in my lap! The girl in the pastel pink was a wuss... she had a baby shot of Grey Goose and called it a night. Girl in the pink, being the birthday girl, totally seconded--sp? is that a word? I use it in Spanish, I don't know if it's used in English-- my motion and was getting twizzzted at a much faster pace. The guy in the red was showing us a bunch of neat-o games. He was friends with Pastel Pink, so he kept all the shit tame and lame)

(It's 3:30 AM, Do YOU know where your kid is?
We were busy finishing bottles. Ok, I wasn't plastered-plastered because I had to take care of the children [because I'm the one who's been going to Body Pump the last seven months. I knew that'd come back and bite me in the ass]. As you can see, the girl that completely flashed the strip is missing by now, but that's because she's in bed, trying to sleep while her vomiting will not permit it. The other girls [while they did puke later on in the night] I had to keep from going out of the room, because they kept getting the urge to go to leave to God knows where, and at one point, some dude tried opening the door-- a complete stranger. Needless to say, that sobered me the fuck up... so I started taking pictures like this one)

(It's 4 AM, newbies aren't so fantastic now. I still have to be alert and ready to kick ass if need be, so I stayed awake... sobered up... sort of... while watching cable [Yey!! Cable!!]. Intermittently, the girls would wake up... I just remember having a conversation with Birthday Girl one of the times while watching some sort of extreme sports show... it was skateboarding, park discipline... and Ryan Sheckler was on... and I just remember referring to him as my "16-year-old boyfriend" and then correcting myself by saying "He's 16 here, but he's turning 18 on the 30th..." [how did I know that??] and so, we laughed... then I changed it to some soccer channel... only to see Cristiano Ronaldo was on... and I then said "Now this guy... he's the fucking love of my life!!" to which Birthday Girl responded with "God, AnoMALIE... I didn't know you liked so many guys!" Hello... I'm a girl! Just because I don't go ga-ga over the usual Mexicans we're around DOES NOT mean I don't like guys... it just means I don't like THOSE guys)

(I managed to take a picture of my buzzed self at some point. I stayed awake the entire night-- I'm a good care-taker like that-- but everyone woke up at 7 AM, after Birthday Girl's sister called saying her dad was going to catch her if she didn't come home ASAP [Birthday Girl came because she kind of, sort of, lied to her parents about where she was going to be all night. I did as well, but I'm a fucking pro at it. I was not missed when I didn't come home to sleep that night]. I had to change into some jeans and my Notre Dame hoodie, take my sister's keys, leave my heavily intoxicated sister to take care of Vomiting LVBLVD Flasher, and drive my sister's car to Birthday Girl's home. I only imagine that kind of fast action being taken by a damn sancho when his lover's husband shows up and he now had to make a quick getaway. Anyway, I then received a phone call from Sister saying she was going to meet me at Birthday Girl's home, because VLVBLVDF was bringing her there. Luckily, Birthday Girl lived 10 minutes away from the Hotel/Casino.
And that, my friends, sobered me up automatically, and 100%... and made me come home at 7:30 AM. I stayed awake until 9:15 AM... at which point I said "Congratulations to me!" and fell fast asleep in the middle of Live with Regis and Kelley. I woke up at 1 PM, and then had to act like nothing was going on for the rest of the day... which was one of the hardest things I've had to do as of yet)

Then came Sunday (I was having such a hard time Friday-Saturday... my memory sucked ass... and each time I told myself I was going to blog about my experience, I'd forget. I just wanted to sleep... and kill the creators of Absolut Vodka).
Ah yes.
Sunday.
I took pictures... and video... but I will never, ever, ever post them up.
It was a more intimate setting (I mean, we weren't in a casino playing Loteria with a butler)...
And all the girls in attendance came out of it crying.
I learned these three things that day:

1. Jägermeister fucks me up QUICK.
2. Jäger Bombs are the fucking devil (Chase couldn't stop talking about my blog, and I... couldn't stop talking about my blog).
3. I couldn't have picked a better group of females to call my friends. They're fucking amazing and I'm just upset it took me so long to find them!

Now... even after all this craze and confusion... round two is coming up starting tomorrow... and sweet Baby Jesus, please give me strength to make it through the next week... and then I swear, never again.

I'm allowed to act wild just once in my life... right? What better reason than me saying "Fuck, guys, I totally graduated even after fucking up three classes... I came right back and kicked motherfucking ass!! And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school! I'll die of alcohol poisoning instead." (And no, believe it or not, I did not say that ONCE this weekend... even while intoxicated. Ok... maybe I did say "And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school!" once)
I'll be sweet, designated driver, ex-Catholic School teacher AnoMALIE once again... until I go to London this February and hunt down the Manchester U squad all over England, that is... haaaaa... all bets are off then... ALL bets.

Which reminds me: Merry Christmas (I only got one crappy present this year: an off-teal/grey sweater... with beaded roses all over... that totally screams "I'm a 40-year-old soccer Mom whose husband is totally boning the nanny, but I don't give a fuck because I'm an alcoholic and have a country club membership, and I myself get boned by all the pool boys! Do I need to get some more Botox?" Hot stuff)!!