A fantasy

Ok, I think I'm somewhat recovered from the drama that was this visit from the Costa Ricans.

I seriously underestimated how upsetting it is to deal with a crumbling marriage.

When I first met this couple, they proudly showed me the framed newspaper cutout where the guy asked the girl to be his girlfriend in a cartoon... that was in the city capital's newspaper... a cartoon HE drew for HER and paid to be placed in the fucking newspaper.
I remember being a little cynical about it... thinking that perhaps this was a bit too much... because I'm a bitter cunt.
We were all sitting in the living room-- my folks, the Costa Rican couple, their two daughters, and me-- and I watched as the daughters caressed the picture frame, smiling and saying they wished their future husbands would do the same for them.
"And then they got married. And then we were born," the youngest said.

When I saw the motherfucking drama these two supposed-soulmates were bringing to MY house, this image kept popping into my head. I'd think of the stark contrast between the daughters, especially the eldest... that poor girl was making a heart out of her intestines (Mexican slang right there... quite possibly my favorite, because it's so accurate. Your heart is gone, so you make do with what is left-- and that's your goddamn disgusting intestines). Her parents were being children, and SHE was the one responsible for talking sense into them, all while disciplining her spoiled baby sister. This fourteen year old girl was being the adult in the entire situation... and her sad little eyes are a thing I'm sure will haunt me for years.

In the final days of the Costa Ricans' visit,  my folks sat down with the husband (this was on Sunday) and tried seeing his side of the problem. His wife and daughters had stayed Saturday night at the woman's family's home, because they planned going to church together. The husband is Catholic (the wife is Protestant, so apparently that wouldn't work), so he used it as an excuse to return to MY house with my father, claiming he was going to work with my Pops Sunday morning. My folks saw this as an opportunity to "talk sense into him." I saw it as an opportunity to lock myself in my room and disconnect the wifi to prevent myself from beating the fucking shit out of him.
(Friday afternoon I damn near beat him... seriously... I was ready to pound into his fucking face that afternoon after I returned from the gym and he jumped into MY shower I had prepared for myself. Before heading to the gym, I gave them my time frame-- I'd be coming home at 2:45ish, take a quick shower, then give them a tour of the city. This gave them an hour and a half to get ready, and I told them to do just that. When I got home, I checked up on them, told them I was going to hop in the shower, turned it on, RAN to the laundry room to get a fresh towel, and by the time I RAN back to the bathroom, I heard the dumb son of a bitch locking the bathroom doors. I almost fainted from the rage, and used up ALL of my self-restraint to keep from kicking down the bathroom door. "HE'S JUST NOW GETTING IN THE SHOWER?! WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO ALL MOTHERFUCKING DAY?! FUCK IT, WE'RE LEAVING. WE'RE LEAVING RIIIIIGHT NOW!" I screamed as I changed into my clothes, grabbed my wallet and car keys. The wife and oldest daughter were ready to bounce, but the youngest made time, sitting down on the floor, claiming "We should wait for Daddy! Poor Daddy!" and I glared down at the kid... biting my tongue to keep from telling her to pity HERSELF... "poor Daddy" was going to ditch THEM once they got home. However, instead of getting cruel on the child, I grabbed my shit, threw it into my bedroom, and locked myself in for the remainder of the day. GOOD LUCK, KID! Hope you remain that fucking thoughtful for the piece of shit who traded you for some dumb, gold-digging married bitch)

What did we learn Sunday-Monday? That this marriage is done... that it took two people to destroy it... that being stubborn gets you nowhere.
Apparently, the guy is "tired of trying" because the girl is a spoiled Daddy's Girl who spend too much time caring for her paraplegic brother.
"What about me?! You know what I've always wanted to do? Go to a restaurant and SIT DOWN to have my meal... NOT order 'to go,'" he said.
Apparently, the wife refuses to do family stuff with just her nuclear family, and invited her folks and the paraplegic brother... and in turn, these people always order "to go" because they're too embarrassed to be seen in public with the brother.
I listened to his EXCUSES for ending the marriage... fighting the urge to slap him across the face... good thing I was locked in my room... and yes, that's how loud they were conversing in the kitchen.
"Tell me the truth, you already have another woman, don't you? A man doesn't let go of a marriage, and leaves his house and kids unless they already have another woman waiting," said my mother.
"No, but one is starting to appear," he said.
Again, I wanted to walk to my living room and drop kick his ass.
I HAVE FACEBOOK! THE STUPID CUNT YOU'RE CHEATING WITH HAS A PUBLIC PROFILE! I SEE WHEN YOU LIKE AND COMMENT HER SHIT, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE! YOUR WIFE READ YOUR FUCKING TEXT MESSAGES WITH THE WHORE OUT LOUD! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!

But my parents are classier than I am. They calmly listened to this piece of shit lie, and walked away.

Now, what do I think? I agree that the wife is a "daddy's girl." I agree that she is pretty... uh... helpless. When we went to Disneyland, we made a pit-stop at a Golden Corral, where I treated the couple and their 14 year old to the buffet. When we were going to walk in, the wife "tried" opening the door, struggled, and said it was locked.
I looked at my watch and said "That's odd... it's 10:30AM, it should be open by now." I reached for the door, and easily opened it. We all looked over at the wife, and she giggled "That door was hard as a rock!"
Another complaint from the husband is that the wife doesn't discipline her children, and refuses to let HIM discipline them. To this, I can also attest. Monday night, as I watched the girls pack their bags, I looked over to where my painting are kept, and noticed one of my unfinished paintings was just chilling there, with a gash running down the center.
"What the... wha... WHO did this?" I asked, grabbing the painting.
The 14 year old quickly denied, and looked directly at the youngest.
"It wasn't me. Why's everyone looking at me?" she asked.
The little one walked up to me, trying her best puppy-dog eyes... and this only angered me.
Kid, I'm fucking heartless... have you not learned?
"Because you're the only ones in here. This painting was fine when I let you girls stay in my room. There are no ghosts. No one else walked in here," I said.
I looked at the mom and she smiled... like this was some fucking comedy.
"So who did this?" I asked.
The oldest girl was hellbent on getting the little one to admit to her wrongdoing, and looked just as irritated as me with the lack of concern from the mother.
I did not get an apology from ANY of them... so I walked out of the room and angrily texted my sister and friends about the incident... as far away as possible from anyone in my house.

So, yeah, I fucking get it... sort of. But still, I don't agree with the manner in which it was all approached.
Also, we asked the husband if we could get both of them together and talk it out. Sometimes you need others to point out your flaws... maybe if we told the wife it was damn time she start behaving like an adult, she might change.
The wife WANTED to do it, he did not.
(He had thrown a lot of the fault on her... which... could have easily been cleared up with BOTH parties present... only the guilty don't want to talk it out)

***

Back in September, when they Skyped me to tell me the news of their visas being granted, they begged me to "please don't be married by January." I laughed, told the Costa Ricans that was definitely not a concern... that I'd definitely not have a boyfriend, much less be married by January.
How quickly, and ironically things seem to change.
While these people drained the fucking life out of me (it hurts to watch kids swallow the story that everything will be ok. Trying to build as big of a fantasy as Disneyland tends to feed... all while knowing the stark reality of a situation-- your father is going to ditch you upon your arrival to the homeland-- is painful and difficult as fuck)... I do wish them... healing.
What else is there to hope for something like this? It's so fucked up... and insane... that this little family that once seemed so freakishly loving and bonded, is going through this shit. It's disappointing-- as jaded as I may be-- to see "love" not just crumble, but EXPLODE out of existence.

I hope that I somehow managed to repay at least a portion of the kindness they always showed me the times I visited them in Costa Rica (I know throwing money at something doesn't always help, but I'll fucking try my hardest to at least ease the pain a bit... it can help keep one's mind preoccupied)... and gave them nearly as many happy memories as they gave me.

Roadkill kitty

Where did I leave off?
I don't want to go back and actually read what I write because that's too fucking draining. I just want to write it all out and try my best to shove the memory out of my brain. That's my therapy... especially now that I feel that disgusting feeling coming back to me... that nasty depression. Fucked up shit, man. It's that fucking terrible disease that you don't/can't eliminate... it just goes into hibernation for a bit... never knowing when the next outbreak will return. Like motherfucking botulism, it lives dormant in a motherfucking endospore which keeps it around for motherfucking eternity, until conditions are optimal to once again be release into the world.
"Ahhh, she's sad again... a couple of people have done and said mean things to her. GO! I release you! Be free! Wreck her world, depression!"

What was I going to talk about? About my own version of the fucking Trail of Tears out in Mykonos?

Quiet solitude-- my paradise... minus all that fucking sun and bare skin.

Ah... Mykonos. A fucking paradise of excess... too much liquor, too much skin, too much money, too much sun... too much everything.
Music is loud as fuck.
Food is expensive as shit.
The ONE fucking road is packed as fuck with cars.
Humans packed like rats in the tiny streets.
Liquor everywhere... even on your fucking clothes.
Dark, burnt skin on everyone... maybe not the Chinese tourists, who are ridiculously careful not to tan at all, with their huge hats, jean pants, running shoes, long sleeves, parasols etc (then why THE FUCK do you come to the fucking island, guys?! WHY THEFUCK?! It's AN ISLAND! THERE IS SUN! Goddamn lots of fucking sun! Nothing BUT sun from 5AM to 8:30PM. Go to fucking England or Germany if you want to hide from Helios! Goddamn. Ok, enough with the tangent).
NOT ENOUGH taxis.
Too many fucking stray cats making the place smell of shit and sound of horny cats fucking throughout the day... all motherfucking day and night... and fighting... so many fucking disgusting cats fighting like loud, drunken teenaged girls.

Night life about to kick everyone in the fucking mouth...

But it was fun.
Lol. "Fun."
It was... "relaxing." Yes. Relaxing. Let's go with that.
I got to sit in a fluffy "puff" aka giant beanbag bed on the beach with drinks in my hand... sitting under the sun, no parasol... from 11AM until 7PM. Just sitting there, catching some motherfucking skin cancer, with a nice dose of lung cancer from all the motherfucking jackasses who love to smoke like fucking chimneys... as though that fucking stench is fucking rad or some shit. Sitting there with watery eyes from the irritation their fucking horrible smoke brought to my eyes (I know this was the cause of my tears because I still wasn't all fucking emotional, so my tears weren't emotionally-induced, but merely a product of my obnoxious, irritating environment).
I was the tallest girl there... which was strange... considering I'm in Europe and European girls are tall, from what I remember. I was also the "thickest," which in this part of the world breaks down to FATEST (actually, on my last day, there was one girl who was "fat" aka "American" in shape... but her personality and self-esteem made her behave like any of the naturally thin Mediterranean girls. I was hell of envious of that girl... her attitude. Go, big girl, go!). And while I don't have visible rolls when I stand, I'm getting that "athletic girl" look which isn't necessarily "ripped/jacked", just like... straight, with giant thighs and arms. Laying down I just look like a giant fucking log... a fucking unfortunate tree trunk after a stormy night.
My skin wasn't tanning as nicely as the rest of the girls... I was getting my "fuck my fucking stupid Iberian roots" burn on. I'm a naturally tan girl (which caused me a ton of distress as a kid, since my family is a lover of porcelain skin and I was the "unfortunate" dark one)... but for some reason, "tanning" just doesn't work for me. My combination skin is some fucked up, useless shit.
So, the pale-complexioned females of my group suddenly came out of this weekend beautifully golden... I came out of it... um... combination skinned-- a little tanned here, a lot of pale there, even more red and burned over here.

And the nights.
Ah, the nights-- can't forget those shits.
I refused to go out on night two (the first night I hung on for dear life until 2 in the morning, after arriving to Europe from my transatlantic flight from Vegas). Night three, the infamous night, I tried to be a good sport.

She's loving life, ey?
Check out the crowd in the mirror above her head.

So, I make my way through the crowd, last person in the line, naturally... braving the painful burn I had going on my lower back (so easy to forget to cover that shit in sunscreen when you hit the beach to roast like a fucking pig on a spit).
Everything is fine and dandy as we position ourselves in the spot one of the girls had RSVP'ed for us at the bar. I drank. I danced around. I smiled. I observed.

Crowd outside the bar/club.
True story: another reality series was being filmed at the time.
I just attract that sort of shit.

Then my godson started dancing like... like a fucking stripper. The only person in the entire building to be dancing. The Greek men and women (oh, I should probably mention this was a Greek bar, not the touristy shit normal tourist visit) stared... stared hard.
We didn't tell him anything, just hoped he'd get the hint that uh, you don't do that 'round these here parts, but no... it seemed as though the looks of disgust and disdain form others only encouraged him to gyrate and thrust more aggressively.
This isn't Cancun. Chill out, Striparella.
Eventually a gay dude tried approaching him, only to be turned away by one of the girls in the group (quite aggressively, actually. It made me laugh).
Still, despite this slight aggravation over my blood's unwillingness to respect a culture's social norm, I still tried enjoying myself.
I DID enjoy seeing what music made the locals sing and dance... and I DID try dancing along... however, it was impossible to sing along because I had no fucking clue what was being said. This was entertaining, however, it made me look as though I wasn't having a good time.
Then my brother, angrily gesticulating at me his frustration over "hating to see me look so miserable" managed to dump his alcoholic drink all over my skirt and feet.
All of this because by 4AM, I was resting my back on the wall and trying to calm down my alcoholic buzz (six mixed drinks and a shot of patron... having eaten one meal all day. Cut me a break, please).
So, since my drunk brother's getting agitated, he decides to force me to leave the club. Alone. At 4:30AM.
It was wonderful.
Did I mention there weren't enough taxis on this godforsaken island? 25. 25 fucking taxis.
So, AnoMALIE, walk your miserable ass to your room.

That's really just a puddle of my own tears.

So... being kicked out of the Greek bar by my brother, I force my way through the crowd and eventually, make it out to the one road that will take me to my hotel, two miles away.
The road winds through the coast line... so it's a nice view.
The moon was huge, reflecting on the sea... like in fucking cartoons... AND it was a huge, reddish moon.
Every once in a while, I'd have to edge over as far as possible in order to avoid getting hit by a car as it drove past me.
There are these huge thorny bushes on this fucking island... shit people fail to fucking mention in movies and all that shit... how motherfucking painful it is to accidentally step on one, or slap your hand against one... rub your monstrous outer thigh against one. As I walked along the road, and edged over to avoid dying at the hands of a drunk driver (while I often DO want to die, this has never been an acceptable method... fuck that shit), I'd manage to hurt myself numerous times with these goddamn horrible thorns.
After hurting myself for probably the fifth time with one of the thorns, I came to a complete stop, looked out at the ocean to my left (once again thought about just dying... how I COULD just jump off the cliff right there, but how I MIGHT not die once I hit the bottom, just like... horrifically hurt myself BUT stay alive as punishment... yet another method nixed), the speeding, quickly fading car to my right (all I could think was how the driver probably thought "Outta the way, ya fucking COW!" as it sped past me)... and the desolate, long road ahead of me... I burst into sobs.
No, not just tears... I'm talking motherfucking, body-shaking sobs.
How many times have y'all seen these, Greek gods? Huh?! Poseidon, Little Mermaid... you fucks! A motherfucking LOSER ASS GIRL walking along the beach at the crack of dawn crying her fucking eyes out , completely fucking alone in the world, unable to connect with ANYONE... even her fucking blood. A motherfucking lonely loser in such a motherfucking glorious place, in a FUCKING SEA OF PEOPLE. Surrounded by such fucking beauty... painful fucking beauty... feeling like the fucking stupidest, ugliest, just... fucking stupidest, useless piece of shit in the world. A fucking waste of space and money... and did I mention how MUCH FUCKING SPACE this idiot girl takes up?! Godfuckingdamn.
So I cry. A lot. And keep walking.
"Why can't I be normal?" constantly running through my mind... sobs slowly calming down... too busy trying to wipe the snot off my face.

And then I run into a little puddle of blood... and make out a fresh roadkill... that earlier today was one of these disgusting, annoying cats on the island.
And I crack once again-- loud sobs now.

FUCK that fucking hill and that adorable hotel that rests on top of it...

I cry all the way up the hill (more like motherfucking concrete mountain) to my hotel--in my handy Flojos flip flops-- where I wipe my snotty, tear-streaked face with my flow-y tank-top, fix my wind-blown hair, adjust my busted, thorn-carrying maxi skirt... take a deep breath, and I walk in the lobby.
"Yasas."
I fumble with my room key, enter my bathroom... and break down again-- this time with the comfort of some sturdy toilet paper to blow my nose, and a nice clean towel to hold over my eyes.
Finally, I crawl into my rock-hard bed and fall asleep.

I wake up in the morning to see (despite my very swollen eyes) my brother and godson in their comfy beds, knocked out cold.
I can't get them to wake up, so I head out to the hotel's kitchen alone. I grab some breakfast, sit at my own table... and stare out into the sea... like the lonely fucking spinster that I am.

The scenery may change, but the fucking undesirable, awkward, lonesome, dead person that I am on the inside remains motherfucking constant.

View walking DOWN the hill, about one fourth of the way down.

Ho hey.

bullets

Today marks my big television debut...
Hahaha... no, not television... I mean, it's on a certain streaming platform... not like people with shitty internet connection (like I do) would be able to see it.
And I'm pretty sure I'll be seen in only one episode... well, I hope that's all... no, in truth, I hope they somehow found a way to crop me out, or just deleted the scene... but no, I'm pretty fucking prominent... so... I'll more than likely show up... and I REALLY hope no one who knows me watches (hence why I won't give more information here).

I'm a little more alert now. Last night I found myself falling asleep in the middle of my typing. I finished the entry feeling like I do when I embark on a driving mission from Hometown, and we hit the horrible hell that is the area between Phoenix and Las Vegas-- that stretch of road is the worst torture of the 20+ hours of non-stop driving (your brain tells you you're almost home, and it gives you a little buzz... but the road is dark and desolate, nothing to stare at in hopes of keeping your mind busy, so your eyes begin to feel heavy as lead. It's horrible).

Anyway, the young man I wrote about last night was none other than good ol' MGH.
His cousin called me to complain about his behavior... hoping to get me to somehow fix the situation.
"AnoMALIE, he got KICKED OUT OF THE CASINO because they caught him in the bathroom with some girl doing... well, you know!" she said.
"Blow?" I asked.
"...Job... Among other things. Not drugs," she said.
"He's always had those tendencies... randomly fucking girls, regardless of his relationship status. I learned that... umm... five years ago, when I took him to Cancun," I said.
"All I could think was about how terrible I feel for *HisCurrentGirlfriend*!" she said.
"Yeah, he has always been putting me in the predicament. We'll be hanging out and I'll suddenly see him doing some shady, dirty shit with a complete stranger. I'll have to look away, because I feel guilty, but I'm not his mom to chastise him or try to correct him... so I choose not to deal with it at all and just let him fuck up his own life."

His cousin (Pacemaker) was discussing this subject with me for a good half-hour. I had to try and help her shake off the guilt.
Like I said last night, this whole situation had me thinking back to the huge explosion I had with this guy, MGH. The painful heartbreak I was in for SO fucking long. That weird-ass relationship of ours. I told that dude stuff I've never told other guys. I was closer to him than I've ever been with any guy. I was seriously moments away from moving out there for him.
I had some of the most entertaining moments of my life with that guy... and some of the most sour. I don't think I've cried so much thanks to a guy than I did with MGH. Homeboy had me fucked up.

The heartbreak I have with Darcy is SO NOT like the one with MGH-- for one, Darcy never EVER ever acknowledged me as... even a romantic POSSIBILITY. He has absolutely zero fault over my heartbreak (well... ummm... I do get upset over how I'm PREEEEEEEETTYYYYYY fucking sure he knew of my feelings for him and how he STILL tried to pin me onto a dude I repeatedly told I had ZERO interest in... but whatever. Bros before hoes, right? Trying to do his buddy a solid. Whatever. But still, all of that shit PALES in comparison to the fucking BULLSHIT stunts MGH deliberately pulled on me). It's just shit that happens when you're a shy, quiet idiot who yearns for someone she'll perpetually hold a candle for, but never actually go for... mainly because it's totally unrequited. It's what we shy folk do... because we're fucking dumb and don't know how to fix that tendency. It's the life of an emotionally fucked up introvert. Whatever.
But MGH lead me on. And used me. Shamelessly used me. He'd hold that proverbial carrot in front of me and watch as I'd faithfully follow in hopes of catching it. I was a blind moron and he used that to his advantage... just handing me crumbs the moment he'd catch me moving on, just to reel me back in.
I kept him company during the difficult time he had readjusting to life in a foreign country when he was a teen. I kept him from feeling alone... the kid's a social butterfly, "alone time" kills them. I encouraged him when he needed it, made him laugh when he had an extra shitty day, and stroked his ego when he was feeling ugly and fat (not to mention I physically massaged his back for HOURS almost every time I saw him). I'd stay up until four in the morning sometimes, video-chatting with him until one of us was completely exhausted.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I regret all that stuff... 'cause I'd be lying if I said that shit wasn't fun, or that it didn't help ME feel better... because it was fun, and those laughs/smiles are memories I'll cherish.
But man, was that shit draining... and... well, it fucked me up to watch him flirt and fuck all these girls, just random, forgettable girls... indiscriminately... and I'd have to pretty much beg for him to HUG me. Today, I hug that cat left and right, but back then? Homeboy acted like I had some contagious skin disease... or I was made of some deadly high voltage or some shit.
The years of the back and forth finally led to my angry outburst, demanding to know WHY he treated me the way he did... why he never gave me an honest decent shot, the title of his girlfriend, when he knew and SAW how much I loved him. "AM I NOT A GIRL?! I fucking love you! To me you are perfect!"
And his response is one of those sentences that is burned into my memory:
... I don't know what to say... ?

Nothing. You don't need to say anything.

And I cried. I cried for fucking months.
I couldn't stop crying because I felt so... unloveable. Here I had this guy, who had known me for the majority of our lives, and who knew things about me that no one else knew... who knew me better than any guy on the planet... and he STILL was unwilling to give ME a shot.  Still unwilling to go give me a shot knowing exactly how strongly I felt for him, and how much I was willing to do for him. The same guy I spent years watching as he hooked up with the ugliest, dumbest, sluttiest, trashiest, grossest girls... patiently waiting for him to finally call me next... was turning ME down. I was considered LESS than these LEGITIMATE whores. At least, that was my thought process at the time.
Nothing feels shittier than that. Nothing had ever made me feel so insignificant.

But eventually, I picked myself up, and chose our friendship over everything.
And I continued to watch him go back to his ways of random hook-ups... this while he was now dating a new girl. I'd see his lovey posts to her... all that corny, love-struck bullshit, only to later watch him become a dog once he was in Vegas, away from his girl.

I thought he had finally changed with this new girl... but I guess I was wrong.

So yeah... a few years back I was distraught over this rejection. My sense of self-worth was non-existent.
Now I... well, I'm glad it happened.
Painful as shit to experience, but MAN, I sure fucking dodged a giant bullet.
This was just... stubbing my toe on a corner, really.

Now I really hope his close friends don't think I'm his side-piece, because what kind of fucking idiot hangs around a guy for 22 years without ever fucking him, right?
(This idiot. This idiot who apparently wasn't a girl until about... three years ago)

One day he'll come

Pity Party Weekend!

The universe conspired to turn these last two days into "Pity AnoMALIE" parties.

First, yesterday.
I KNEW I shouldn't have attended the stupid Sweet Sixteen. I WASN'T going to attend, I was actually going to be a fucking adult and go to a... I think it's a bar? Anyway, I was going to go to the bar around 7, however, when I returned home from church (yeah, I'm doing that again) I saw Mom was upset because Dad had left to the party without her.
Since my hair and makeup were already done... and my mom really wanted to go (and only needed to change into her dress... like fucking Cinderella, I tell you) but hates showing up to big parties on her own (see where I get it from?), I agreed to change into my handy dandy LBD and prevent any divorce papers from being filed.
Everything was going ok, up until I was left alone at the table with my pregnant cousin and her mother.
I was complimenting the cousin on her pregnant cuteness, and telling her how sincerely happy I was for her... and everything was fine... up until the fucking most hated words were uttered by them:
Awwww, thank you! You're so sweet! One day, your prince will come along the road for you, and you too will get to enjoy this happiness.

...
....
That was pretty much my reaction-- a long, angry pause.
I side-smirked and "Yeah"ed, no longer caring to speak.
Lito showed up with a couple of my guy cousins, so I excused myself and chilled outside of the ballroom until my mom decided to call it a night and took me out of my misery.

As if yesterday wasn't enough torture for me, today I headed over to a bridal shower in my old neighborhood.
Pity party part two.
Here, everyone is fucking pregnant, married, or engaged.
The girls that are my age are all sitting on the opposite side of the courtyard, at the same table. Of course, since they are ALL either engaged, married, or pregnant, I'm banished because... well, I'm none of the above.
I sat at the old lady table. The middle-aged lady table... where I listened to women discuss the cute behavior of their grandchildren... and was actually relieved when they began creeping each other's Facebook pages.
I was in my own world... looking up at the sky, taking deep breaths... enjoying the breeze. Then, of course, came the questions.
Am I married? Do I have kids? Where do I work? Do I study? Do I have a boyfriend? What do I do?
I'm single. Have been single. Will probably remain single. No children. Graduated with a biology degree I don't intend on ever putting to use because science makes me ill. I draw. I paint. I write. I travel. I lift heavy shit. I punch and kick. I really fucking love guacamole. I really fucking hate talking.
And, of course, the typical reaction was given to my responses:
Awww, pretty girl... soon enough, a man will come to your rescue.
...
I'd just take a swig of my coconut margarita and proceed to stare at the tip of the Stratosphere... imagining myself free-falling from the needle, face-planting on the concrete floor.

Todo para que?

Wasting away.
Pining.
Lost cause.
Game over.
Hope, gone.
Defeat.

No sirve de nada...

All of it, I was thinking all of that and more here.
I caught a glimpse of myself on my camera, and immediately felt my heart break.

Multitudinous-- the meanings to this year's costume.

It earned me a number of compliments... even a handsome legit military, country gentleman was trying to get me to flirt... and as always, I froze and turned catatonic. I tugged up on my dress until I gave myself a rash.

"Even as a corpse you look stunning."
Thank you... but I don't feel it... and quite frankly, it no longer matters... it never did.

"Is your Romeo showing up later?"
No sir... not at all.

Podría ser todo suyo, solo suyo, y no lo quiso. Que más da?

Don't go girl

Tonight I had three boys at a party tell me they loved me.
Three different boys were paying attention to my every want and need... Were at my beck and call... Were like little playful kittens, trying to flirt their way onto my lap...

One I've like for a few years... and tonight he was right there, at my lap. He pounced on me in the parking lot as I made my way to the party. He was attentive the entire night.
All I had to do was reach out to him... He was laying on his back, head looking for my lap as we both sat on the bed, just us two in the bedroom of the hotel party.
I just had to assure him I was fine with his touch...
But instead I thought of... That guy who doesn't give a fuck about me. That guy no one can match.

Two other boys lay in waiting. Whenever this crush of mine would leave the room, one or the other would make his way next to me. Neither as aggressive as my mini crush, but just as attentive.
When I announced I was leaving, they asked me to stay a little longer.
"But I LOVE YOU! Don't go, girl in the black sparkly TOMS!"
"I love you more, girl in black!"
"I LOVE YOU, ANOMALIE! COME BACK!"

And all I could think was how I wish HE'd say something remotely similar to what these boys were screaming.

AnoMALIE-unfriendly Pastime

I told one of my aunts about the current predicament I'm in... the issue with that shit-talking idiot chick. She, like pretty much everyone I've spoken to, suggested I ignore the bitch.
Me: Yeah, but when I think of her fucking stupid, stuttering fucking oaf face... I get SO FUCKING ANGRY!
Aunt: Oh, you know what's great at clearing your mind? KNITTING! It is SO relaxing.

This woman tried teaching me how to knit back when I was EIGHT... eight fucking years old.
That shit held my attention for perhaps... two weeks. I wound up giving all of my needles and yarn to my aunt, once I decided knitting was NOT my thing.

Fast-forward a little under 20 years and you have me finding a knitted scarf, 2/3 of the way complete.
I felt bad throwing it away, since the quality was pretty great... and I thought of the poor soul who killed her time knitting that shit. Plus, the yarn was soft... I wasn't about to toss that.
I told my aunt about the scarf, and promised her I'd give it to her so she could finish it, since I knew it was one of her favorite pastimes.
That was about two years ago.
FInally, this weekend I finally decided to bring the yarn and needles with me to give them to her as we did our usual gathering.
But this time, she didn't care for knitting... especially after hearing me rant.
She informed me I was going to finish the scarf.
After what seemed like an eternity of angrily staring at my aunt's hands, I sort of got the hang of it:

Jesus...

I didn't say I did it SUCCESSFULLY.
I'm sure you can tell where my incompetent ass started to massacre this poor work of art.
I'm also sure you can tell how I progressively become calmer. I start off all erratic... and end up tight and somewhat even.

I'm definitely not built for knitting.
Not sure if I should be excited or sad about this.
First, I can't have cats because it turns out I'm allergic... now this, where I discover I can't knit for fucking shit.
My plans for being a stereotypical catlady have gone to fucking hell.

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.

Tenia que ser GATA

Sometimes I wish people liked me as much as good ol' SPIDERS:

My greeting yesterday morning.
One minute I'm minding my own business,
next thing I know some motherfucking spider decides it wants a taste of me.
Fucking bastard. I tell you guys I'm a spider magnet!

Well, ok, not like that... especially if they're venomous and my skin reacts in said manner.
Cats need not apply... they should do quite the opposite... they should really hate me and I should take a hint and hate them right back. They need to quit being so fucking irresistibly cute... look more like hairless, newborn rats or some shit, anything that will keep me from touching them.
It's like they know I can't touch them and they go off and do cute shit like... yawn in my face... or fiercely rub against my leg... or have a silly name like Harriet Tubman--  I'm a history buff, I can't resist historical figures!
I need to quit living in denial and accept the fact that cats and I cannot coexist without the help of Benadryl.
I'm not allergic to shit... except cats... fucking... fluffy, soft, cuddly, adorable... bastard cats. Fuck.
Note to self #4857693: DO NOT PET CATS, PENDEJA! YOU CANNOT HANDLE IT!

Originally, this was going to be a long, thought-out post... you know, with editing and shit like that...
but I'm so tired... and drugged with this allergy medicine shit... the only thing that's really on my mind is this:
1. My tummy hurts... I can feel the peristalsis going on... and I don't like it. It's like a baby alien is trying to eat my innards. Gross. It needs to quit moving...
2. Why is the television so loud? Especially when it's a commercial? Turn that shit down.
3. My room is hot as fuck.
4. Why won't my calves stop twitching and why are they so cramped every morning? Stupid body part...
5. I hate people. Not all... but most.
6. Mmmmm... lemon. No, lime. Yeah, lime. And cilantro.
7. No. More. Strawberries.

Summer has begun, and I feel like shit.
Maybe tomorrow... when I'm rested and NOT drugged.

No Borde el Tren

Divina ilusión... que yo forjé.
I watched the last train pull out of the station today.

That lonely girl, sitting on the bench only giving her back to the world in all those images... finally turned around today. Once the dust settled from the commotion... once everything had settled into... that goddamned trite phrase of "deafening silence," she turned around... and it was me.
Un sueño fue... que no se realizo.
It was always me.
No puedo mas.
There is no saving me. No tengo remedio.
I am completely... utterly alone.
Siento que mi alma se desgarra...



... I had been doing so great. This goddamn... delusional... fucking stupid hopefulness that has refused to die after all these years, the only thing to fucking blame.

That song has such a different meaning for me now.
Estoy sola. Mas sola que nunca. Y no hay manera de remediarlo.
I am such a loser.

Never enough.
I went from being a shadow... to being a ghost.

(Shorter, more embarrassing story: On Wednesday, I was walking the Strip with MGH and his friends, but mainly talking to MGH. I was smiling and laughing... genuinely happy. Then some dude in his mid 20s mocked me. He made fun of my laugh... loudly. This hurt me more than expected. It hurt to see someone ridicule my genuine happiness... my very rare happiness. I almost cried... but instead, I puffed up and went on a violent tirade against this guy, ready to rock this 6-foot-whatever guy's jaw with my fist. I had to get held back and taken away by MGH and Fer. 
It has been a rough couple of days, my friends. I just had to get it off my chest so I could continue with my life as a robot)

1 cupcake, 2 cupcakes, 3 cupcakes, 4

Valentine's Day.
Ah yes.
Lovely.

I'm not supposed to hate on it.
And I've been pretty good about adhering to that resolution.
I know it's technically... 3 days away? But my sister and her friends decided to kick off the celebrations tonight.
I had to take part in tonight's festivities due to the venue... which happened to be my house.

The three lovely ladies decided to have a salmon dinner, followed by chocolatey dessert and some good ol' vino rojo.
I passed on the vino and opted for straight tequila shots... 'cause that's how I do... because nothing bores me quicker than wine.
And well... I more than overdosed on the chocolate desserts.

The chocolate overdosing began once the girls started man-bashing.
After the lovely dinner (which I bowed out of participating in), they each shared their stories of woe... and rather than share my own man-hating stories, I opted for stuffing my face with molten chocolate mini cupcakes.
My husband bores me... but it's like... we have a son... so... we're working on the marriage... even after I told him of my infidelity.
Oh my God... I'm associating with a cheater? I hate myself so hard right now. Cuuuuupcake!
Men are dogs. They just want fucking sluts. I'm sick of being a good girl.
Cuuuuuuuuuuupcaaaaaaaake!
If a dude were here right now... he'd be so fucking dead. FUCK MEN!
Whoa, there ladies... are there... any more cupcakes back there?

As if that wasn't enough, Momma wanted me to take shots with her in her room.
You don't have to ask me twice if tequila's ever involved. I have the esophagus of a 50-year-old mariachi singer... I will down that shit without flinching and I'll match you shot for shot when it comes to that.
So technically I'm buzzing hella hard right now AND I'm chocolate wasted.
However, as trashed as I got, I'm proud of myself for not participating in the man-bashing.

True, guys have cut me deep... and I'm hell of hurting over dudes... but... I can't lie: I love them. They make my world go round. They make me smile. They make me... enjoy my time on Earth, shit, they help me keep my feet ON Earth (as in, like, not get carried away with my lofty dreams... not that they're the reason why I don't commit suicide. No no, not like that. They just help keep me grounded).

And while I HONESTLY feel that I will never find my other half... that my "lobster" has been caught in some fishery... that my Prince Charming was trampled to death by a minotaur...
I can't bring myself to hate on men... at least not while in the presence of a group of girls.
Sure, a lot of male behavior drives me ape-shit, but to go from that to "I'm done associating with guys!" is a bit too drastic. I don't have the heart to rip them to shreds in front of my kind.

Men are funny. They're nice to look at. They have a story.
Does it hurt to know that I can't find one who will like me as much as I like him? Hell yeah. It hurts a lot... like a hot blade slicing longitudinally along my trachea. It has hurt my entire adolescence... and now my supposed "adulthood."
I'm a 26 (almost 27! Christ!) year old virgin... are you fucking kidding me? I feel a pang in my heart each time I see a couple holding hands... as much as I hate to admit it.
I bet that feels nice... to know... what that's like... to have someone hold on to you in public like that.
I continuously tell myself that I'll just settle for someone who likes me more than I like him... but that's impossible. My stupid heart doesn't allow it... because it isn't fair... to anyone.
Not too long ago, one of Kelley's friends said something incredibly sweet about me. It made me blush.
Kelley: To him, you're "the most beautiful girl in the world."
It helps me understand when the shoe's on the other foot... why the dudes I like can't like me in return. It makes me more compassionate, I guess.
It's flattering, and greatly appreciated... but just... not possible to be reciprocated.
You can't ask an olive tree to give you pears.

So, as my turn to "cheer" to "this miserable day" came up, what were my scathing comments? My story of woe? My famous last words?
... 5,600 miles... might as well be on the moon. Non-exisistent. All in here ::taps right temple three times with right index finger::

One... more... cupcake.

One too many fucking cupcakes...

And yes, this post took me about two extra hours to post... I had no idea it was this difficult to revise shit while under the influence (I usually just ignore shit and post away with reckless abandon. But not today. Tonight? No, sir. Not today. Tonight?).

Don't do it, girl!

I'm getting better.
I'm even on "mood stabilizing" pills.
Who would have thought carbohydrates to be THAT fucking important in one's emotional health.
But I'll pay that price any day, over... you know... being fat and KINDA normal (now I'm just pissed all the time... but I can leg press your mother... and probably your father, too! Deal with it, World).

You know what else makes me angry? Yesterday's show.
Ok, it DOESN'T make me angry... it just irritates me... and it's in the forefront of my mind because... it was so goddamn ridiculous.
Today, we spoke about how you break it to a dude, and if you even break it to the dude.
On the show, the girls would straight up tell the date "I'm a virgin." after maybe half an hour. Then they'd go off and ask the date what their future plans looked like... the steps and amount of time they planned to take at each one and whatnot.
I sat there watching, mesmerized.
No wonder these broads are virgins...

Seriously, I've never actually vocalized my status. I've never had to. I find it akin to "I'm retarded."
If I see myself ever actually saying those dreaded words, it'd be seconds before fucking, and it'd be along the lines of "well, I apologize in advance if this sucks... but..." then we'd get over it. But this would only happen if I really liked the dude and wouldn't feel stupid about one day possibly admitting to banging him (that's where MY issue lies. I overanalyze and convince myself that I'll never forgive myself for allowing this or that dude's appendage anywhere near me. I really do treat my body like a temple... or I'm just fucking mean as hell. He has a fucking stupid-shaped head! YOU let THIS guy hit it. THIS GUY! With the stupid-shaped head! For shame! or He says "SUPPOSAVLY!" SUPPOSAVLY! Shoot yourself, AnoMALIE... you fucking idiot! You let that animal possibly, theoretically procreate with you!). It'd be my way of admitting he's pretty fucking legit.
Yo! I totally don't think you're embarrassing or stupid! And I'm totally cool with the thought of you one day possibly reproducing mini-yous! Hooray!
However, I'm not saying I've never seen this go down with someone else... the vocalization of status, that is.

In my experience, when a girl tells a dude she's part of the club, his reaction is one of two:
1. He wants to hit that. BAD. 
He will hustle that girl until he lands her. It turns into a fucked up game... that I kind of enjoy watching, because both parties entertain the shit out of me-- the dude for trying so hard and the chick for being so retarded and throwing her so called "morals" out the door. Both parties always think they're smarter than the other... when in reality, they're equally handicapped.
Most of the time, once the guy hits it, he totally quits it. And the girl goes off and becomes a huge whore... or "reclaims" her virginity... that twat.

2. He runs like hell.
I have to admit, this one used to infuriate me.
REEEEEEEELAX, you fucking asshole! You're not THAT special. Calm your ass down, you lamefuck (these accidental puns are really aggravating me, but I can't help it. This is how I really talk. It's how my brain works).
I used to think these egomaniacs needed to get punched in the face, for thinking so highly of themselves.
Yeah, you're so fucking special... I'll NEVER forget your sexual prowess. The moment you leave me, I'll be broken FOREVER! Suffer a lifetime of longing for your dick... because you will be so damn unforgettable, my love! "My love" because that's what will definitely happen after I have a taste of your penis... I'll be madly in LOVE with you! Get. Out. Of. Here.
But after watching this show, I get it.
I get you, guys, I get you.
Bitches be motherfucking crazy! Chick may try to stronghold you into marrying her... or she'll forever stare at you with that creepy, adoring, is-she-a-serial-killer? look in her eye.
Run. Run like the wind!

Ahhh, I'm in the company of greats.

Lint Remover

While yesterday I was beaming with pride, today was contemplating suicide.
Well, not THAT drastic... but I was sad.
Today was the hooding ceremony

The shadow of a broken spirit.

and while yes, I was proud of my brother and I was cheering like a soccer mom, I also wanted to run out of there while sobbing violently.
These people are so damn smart... SO DAMN SMART. I feel like a huge dumbass and total waste of space.
Goddamn... I wasted my life... I wasted MY BRAIN!

Aside from that feeling of inadequacy, I've also been extremely frustrated.
My dad is such an ogre.
Ok, I'll explain it:
We're renting out my brother's friend's loft. The boy is a PhD student whose on vacation this week, so he rented the place out to us since it's very close to campus.
The guy, very kindly, told us we could use anything in the place, eat anything in the fridge... and just make ourselves at home.
Dad has taken that to a whole new level.
He's rummaging through this kid's fridge and pantry like a motherfucking ravenous bear goes through busy camping grounds. It's an atrocity.
Dad is going around eating Klondike bars like some shirtless hillbilly... strolling around the CARPETED AREA... where he drops chocolate scraps on the floor and doesn't bother to pick them up, so they melt onto the carpet.
It makes me CRINGE!
Dad also doesn't like tea... but what is he craving all of a sudden now that we're in this poor guy's apartment? The guy's tea! And I mean, it's ok to drink some of his tea and everything... but Dad has opened EVERY SINGLE BOX "bear-style." HE RIPS IT APART AND JUST SHOVES IT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD!
He's farting everywhere... and my dad's farts are no joke... NO, SERIOUSLY, they are NO JOKE. A man who has survived colon cancer AND a hemorrhoid operation releases gas that should not be inhaled without the protection of gas masks. He's fucking up this kid's furniture and covers.

I don't know what his problem is... he just refuses to use his brain... I don't know... but I'm really close to suffering a cerebral aneurysm from all this pent up anger and frustration.

Maybe I'm overreacting a bit... although my dad really is acting like a wild animal trapped in a closet.
But I MAY be a little more protective of this kid's belongings because I'm totally in love with him. Ha!
Based on his belongings... this homie is SO my soulmate.
First, his bookshelf:

The key to my heart is in there.

There are more than FIVE books in there that are... they're deal-sealers with me. I'll leave them to your better judgement.
The DVDs in the shelf are also homeruns in my book (if you didn't like "The Lives of Others," I'm sorry, but we CAN'T be friends. If you own the DVD, will you marry me?!).
I was already vibing with this kid when I saw his PhD mug... then I saw the bookshelf and I was smitten... then I saw ONE book... and I was shocked. Totally in love with him:

I'm sorry, but now I HAVE to marry him.

This bro can't be real. He just can't be. There are really men out there like this? Holy shit!

I also checked out his spice rack (ha. Pun-y) and ALL of the spices he owns are like... PERFECT! Nutmeg, cardamom, turmeric, curry, all spice, cinnamon-- ground AND in sticks... I was damn near getting an orgasm each time I pulled out a new little jar.
AND HE HAD FAT-FREE FETA CHEESE in the fridge!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN'T BE REAL! Have you been reading my blog? Do you have a mic in my room? WHAT'S GOING ON?!
Even his appliances are fantastic. THE UTENSILS AND SPATULAS are perfect, for crying out loud.
He also likes the same tea I like (Celestial "True Blueberry").
We use the same conditioner (And no, he's not gay-- I asked).
And the artwork on his walls... ALL HIS, which he framed...
?!?
And he's Australian.
My Thunder From Down Under guy!!! Ahhhh!


I met him this morning when he dropped by the place to grab a few things he was missing (my money's on condoms and medication, because he quickly went to his bedroom and then bathroom, something that took him two minutes and then he was out) for his trip.
I was seriously debating on whether or not to greet him on bended-knee, ready to pop him the question right then and there. I was home alone... I could have done that... or you know, just raped him.

But no... I only opened the door with a smile, introduced myself, and allowed him to do his two minute thing while I removed the cat-hair (my little companion while in NYC was this funny black and white kitty that liked to play with me) from my clothes with my lint remover.

And no, that last part, I'm not joking. That's how it worked out.
I live in a fucking sitcom, I swear.