Messy

With a week remaining for my birthday to come and rear its fucking ugly head... the Universe is doing its thing of making everything turn into fucking chaos... like it always fucking does.

A dude who thought I was dope back in 2014 got engaged to the girl he met after I showed not nearly as much enthusiasm as he showed for me... gave her the most extraordinary rock and all that fucking jazz. I am over here feeling angry (at myself), surprisingly sad, and just... jealous. It's fucking great.

I also realized my goddamned social security card has gone missing. I was planning on renewing my license tomorrow, but Ohhh! Won't you look at that?! You fucking can't find your fucking social security card!
So, instead of getting the real ID shit, I'll have to be a bum and get a regular plebe one. I'll follow that up by getting my SS card reissued to me... I bet that will be fun.

In this violent scavenge for my SS card, I encountered my old phones from all the way back to 2005. I found old texts and old photos... and it stirred up my emotions. Seeing how my face has changed from that of a hopeful, chirpy teen... compared to the hallow, broken chick I am now... I fucking cried.

Ahh, to be young and chirpy... and frustratingly shy.
I was on my way to a shitty science class when this happened.

How the fuck am I supposed to keep it together when the universe is putting pieces together for me in this fashion?
Ugh.
What a fucking mess.

"Why are you still talking?" circa 2005

Coffee withdrawals

This month marks my one year of coffee addiction.
I was never a coffee drinker, not even though my AP high school years, or even my college years.
I joke that I could have been mormon.

However, after going to Costa Rica last year, I got in the habit of drinking black coffee twice a day.
This last month, in preparation for May's wedding, I've staved off the coffee. I do my best to keep my grill clean, but coffee stains, regardless of how intense I may floss or rinse, are impossible to avoid.
SO, in hopes of getting my grill as white as possible, I've called it quits on caffeine until the fucking lame spotlight is off me.

This has turned out incredibly difficult... this exclusion of coffee.
I'm more restless than ever. I go to bed after three in the morning... then I wake up tired as hell.
I spend the time at the gym yawning like a bored feline.
I'm fuckin' dyin'!
Speaking of which, I even have withdrawals, where I swear I'm suffering a heartattack. Random bouts of tachycardia surprise me throughout the day. I have to giggle to myself as I think weird shit while encountering the palpitations.
Shit would fucking suck if I passed out right now... driving 80 MPH on the highway... that would be one fiery fucking mess...

I swear, if I'm going through all this motherfucking trouble to look half-decent for this retardedass wedding... and I get stuck with the fucking CREEP of the groomsmen (as is fucking CUSTOMARY, since I'm good ol' sweet idiotic AnoMALIE... who doesn't say shit and just sits there and smiles while her partner is running around, making a fucking scene)... I'm going to pick up my shit and walk out. Plain and simple.

The back of my mind is telling me this is certainly going to happen... because AnoMALIE + weirdos go hand in hand like... Spring and flowers.
I'm going to bet I get a weirdo... or a divorcé.... ohhhh! My money's on the divorcé who will spend the rest of the night swearing up and down that I want his fucking dick.
Great. I just jinxed myself. I feel dirty already.
Good shit.

Q...uit fuckin' around!

Know what else I need to practice? Some motherfuckin' PATIENCE.
My goodness! I'm freakin' dying for this damn car to finally get here!

Update on this beautiful creation:
So, originally we chose the "orca black" color. We were told the damn thing would arrive on the 24th.
Yesterday they called to inform us our car had been sold to someone else, who had purchased it minutes prior to my folks, AT the location it was being kept (somewhere in California).
So we had to choose a different car... well, it's still a Q7 TDI, but it's now gray. I guess it also has more options, which I wouldn't be able to list because I have NO CLUE what those are.

Supposedly the car comes in Friday afternoon, Saturday at its latest.
THEY ALREADY CASHED THE CHECK... WHY THE FUCK IS THIS GOING ON? GIVE ME MY FUCKING CAR!
I feel like driving out to Audi and throwing a brick through their fucking showroom window.

Get your shit together, Audi!
Man, I fucking hate car-salesmen. 

Little Guy Friends

I'm not surprised to know when a new rumor about me finally gets to me.

I AM, however, always surprised when I find out the culprits behind the stories.

It is always a family member. Always.

For the last six months or so, I've noticed my dad getting more distant from me.

I had heard how he became wildly upset when D left, because his idiot friends at work wormed the idea the D only left so she could let loose her inner slut.

I thought maybe Dad was holding some resentment towards me because maybe he thought I was keeping D's secret.

Finally, I was let in on the reason behind Dad's apprehension.

After a few months of not stepping foot at Mom and Dad's place, I went ahead and hung out with my folks and their coworkers for a few hours.

Everything was fine, and we were all laughing and telling stories, then my folks had to leave the building to fix an issue at a separate building.

I was left alone with the cashier and his dad-- who is also my first cousin.

The conversation was somewhat awkward, since this cousin is almost 20 years my senior. He was asking me questions, and I was answering.

Then he ruins everything with the stupidest question anyone can ask me:

So, what does the good ol' boyfriend have to say?

I looked up from my phone and made eye-contact with my cousin.

Me: I don't have one.

Cousin: Oh, so you just have "little guy friends."

Me: Friends.

The conversation was in spanish, so "little guy friends" is more like saying... fuck buddies. I knew he meant this because of the look on his face when he said it.

I felt as if I had been shanked in the gut by an icicle.

YOU!!!!

Everything made sense.

I KNEW I should have blocked him from my Facebook.

It's one thing for others to think I'm an easy whore-- I don't give a fucking shit what they think about me-- but when that shit gets drilled into my dad's head, and he BELIEVES it, it really fucking upsets me. I DO care about that... about what my progenitor thinks.

Finding the person(s) responsible for poisoning my dad against me infuriates me, not only because it makes me want to beat their fucking smug face, but because I CAN'T beat their stupid ass. 

That look of triumph they throw at me... as if they're fucking all-knowing... that "HA! I knew you weren't a good girl! ALL girls are whores!" look... it kills me. It makes my chest burn with hate.

The way my cousin looked at me, I could tell all he was thinking was that he somehow knew my "secret."

This girl is unmarried because she's too busy fucking all those guy "friends" of hers! You don't fool me, you sneaky hoe!

It makes me sick.

You're making my dad upset thinking he has whores for daughters all because you're fucking bored and want to gossip like some fucking women at the nail salon! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Only ONE guy in this entire STATE knows what my fucking lips even feel like... ONE GUY. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE with your fucking judgmental comments and fucking fables.

I don't understand why they'd take this BULLSHIT to the next level and try and convince my father that I am NOT the sweet innocent girl he thinks I am. WHAT concrete evidence do they have to hurt me like that? Some fucking photos on FACEBOOK, where the most I'm doing is HUGGING someone? Where the fuck are we living, again? Iran? Get. THE FUCK. Out of here!

But... I have to take a deep breath and calm down. There is no way I can control what other think of me, or what they WANT to believe.

I know what's up. I know that I am... damn near a fucking saint, and I don't care to "prove" anything to anyone.

Like I've said before:

Bring me ONE guy who can say he has ever touched me. Just ONE, and I'll let you talk all the shit you want.

Good luck.

Spy? No lie!

Hey, AnoMALIE, how do you feel?

That photo answers the question whether it's in regard to my physical state, emotional state, or even spiritual state.
I have YELLOW under circles. YELLOW.
Figures I'd fucking get photographed on a day where I'm ready to fucking die.

I curled up into a very sweaty fetal position last night and knocked out for ten hours.

"It gets better."
Yeah... shove that fucking saying up your fucking lying ass.

No benefit

I hate myself for giving others the benefit of the doubt. I fucking HATE it.

I claim to be a badass and mean and heartless...
but shiiiiit, I trust people NOT to assholes TOO OFTEN.

I also claim I'm going to be an adult in my conduct with others...
but that too is a fucking mistake, and I immediately resort to kindergarten behavior.

I need to pull someone's hair... and kick in their teeth... and scratch out their eyes.
Fuck, I'm immature... and angry.

Chill out

I have a tendency to forget not ALL girls are like me.
I'm not saying I'm awesome or anything... but I WILL say I'm pretty fucking chill. I'm laid back, and quiet, and respect other's opinions... and I like to laugh... and I'm sarcastic... and I'm NOT fucking uptight (only with certain topics... which rarely get mentioned anyway). I know how to laugh at myself-- trust me, if I didn't y'all would be commemorating my death for over a decade by now.

Since I do this, I start believing that every girl is like this... I'm fucking delusional like that.
The moment they freak out on me, I get upset... mainly because I forget most of these bitches won't bite their tongue to insult me, chastise me, or patronize me... which they do without fail.
I'm not ten years old... but I still get choked up when a girl I THOUGHT was laid back like me freaks the fuck out on me.

Maybe I have a higher tolerance when it comes to insults... mainly because I've pretty much heard them all. I also don't get on my goddamn high horse and act like I'm motherfucking perfect.

I just wish people gave me as much leeway as I give them.
But of course, that's too much to ask, so I normally end up upset and scolded... like some fucking five-year-old in time-out after she accidentally screamed "fuck!" upon realizing she colored outside the lines (what? That never happened to you?).
And then I'm too nice to get in their face and let them know they've upset ME... so I just stay quiet and disappointed... and proceed to rant about it on-line.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I fucking hate girls and MUCH RATHER chill with guys... who only tell you ONCE to shut the fuck up and then change the subject and laugh with you some more.

Fuck, I hate girls.

Deep breaths, baby

1. What makes you angry?
2. How do you react?
3. How do cool down?

1. Homie... so many things piss me off. It's multifactorial.
Have I eaten? WHAT have I eaten? What have I NOT eaten?
What time of the month is it? (Yeah, it's irritating when guys automatically assume you're pissed off because you're PMSing... but I definitely notice I tend to have wild mood swings around certain times of the month. And for that I apologize profusely, but hey, it's motherfucking biology. Bite me)
How many hours of sleep have I had?
How many people have I spoken to?
How many hours have I driven today?
Is it too hot outside?
Have I been in a crowded area? For how long?
But there does seem to be a couple of stand outs:
a) Groups of people-- whether they're smart or dumb, funny or boring... if I have to be in a "group" of more than 10 people, for over two hours, I. Will. Get. Angry.
b) Waking me up. I tend to feel ok when I sleep an ODD number of hours. Wake me up at hours 6, 8, 10, 12, I'll bite your fucking head off. Wake me up at hours  3, 5, 7, 9, I'm fresh as a cucumber. I don't know what that's all about... but hey, at least I know my body, right?
c) Hunger. When I don't eat, I get angry, like any normal person. HOWEVER, I also get VERY angry when people try to FORCE me to eat. I can't explain it... but when I tells you "No thanks, I'm good" and you insist on me eating, I will be FURIOUS and ready to spontaneously combust. No means NO.
d) Driving. I just fucking hate this task... and I get pissed the moment I see someone breaking a rule. It irks me and I get a mean case of road rage.
e) Incessant chatter. SILENCE IS GOLDEN. Shut the fuck up and let people think. It'll be ok, I promise. There is NO need to continuously hear sound. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. When someone speaks for more than five minutes, non-stop, trust that I am using all of my self-control not to stuff my sock in his/her mouth.

2. How do I react? Well, that too has multiple answers. For the most part, I bottle the rage... then finally explode after a long time. My "explosions" are not pretty, luckily, I've only done this three times... I'm like 20th-century Mt. Vesuvius. Since I bottle my anger, I just rant on here... nearly suffer a stroke... then I get over it.

3. I get over the rage by... trying to make myself laugh.
It's the best way... I have to giggle.
I take deep breaths, then think of how stupid the situation might be to a stranger... or how stupid I must have looked... and I get over it.
If that doesn't work, I Tweet like Kanye... then get over it.

I'm seriously trying very, VERY hard to be a more pleasant person.
I'm not going to let AngrAmelie win.

Sexual in nature

"I know it's very sexual in nature, but..."

Not the words you wanna hear from your godson...
But I got his back, for life... so I'll do anything for him, like post this photo on my FB wall...

Come on, kid... for real?

::eyeroll:: Whatevs, man... dudes continuously "like" photos of half-naked STRANGERS, I have no shame in supporting my fucking blood. I let this kid bite my arm when we were babies... I'm pretty sure that turned us into blood-siblings.
Suck a dick, haters.

In other news, my family's turned a little upside down-- my paternal side.
Today marked the end of Ramadan, and with it, lit up a nice little factoid for Dad's side of the family:
One of our females converted to Islam.
Whaaaat?!
That's how everyone reacted... everyone but me. This was no surprise to me... considering the girl had been posting so much shit in (fucked up) arabic, posted photos of mosques and stuff of that nature since January.
I was also not alarmed.
I firmly believe whatever makes you a happier, better human being should be pursued... and you should never hold it against anyone who does this, even if it isn't a view/faith you share. It makes someone HAPPIER and BETTER... WHY are you going to trip?
So she's no longer a Catholic... who gives a fuck? She was a TERRIBLE, ignorant Catholic who was sad and confused. She's happier and smarter now as a muslim... I have no problem with the change.
But of course, everyone in the family freaked out the moment this girl "came out" last night as she cheered having successfully completed her first Ramadan.
All fucking hell broke loose.
Even I suffered some backlash because I congratulated her, even introduced her to the phrase "Eid mubarak" (can you believe that? Chick is a muslim now and I had to teach her something? I know I said she was smarter now, but I never said she was SMART to begin with).
Frankly, I don't give a shit. Let the girl be. If this was something SHE wanted from the bottom of her heart--as it appears it was-- so bet it. I seriously don't think my support of the girl makes me a bad Catholic... and anyone who thinks so can go lock themselves in a room, "pray for my soul," and never emerge.
You know... this thing happened a few years back... I think it's known as something like "The Crusades" or something like that... Something about religious intolerance or something like that... yeah... that shit wasn't cool... you should probably concern yourself with praying for THEIR souls... you know, the ones who participate in those famous crusades... not me.

But... as aggravated as all these weekend's shenanigans have gotten me, I am in fact, incredibly happy. So incredibly happy.

L word... like Loser?

One of the words, among the many, that was thrown at me Saturday night by the schizophrenic alcoholic was "lesbian."

1. I'm not homophobic. If anything, I give my full love and support to the LGBT community. Always have, always will.

2. I'm straight. I don't care to prove this to ANYONE, as long as I know it, I don't give a shit. It's like someone calling me Puerto Rican. Am I? No. Do I care to prove them wrong? Nope. Whatever. Go ahead, say whatever the fuck you'd like... fuck, call me North Korean for all I care. I can't control what others see me as... I might as well not waste energy trying to prove them wrong.

3. There are worse names to be called. Off the top of my head, words I've been called which have been more hurtful: pig, cow, monster, beast (not the cool type of beast--like when you accomplish a huge feat), gross (this one still stings my heart, just by reading), pendeja, estupida, ugly.

The only time that word is hurtful to me is when my dad throws it at me... because I know how homophobic he is, so the fact that he's willing to accuse me of being a lesbian cuts me deep... because he hates gays... so... he's kinda indirectly telling me he's ready to hate me (because in his head I AM gay).
Other than Pops calling me gay, I don't really give a flying fuck who throws this accusation at me.

I find it somewhat amusing when people resort to questioning the sexuality of those who turn them down.
The person who immediately pops into my head is one of Mooney's friends. He is this ridiculously good-looking, blond, blue-eyed, All-American young man. Some chick openly questioned his sexuality on one of his status updates... I think because he turned her down or something like that... and his retort was one of the most amazing group of sentences I've had the pleasure of reading.

Just because I don't want you does not mean I don't want men... it means I don't want you. Period. YOU, you idiotic... "God's gift to women."

You don't want me, therefore you must be gay!

How fucking arrogant and presumptuous. Dick.

Neta.

Then he gets my cousin to text me to "apologize" on his behalf-- blaming it on the alcohol.
Oh yeah, that's cool. Just one quick question... this apology... will it like... remove the memory of some dude screaming at a quiet chick in public from everyone's mind? No? Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuck off.

This is why I hate socializing... and just... people, in general, really.
Does this kind of shit happen to everyone, or just me?

Paint Mah House!

Hey, AnoMALIE! It's the hottest day of the year, what are you going to do?
I'm gonna paint a house!

Fuck. I'm exhausted.
So many things I want to rant about, laugh about, and ask about... but my fingers are killing me!
Let's see how far I can take this entry:

So we're landlords right? I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but yeah, we have a number of homes, and this latest acquisition is a motherfucking handful.
My dad, ever the stereotypical Mexican Machista asshole, doesn't want to do shit. He just coughs up money to his STUPID "brothers" from church to do shit for him... everything from mopping, sweeping, or painting the walls.
Mom and I are fed up with this bullshit. It's one thing to pay people twenty bucks to sweep a fucking kitchen, and another to pay someone 100 bucks for that shit. Come on now, that's fucking shameless... to charge that much. It's not like I'm asking Paris Hilton to sweep... get the fuck out of here!
Mom has been doing EVERYTHING at this house.
Dad doesn't even call her to see how she's doing. He just comes home at 3 in the afternoon, sits in his sofa, and surfs the internet. He doesn't even bother to cook.
And people question why I REFUSE to get married? I'm sorry... umm... how in the fuck is this behavior supposed to entice me to commit such a fucking stupid action? FUCK. THAT.
I felt horrible for Mom this morning, so I decided to join her at noon.
We painted from 12PM-8PM.
At first Mom was reluctant to allow me near the paint. She's under the impression that I'm still that four-year-old who doodled her name all over the walls in her favorite magenta crayon.
She made me responsible of removing the paint from the mirrors and windows using only a razor blade.
After finishing the bathroom and all four bedrooms, Mom walked into the master bedroom, where I was checking my phone.
Mom: Look at you! You're super good with the razor!
Me: I was an angsty teenager, Mom. I'm a fucking PRO with razor blades.
At least she didn't suspect my mastery was due to cocaine abuse... right?

After Mom saw I had no more surfaces to fuck up with a razor blade, she trusted me with the paint roller.
First thing I do? Spill paint directly into my eye.
That lady knows me better than I know myself.
I was entrusted to paint the ceiling, and... because I'm an idiot, I looked up just in time to have a huge drip of paint fall directly into my right eye.
I proceeded to nearly kill myself as I jumped off the (ROLLING!) bar stool I was standing on.

Rough start, but I eventually turned into the Bob Ross I always knew I was meant to be.
I was working like a legit day-worker...

I worked so fucking hard on that manicure last night...
I was seriously pissed off.

as if Mom drove to Home Depot and whistled at me.
Working hard... just Mom and I... from 12PM to 8PM. Dad NOWHERE in sight.

I'd find myself cracking up at times... whenever I thought about school... my biology degree.
Remember, kids, stay in school! Oh... wait... that's right... I'm painting a motherfucking house like some illegal immigrant... and I have a biology degree at home... hmm...

I didn't eat a bite since breakfast, which was at 10AM.
I came home at 8PM and prepared myself a meal the moment I walked into the house.
As I was grabbing spices from the cupboard, Dad waddled into the kitchen.
He had been home since 3PM-- FIVE hours, plenty of time to either cook himself some fucking food, or even drive two minutes away to the nearest fucking In-N-Out.
As I turned around with the spices in hand, I caught Dad shoving half of my meal (shredded chicken breast) in his mouth.
I almost cried.
I wanted to cuss at him SO BAD... but all I managed to do was grumble "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I huffed and puffed... but I did not cry.

Each day I stand firmer next to my claim that I am NEVER getting married. Fuck that shit. Fuck purposely attaching myself to a man who won't do shit for me and will treat me worse than a fucking dog the moment I sign that fucking paper.
Not I. I will not do that.

Great, now I'm grouchy...
Let me just get this out of my system:
MEN CAN'T DO SHIT!

Ok, all better! 

Lazy wetwhatwho?!

It's baaaaack!
My terrible, terrible lifetime partner is BACK.

YOU SON OF A BIIIIIIIITCH!
and yes... that's a Germany-inspired mani.
I'm torn between making a portugal-inspired one next... or sticking to Spain. It hurts my heart.

Yeah.
I had been doing an awesome job at controlling it, especially since I've gotten the hang of when I break out.
What makes me break out?
Being extremely nervous...
Or being extremely flustered/angry.
Any of these two things happen, and that's when the stupid coldsore from HELL decides to accompany me for a few days/weeks.
What triggered this outbreak?
A moment of pure IRE, which I encountered Saturday night.

I know I come off as quite the grouchy, mean bitch on here... but I swear to god I'm patient as fuck. I'm quiet, and extremely patient in person. I'm a timid mouse.
I will sit there, usually with a shy smile on my face, and listen to bullshit for fucking HOURS. People can toss insults at me for hours... they can even get physically offensive with me a couple of times, and I will STILL quietly put up with it... because I know the moment I go off, I will MAIM a motherfucker.
The amount of self-restraint I practice is... pretty unheard of, hence my usual rants on here-- it's the only time I allow myself to blow-up.
The rage I hold within is years in the making-- decades of much physical/psychological/emotional/verbal abuse.
I'm a fucking volcano... and I continuously need to tell myself to calm the fuck down.
I need:
1. Gym Time... with lots and lots of weight-training and kickboxing in order to relieve MUCH of the stress/angst/hatred I harbor.
2. Church time. I'm a big girl-- a science-oriented, science-educated girl-- while I identify Catholic, I have my own beliefs... and hearing people patronize me for it REEEEEALLY pisses me the fuck off. To automatically assume I'm a dumb shit for going to church will automatically get you on my shit-list, my will-beat-the-shit-out-of-you shit-list. Church time is my meditation time... my cool down time... my counselor time. It soothes me, so get the fuck off my back and quit treating me like a retard for needing a place to hear calming words that will keep me from smothering you to death. K? Cool.
Normally, I have plenty of these two things in my life... so I'm pretty good in person... and it's thanks to this that last night I didn't seriously injure anyone, and only suffered the outbreak of a stupid coldsore.

What happened?
Game Night with a racist idiot white girl happened.
Game Night with Musketeer's wife happened.
All was running quite well... it was like the reunion of the three musketeers... a very pleasant one. It was like we had traveled back to 2005... only I was the sole member who didn't bring back a soulmate... probably because I'm soul-less, but I digress.
There were plenty of giggles... and sarcastic remarks... and smiles... inside jokes... it was a pretty chill time.
Then Apples to Apples happened.
Fucking game always causes drama...
The adjective we had to try to win was... I think something along the lines of "lazy"... or "revolutionary," my ire makes my memory fail here.
Kelley's dude was the one in charge of choosing the winner. We usually plead our case to the "chooser," so that's exactly what happened.
One of the cards was "Cesar Chavez."
K'sMan: Cesar Chavez?
Musketeer: Man was a fucking HERO!
Musketeer'swife: That lazy wetback just wanted an excuse NOT to work.
....
Now... "wetback" is not a word that normally enrages me. I don't get angry when people are being "sarcastic" either... but this bitch said it seriously... like in the tone one uses when saying Hitler was a horrible man.
I was so shocked, I was at a loss for words... any sort of sound, really. My brain was nearly short-circuiting at the thought that someone would say something so racially charged... so... hateful... and fucking historically inaccurate.
Everyone else in the room gasped.
Musketeer'swife: What?
Kelley: You know... wetback's a terribly derogatory term, right?
Musketeer'swife: Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I'm from New Mexico! That's what they taught me! In New Mexico "wetback" is not a derogatory term!
And they also told you Cesar Chavez was LAZY?!
By now I could feel my face burning. My hair was standing on end... I felt like I could start shooting lightning bolts. I could have jumped at her throat and ripped her face apart... no bath salts needed.
I was also holding back tears... because I was finding myself pretty fucking hurt. I HAVE been called a wetback, numerous times... as has my father... and while I don't care when people throw it around "playfully"... when someone "means" it, I cry. I just think of the poor, terrified, desperate immigrants who cross the river... many drowning... the ordeal of it all... just to have a better life. I think of the horrible conditions many of these immigrants live under, and I seriously cry.
To hear someone mock it so hatefully gives me a knot in my throat.

So yeah, I was furious, I was sad, I was offended, I was confused... but I was holding it all in.
The girl kept apologizing, which only aggravates a situation because they're only digging a deeper hole, but I didn't want to make a scene... so I clenched my jaw (and fists) and told her to just let it go.
The night continued... but the awkwardness never left.

I went home, cried a little, then went to bed.
I woke up at six in the morning, and in the middle of my shower, I felt a hot spot on my lip.
Upon closer inspection, I saw my annoying companion.

Ah! Ignorance-- such a lovely piece of shit to deal with... it even gives me coldsores now! Hooray!
Ok, enough... I have to cry the remaining hate now. I'll be fine tomorrow.

Hypnotic

If ever asked if you want to hang with a well-known hypnotists... whose show you just watched, it'd probably be in your best interest to say NO.

This may come as a surprise to people, but I'm a little tight-wound.
Blame all those fucking years of traumatic experiences that taught me that people fucking suck.
I like to laugh, obviously, and I love to make others laugh... however, if that comes at the expense of making others feel bad, I more than likely pass. So... whenever there's a slight chance for me to get... umm... made fun of... I might get a bit uptight... and pissed... and violent. I don't handle that shit well. I'll fuck you up.

No, I was not hypnotized... but that was mainly due to the fact that I sat there thinking about my grocery list, then trying to solve mathematical equations... trying to remember chemical structures of amino acids... thinking of bunnies... then bunnies getting decapitated as I stare in horror... the sheet music for Vivaldi tunes and then fingering it (I always hated this expression. Even at 11, I had to fight the giggles... then feeling dirty) onto my thigh... shit like that. It's pretty easy for me to NOT focus... so... I wasn't one of the lucky ones to get played with.
My cousin, however, was not so lucky.
I don't know how it happened... but it was pretty public. What did he make her do? He made it so that the moment he shook her hand, she orgasmed... loudly.
This girl is prim and proper, more so than I am... and girl went to TOWN the moment he shook her hand.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night getting ready to throw elbows if anyone reached for my hand.
That is not the way to live.
This also made for some interesting dreams.

Screw hypnosis.

"Is this... real life?"

Haters Gon' Hate? Fuck that.

Know how I know I'm Dad's favorite?
When D got in that ugly wreck a few months ago, he refused to pay for the repair... he even refused to take the car to a shop.
What does he do with me?
He gets the mechanic at our place to use his thingamajigs (that's as good as it gets with me. I know nothing about car jargon. I turn to Ariel and refer to everything as a "thingamajig" and "thingamabob." It works. I know how to change a flat tire, having done it three times, but do I know what tools I used? Fuck no) to fix my bumpers. Pops wouldn't even let me drive Bambi until it was inspected.
My little babe is as good as new.

And that's how I know I'm his favorite. My little Popster.

Know whose favorite I am NOT?
My substitute kickboxing instructor.
I'm not being paranoid, this shit is confirmed.

Before class, I did the usual thing and chatted up my old-lady friends. One I'm particularly tight with because we talk basketball each season.
This lady has a younger sister who is very close to the substitute teacher because they both have the same aggressive, bitter nature (kind of like me, but not really like me... if that makes sense. I'm hardened because I'm a sweet girl who was hurt at a very young age. They're older women who were CLEARLY hurt by a boyfriend, when they were in their mid-twenties, and have just never recovered. HUGE difference).
As we sat in our corner, talking March Madness, the younger sister brings up the substitute teacher... kind of laughing.
MyOldLadyFriend: You told her to go hard on me, didn't you?!
OldLadyFriend'sYoungerSis: ... maybe.
MyOldLadyFriend: I already know she doesn't like me. You made sure to tell me. Which reminds me, guess what she thinks of YOU.

The old lady looks directly at me.

Me: The sub? Of me?
MyOldLadyFriend: She thinks... ::nervous laugh:: you're a little bitch.
?!?!
Me:... me?!
MOLF: Yeah. She doesn't like anyone from *RealKickboxingTrainer*, says we're annoying and vain. The other day she was complaining to my sister about it. Then she brought you up. Straight up said "I want to make that bitch hurt."

I couldn't make a noise. My eyes were just huge in disbelief.
Me: But I didn't do anything!
MOLF: It bugs her how... I guess she has caught you yawning a few times... says you act bored and it pisses her off.
Me: I have late nights and early mornings!
MOLF: Well, be ready. You already know her intentions.

Now, I'm a pushover and a sweetheart and blah blah blah. I don't like conflict. I cry a lot. I'm a pacifist (even if deep inside I'm burning up and cussing up a storm. I'll stay quiet because I HATE rocking the boat).
But I'm my mother's child.
I'm vindictive. I'm stubborn. I LOVE to prove people wrong. I. AM. COMPETITIVE.

Make ME hurt? BIIIITCH, you don't even know me. Fuck you. BRING IT, you fucking hater. 

What did I do?
Well, I definitely felt offended and sad at first. It never feels good to be told someone dislikes you for no apparent reason.
My face just fucking looks like this, ok?! I'm timid. Naturally quiet and shy... not stuck up and vain.
After pouting a little, and taking a few deep breaths, I took all her commands and made it my fucking mission to do them like a pro.
I channeled the rage and imagined it was her bitch ass directly in front of me that I was kicking, punching, kneeing, and (my absolute favorite) elbowing.
When the plyos came around, I made sure not to bitch out... even on the stupid burpees that hurt the shit out of my weak wrists (fuck you, burpees).

Basically, I owned that kickboxing class yesterday.
...
Then I woke up this morning-- completely immobilized.

Parts of my body I had never felt before are crying in pain (my gluteus medius/minimus are wishing death upon me. That pain is... nasty. It's so awkward... a totally foreign feeling).
I nearly passed on the gym... but, again, my stubbornness and pride got the best of me.
That bitch made me hurt? FUCKTHAT! I'm adding another ten pounds to this squat, and these motherfucking lunges are gonna be weighted!

I'm probably going to regret this... but hey, good thing it's the weekend, right? Stupid hater bitch doesn't see me at the gym until Monday.
I'll gain some mobility by then... hopefully...

I'll make sure to smile and skip my way past her.
Bitch.

Biography of a 21 year old

A while back I was approached about writing in a magazine.
I talked about it here, I'm sure. I was pretty stoked about it.
Then, like with everything in my life, the opportunity was unfairly snatched from me.
I don't know if I wrote about that beyond "FUCK THIS SHIT! I FUCKING HATE MY LIFE!" or something to that effect.

Well, once again, it has been offered.
WHY was it offered? Because the stupid bitch editor is writing up my godson's biography.
Me: My godson's BIOGRAPHY? HE'S 21! What the fuck is this bitch going to write about?!
Mom: That's where you come in...
Me: What the fuck does she want?
Mom: She wants you to revise it and edit any information she might have left out or jotted incorrectly.
Me: Here's an idea-- CONTACT MY GODSON. I'm sure the piece will drastically improve the moment she collects actual quotes from the kid himself.
Mom: No, no. That's not the point... she's writing a biography...
Me: Without his permission? What kind of fucking idiot is she?
Mom: She just needs accurate information.
Me: How about she actually TALK to the kid? She hasn't even crossed a word with him in real life. Not ONE word. What an opportunistic bitch.
Mom: AnoMALIE! Show more respect!
::I move my right hand in an up-and-down jerk-off motion::
Mom: ANOMALIE!!

Twenty minutes later, Mom walks back into my bedroom.
Mom: She says you can collaborate pieces whenever you want...
Me: She can fucking blow me.

Me? Resentful? Naaaaaahhhhhhhh.

And now, for the best fucking song in the universe, my anthem:

Best. Song. Ever.
(and the symbolism in the music video? Fan-fucking-tastic)

-

Last night I went to bed laughing.
I finished my DVD watching-marathon with Bridesmaids.
Best decision ever.

I made a conscious effort to not cry... though I really, really wanted to do just that, and I accomplished serenity... after a restless week.

A comment made about me has been gnawing away at me for the last week or so.
My sister was talking about her recent Chicago trip and she let to comment slip.
Sis: *MutualFriend* asked about you!
Me: Did he? That's cool. I miss him.
Sis: Yeah. It was when you posted about being at the Rebel game, and he was all like "Why is AnoMALIE so negative?"
Me:...

I'm sure the fact that this comment upset me so much probably makes me seem like a lame drama queen... I'm surprised it has gotten under my skin like this.
But it has.

The moment she said it, I felt my heart drop.
Then I felt anger.
Then I went back to feeling sad.

Why am I so negative?
It surprises me that the question came from this guy... since I'm only joking around with him when we talk... or I'll compliment him. Every time. All I do is compliment him... sincerely compliment him. It's not me brown-nosing, I have no secret motive to the laudation... it's genuine admiration... and I express it.
I have nothing but kind words for him.
And yet... he thinks I'm negative.

The last week, all I think when I do or say anything is "Now... am I being negative here? Was that TOO negative of me?"
Then I think "WHY should I be positive? WHAT is there to be positive about?"
And so I teeter back and forth between being sad and then angry when I think too much about this subject.

Here, I try to be honest... because I'm sick of putting on the façade of being OK... and when I express my discontent, my anger, my sadness, or anything other than forced, faked enthusiasm, I'm considered "negative."
Newsflash: Life ISN'T rainbows and sunshine, motherfuckers. It's NOT.
Who knows... maybe YOUR life IS sunshine and rainbows. Fucking birds chirp beautiful little songs in your ear each morning... your neighborhood smells like roses each morning... you wake up to your significant other giving you head in the morning. Who knows. Just like my mornings are lonely, frigid, and monotonous... others might have motherfucking fairytale mornings.

I think to how so many people mention how they don't like "negative" people.
I fight the urge to get in their face and ask them to PLEASE try to have a little compassion and TRY to think why that person might be a teeny, tiny bit "negative."

Homie, I'm 26. For 26 years, I've been taught to be respectful and mindful of others. I've been taught to put other's needs and desires before my own. I've been mistreated, neglected, abused, offended, ignored, disrespected in SO many ways... EXCUSE ME while I fucking lose my cool for a motherfucking second.
AND STILL, when I DO lose my fucking head, I tend to do it in a written form... which you OPENLY choose to read. In person, you will RARELY hear a peep out of me. So why complain?

Instead of judging me, you should probably try to understand me.
I'm pretty fucking sunny for a person who fucking hates so many things that happen(ed) in her life.
PRETTY. FUCKING. SUNNY.

So negative.
...

Man.

... and that's why Kristen Wiig having a massive mental breakdown at her BFF's bachelorette party made me laugh hysterically...
Was that too negative of me?

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.

Grouchy Old Low-Carb Lady

Parents? Enjoying la vida calmada in Tulum right now.
Sister? Working.
Me? Cleaning the house from top to bottom AND running my folk's business... like a BOSS!

Cleaning the house is all right. It must be done.
Plus, it clears my head because I start thinking about practical shit like "Why the fuck is Mom storing my 4th grade John S. Park T-shirt in the laundry room? Is she... wearing it? Oh man... elementary school... field days... fuck, those were fun! Man... I REALLY hated the Big Stick Popsicle station... I still do... that MIGHT be the only ice-related goodie that I hate... fuck you, pineapple!"
(seriously, FUCK pineapple. That shit reminds me of piss for some reason. Even a TRACE of it in my food--pineapple, though I'm sure piss will ruin anything as well, but it's not my habit to ingest urine--will ALWAYS ruin whatever I may be eating)

Now the work thing, that DOES suck.
I hate dealing with my mongoloid cousin, no offense to those with Down Syndrome, because they're definitely brighter than this moron.
He does this sort of mistake AT LEAST three times a day:

05-03-12? REALLY? REALLY?!

He did that last year. How do you skip TWO YEARS like that?
I hate him. A LOT.
SO, having to drop by work to check up on this fucking imbecile works me up.
The other day he had set up his motherfucking PS3 to my dad's TV, which is in Dad's office.
I don't know how anyone else would react to that... but that shit made me IRATE.
WHO TAKES THAT KIND OF LIBERTY AT WORK?!
He also continues to take photos of himself holding all the $100 bills FROM MY DAD's safe at work, and posts them on Facebook.
I'm surprised I haven't suffered a heart attack from all that shit.
Talking about all this makes me want to take a baseball bat to his knees. THAT'S how fucking fed up I am with his bullshit antics.
Oh! OH! He also smokes weed ON THE JOB (really, guys... when you're naturally fucking stupid, WHY take something that will only make you slowER and stupidER? REALLY. I don't think I'd resent him so badly if he took speed or any other STIMULANT. Or take Adderall! At least that shit will make you focus, for fuck's sake!)... with his gang of buddies (who go to work and eat whatever the fuck snacks we sell and not pay for SHIT. They're ALL obese... they eat a good 50 bucks worth of snacks... EACH).
It's a truck stop. We have pumps of diesel. We are one of TWO companies that have above-ground tanks in this city.
Yeah. Keep doing that, fuckhead.

AHHH! I have to stop. I'm being one of those people who continuously talk about work problems, and my work isn't interesting like other peoples'. No one wants to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers (unless you're on King of the Hill and your name is Hank). I don't want to hear about diesel, propane, or truckers.

I'm going to chill out. Get mentally prepared to chop my locks tomorrow, FINALLY.
I'm also going to up my carb intake.
I've recently been made aware that all this rage I've currently been experiencing is from a lack of carbs in my life (I've been carb-free since March... it's rough, guys... ROUGH! Though... I was only 100% carb-free form March until May. I do eat two baby tortillas on most days, and I'm eating oats occasionally, so I kind of get my fix some days).
Even Rafa noticed this while he was here, and gave me a new nickname:
Grouchy Old Lady.
And yes, he's on the money with that one.
So, I do apologize for my violent, mean behavior. Luckily, there haven't been any heavy object near my angrily clenched fists... or I haven't managed to bite my tongue as I angrily clench my jaw.
Also, the outcome of the recent Copa America games have been able to mitigate the rage and tame the wild beast inside me.

Ok, this entry has been long enough. Took me damn long enough to write it, too.
Uh-oh... I think I'm getting angry...
Nah, I'm home alone, it's impossible to be pissed off under that circumstance.

@#$%#$@!!!

I think I may have broken the record for "most vulgarities uttered in a weekend."

Yesterday was the family reunion.

That was... interesting.

I showed up at 7:30, like I said I would. 

For the most part, I was ok. I was smiling a lot because the relatives I care for showed up... and together, we made fun of the occasion.

Me: So... where the tacos good?

(I guess I should explain that I did not have a bite or drink at this party. I brought my own liter of water and I ate before showing up. I still paid my motherfucking share, but I'll get into that in a second)

Cousin X: Definitely not 100 dollars worth.

This exchange would make me laugh (EVERYONE I spoke to had that reaction)... because I did mention we were being charged to go to this shit, right ($100 per family, or $25-$30 a person)? But I do believe I failed to inform that we were going to be eating TACOS at the shindig. 

We each paid $25 for TACOS.

MEXICANS PAID SOMEONE TO PREPARE THEM TACOS... 

The taco man supposedly cost all of us TWENTY-FIVE (some paid 30... poor suckers) DOLLARS PER PERSON.

Tacos you can buy at TACOS MEXICO... you know, the ones with the baby tortillas... THE 99 CENT TACOS.

Have I managed to make my point here?

The two ladies responsible for throwing this FAMILY REUNION tried convincing US Vegas relatives that we were paying the $25 for TACOS (goddamn it, I'm going to say that motherfucking word until you hate it as much as I do). Drinks we had to pay for at the bar. Yeah, that's right, drinks NOT included in the $25 entry fee.

LadyThrowingTheParty (Maggie): These tacos are REALLY GOOD, trust me!

Yeah... no. From what I saw (and heard) I make better tacos... and I've only been in the business of making my own tacos for the last two months or so... so... I better start setting up shop, make some dough off of lazy Mexicans.

What made me cuss and get angry was the fact that I believed this dumb broad about the entry fee... her supposed reasons.

She said the place were the party was being held cost her two grand to rent.

Apparently this bitch doesn't use her fucking head when lying... or at least she doesn't put enough effort into the fucking process, and she forgot the lady who OWNS the place is my dad's 1st cousin... his favorite one. So what did Dad do? He talked to his cousin. He made her believe he wanted to throw a family reunion for their family, the D's, and he was curious to know how much it would cost him to rent the place out.

Dad'sCousin: Oh, I'd have to give you my family discount. For you, it'd be... 800.

Dad: That's cool. I'll think about it.

Dad'sCousin'sHusband: Yo, J, I'll rent it to you for 700.

Dad: Oh wow, I don't want you to lose too much in this. That price is just making me feel bad. A $1,300 discount? I'd be robbing you guys!

Dad'sCousin'sHusband: What are you talking about? We rent this place for a thousand.

... Once I heard that, I was outraged.

I mean, it's one thing to get a profit out of throwing a party for strangers, because it's your job or whatever the fuck. 

But to profit off of your family under the guise that it's a "family function"... ? What the fuck are you thinking? My parents don't bust their ass working from sun up to sun down so that YOU can have a sweet-ass life. Get a real job... or be upfront and say "Yo, this is my job, I need to make money." Don't make my folks, as well as the rest of the family, fork up dough with lies.

What infuriates me most is that the poor folks who came form out of town have NO CLUE this went on. NO CLUE.

They stayed over at the homes of these women and their immediate family, so Out-of-Town family thinks it's all roses with us.
Looking around at the party yesterday, it was obvious who was from out of town-- they were smiling and dancing.
We locals were sitting down, pissed off, usually staring at the motherfucking taco set-up... or the bar... clearly thinking "BULLSHIT!!!"

Now I'm going to stop talking about it, because I feel like I'm going to pass out from holding my breath for so long (I do it because it's the most effective way I hold back from yelling obscenities).

Let's move on to today... which can best be described like this:
FUTBOL.
I cussed, screamed, kicked, jumped... all of that shit, all while watching the female's World Cup finale.
Nothing against the Japanese squad, if I wanted anyone to win this aside from the US, it was them (after watching them rape Mexico 4-0, I knew those chicks were no joke). I agree with everyone who says that country deserves good news after such a tough start to the year. But the US had SO MANY opportunities to take this. It was their fucking match to lose... and that they CLEARLY did. Those penalties... I should have recorded myself, because I doubt I have EVER cussed and screamed that hard in my life. I was furious. Way to suck out, US.

So my chest hurt from that moment on... then I switched it to the spanish channel.
I had been switching back and forth form the women's game to the Brazil-Paraguay game, which was going in the same direction as the women's game.
The B-P game also went to penalties, and by then, the women's game was over.
Brazil missed all of their penalties.
THAT made me laugh... and the heavy weight lift off my chest.
I also cussed when that happened... form joy, obviously, because I dislike the Brazilian soccer team... since Mom, D, and Rafa love them (yeah, when they were killing it in the World Cups. I resisted).

I then went ahead and watched a third match, Venezuela-Chile. I bet Dad Venezuela was going to win, he went with Chile... and I only bet because HE suggested it (he swears he knows more than I do when it comes to soccer. It's like me claiming I know more about cars than he does. I've been watching soccer since I have use of memory... Dad watches it sporadically, when his workers won't shut the fuck up about it and he has to try and act like he knows what's going on. Cars, on the other hand, I'd rather stay away from. I know when I like a car... and I know how to change a flat tire... but aside from that, I'm fucking lost. Dad has been working with cars for two thirds of his life... he definitely knows more than I do). Since there was a bet on the line, I became emotionally invested in the game... and the colorful language began to fly.
This game was pretty intense to watch.
Venezuela's defense is... something else.
Who came out victorious? Venezolanos, baby!
Did I get paid? No. Dad just laughed in my face.
Bunch-a-bullshit.

High-five for dirty mouths! It prevents many (ME!) some mean-ass tachycardia. 

Humidity?!

Seriously, fuck packing!
I have a terrible headache.
Here I was thinking (and packing as if) the weather was going to suck dick with nothing but rain, and now I've learned it's going to be sunny, humid, and hot in NYC... but it's supposedly still going to be stormy in Princeton.
I feel my right eye pounding... I'm so angry, irritated, and tired.

I'm going to walk around in yoga pants and a tank top. I don't give a fuck anymore.
But the goddamn shoes... what the fuck do I do about the shoes?!

I already hate the east coast.

I can already imagine my angry tweets come Thursday afternoon.

And yeah, this counts for today's update... because I'm sure I'm just going to want to shoot myself throughout the rest of the day.