I'm the audience

Welp, look at that! I have time to update this thing after so many months.
My bad.

Life isn't slowing down. Life is actually getting hectic as shit and I'm dying for a breather.
Once in a while, I miss my old life. What I miss most is having the ability to workout as often as I did. I always took that shit for granted.
"Big deal. I workout every day, sometimes up to two hours... so what?"
Ummm... that's a big deal. And it was also a big factor in just HOW fucking athletic I actually was... but for stupid reasons, always underestimated ("stupid reasons" being other people convincing me it WASN'T a big deal. Motherfucker... it's a big motherfucking deal).
I'll occasionally see other chicks post "summer workouts" or "booty workouts" and feel immediate regret, since I could bust those moves out on the regular, no sweat.
I never fucking bragged enough. Poop.

Anyway. So right now we're in the middle of a custody battle.
Who would have thought those words would be coming out of my mouth two years ago?
Anyway, this whole thing has opened my eyes to how hideous these situations really are. I mean, I always saw them on television, in movies, read about them in books... but to live through it is another story. Sure, the kid isn't mine, but as an "outsider," I get to see the ugliness to it from a different perspective: as an audience.
I see the girl cry every day she has to go to her mom's. I see her chirpy, super social behavior drastically dip the moment "You go to your Mom's today" comes out of her dad's mouth. I see her in the mornings as she gets dropped off, crying as she hops out of her mom's car.
What the fuck is this woman doing to her kid to fuck her up so bad?
I see my dude try to console his daughter... I see his rage and frustration.
And I try to rationalize everything. But I can't.
The kid's mom is an animal... a selfish human being... a narcissist who is unable to see how badly she's impacting her daughter. That's my conclusion.
Then I see how the attorneys and judges approach family law. I see how skewed it is towards the mom... how she's given everything... and the dads get so fucked over. It's mind bowing.
You basically have to gave a police report or a hospital report proving the child was physically harmed by the mother in order for the court to even CONSIDER her a bad mother.
The dad can pay child support on time for years, never skip a payment... but somehow that's completely overlooked as a positive towards the father.
It's mind blowing.

The case isn't over, but after the first meeting, I felt sick to my stomach.
I don't feel sick for my dude, but his kid. The thought that she might get stuck living with her mom for good makes me sick. I feel for this child... if she gets take away by her mom, this kid's life will make such a flip to the negative, it'll haunt me for the rest of my life.
Poor baby.

So yeah. This new phase of my life... "adulthood," is ugly as shit.
I was totally on to something the entire time I refused to grow up to deal with adult issues... when I was convinced to stay single for life.

And life is only going to get crazier.

I just want to be silly again.

lobsters in a tank

It's like time stood still... like those 20 years didn't go by... the feelings are amplified.
I haven't been this happy in a very long time.
No one has looked at me like he does, spoken to me like he does, and much less touched me the way he does... as though I'm the most fucking precious object on Earth.

My lobster-- he's alive, and has found me. I have agreed to get caught in the same tank.

But this isn't a happy story... anything that ever has to do with me should never be considered a happy story.

I'm just trying to hold on to this feeling before the world collapses... like it always does... knowing full well that this time it will hurt worse than it ever has in the past.

... I jumped off that cliff with my motherfucking eyes closed.

Girl's Girl

I'm not a "girl's girl"... I used to be, for probably the first three years of my life.

Then I agreed to turn four.

I'm not entirely sure if I mentioned it here, or if I did so somewhere else, but I no longer feel ashamed of admitting it:
My "babysitter" abused the fucking shit out of me when I was a kid.
I'm pretty sure I mentioned some of her methods... that idiot girl-- the one who allowed me to get concussed at a playground as I walked across the pony-shaped swings in search for my mother.
The abuse was never sexual, thank god, but it was definitely physical and emotional/mental.

While my mom thought this idiot was taking care of me, she was really just torturing me for her own amusement. She'd say mean things, slap me around... lock me in a room for hours (telling my mother we were just busy playing)... refuse to give me a drop to drink or a bite to eat for hours, or the contrary-- feed me toxic shit... that sort of shit... shit you should never do to a four-year old little girl... not if you have a heart... or a motherfucking conscience.

Thanks to her, I learned people could be mean... really mean... mean for no reason... mean even when unprovoked... simply provoked by "your stupid face."

That same year, I had that aunt of mine throw dirt in my face and call me ugly... that story I've told tirelessly... the story I immortalized by turning it into a short story.
I started making the connection that Yo... girls can be crazy as shit... and they don't have your back, Baby AnoMALIE...
But still, STILL I attempted to be normal and have a normal relationship with my fellow ladies.

Things were great during 1st and 2nd grade. Girls thought I was awesome, and tried imitating me.
Third grade started getting shady... mainly because I became the weird little Mexican girl in all-English classes. I had a different jargon, thanks to being HBO-educated (as in, all my English knowledge came from movies on HBO), and my anecdotes all had to do with the life of a Mexican ranch girl... in the city of Las Vegas.

Then 4th grade happened... TWENTY years ago (goddamn!)... the pivotal year that made me lose faith in my fellow ladies. The year I spent getting the fucking shit beaten out of me EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. by the two girls I considered my "best friends." I was a good, calm girl... trying to make sense of the whole situation. I'd never fight back... I'd never provoke the beatings... but they would happen. Every day at school I'd be humiliated in some way... and physically abused for NO REASON. I've described only some of my more vivid memories of the beatdowns... because I could write a short story on quite a few of the beatings.... a short story PER beating... so I won't rehash some of them on here-- just know they were brutal and soul crushing.
What crushed my soul most was that through all these moments of torture, not one person came to my rescue... or wait, not one FEMALE came to my rescue.
The time of a nasty beating in the bathroom, I remember some girls were going to use the bathroom, but upon finding the scene, rushed the fuck out-- not alerting a single adult to what was going on.
My female classmates? They did nothing to stop the beatings. Sure, they didn't find it funny, or even fair, but they never did anything to get the girls to stop. They'd just catch me alone and then ask me why I still hung around my tormentors-- but NEVER offering to have me chill with them-- NEVER.
After getting my ass kicked, I remember guys being the ones to come up to me, gently patting me on the back, asking how I was doing... helping me straighten my hair... DUDES... DUDES would straighten my hair... GUYS (what the fuck do they know about fixing a girl's ponytail, right? These boys knew ENOUGH, enough to get a smile out of my reddened, sometimes swollen face). One time, I remember three of my guy classmates shielding me, pulling me away from the two bitches during lunch time (it was seriously a tug of war. Boys had one of my arms, the two crazy bitches had the other), keeping me in their company for that short time... they saved me form getting my ass beat at least that time.... which only pissed off the crazy broads... which only made them beat me with all their might the moment they had me in their grasp later that day... and the following day beating the fucking shit out of me before school started.
Ahhhh, and my teacher that year? A woman. I remember telling her numerous times, even trying to hide behind her one day during recess when the two cunts were actively trying to grab me to beat me, and I told the teacher what was going on, and she laughed, pulled me off her, told me they were "just trying to play," and that I should go ahead and just "play." She pushed me toward the cunts... and I just gave up... like a lamb to slaughter.
And when I tearfully opened up to my mom about getting my ass kicked on the regular? She screamed at me for "being an idiot."
I remember my first day of 5th grade, I was placed in a different class from my tormentors, but had the same lunch time. I remember being outside of the cafeteria, alone (OF COURSE), and the two bitches gathering EVERY.SINGLE. GIRL. from their new class so they could chase me and beat me up. What was crazier was that the girls AGREED to beat my ass... FOR NO REASON... just to know what it was like to kick someone's ass. I remember running as hard as I could towards my classroom (it was a portable), and just as I was on the second of the three steps leading up to my classroom's door, I felt the fastest girl's grip the back of my ponytail, yanking me back. The pain in the pit of my stomach, I'll never forget that feeling... just KNOWING, THINKING "Oh no... another year of this... and now it's an entire class..."
I remember getting yanked off the stairs and getting slapped a few times by two other girls as they pushed me against the wall, but this time, I fought back... just wildly swatting at them, pushing them away from me. I remember the group growing to about eight girls... and just looking at all of them... just... feeling so fucking defeated... ready to to just start crying (when I'd get my ass kicked in 4th grade, I never cried... I just dealt with the blows and tried to regain my breath as soon as possible. I learned the importance of "tightening my core" on my own, as a nine year old)... but then I made eye-contact with one girl, Tosha, a smart girl with whom I had my G.A.T.E. classes since 3rd grade... and she just stood there, as though suddenly slapped out of some hypnosis.
"Wait! WHY are we doing this?" she asked the group.
She was a tough girl... a cool girl... a girl with an older, tougher, cooler sister.
"Let her go. Don't touch her," she said. She walked up to me, and grabbed my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and apologized to me.
"AnoMALIE, no one's touching you this year. You're free. No one's going to hurt you. Go into your classroom."
And sure enough, no one ever put a finger on me after that.

While my faith in girls was long gone, that interaction in 5th grade allowed for that tiny silver lining, that optimist in me to continue with life. MAYYYYYBE things could change?
But they didn't. While no one was beating my ass, I was being ostracized... viciously.
High school came around and that was the last straw. 9th grade... well, must I elaborate on 9th grade again? I wanted to die, bottom line. I was done dealing with the world. 9th grade I had ONE girl make the girls in my classes shun me. ONE GIRL. She was able to convince girls that I was a mean cunt (because I was a quiet, shy, terrified new girl)... and that was good enough to have me cast into solitary. During P.E. I'd always be picked last, the team captain forced to keep me ALWAYS complaining about having to take me (this despite always proving my worth-- how regardless of how large a frame I might have had, I'd make up for in strength. I'd hustle hard at everything I did. I could play any sport like a boy, yet no one wanted me on their team).

After twelve years of having girls abuse the shit out of me... how the FUCK was I expected to be a "girl's girl?" I was not. I wasn't antagonistic towards girls, but I certainly didn't seek them out. I was just... I had accepted the role they had cast me in: the quiet, lonely girl... weary of other's intentions.
Like an abused dog, I approached with caution when I absolutely had to (like group assignments... goddamn motherfucking group assignments).
The humans with whom I was meant to best identify, were the ones so adamant on alienating me.

Then I met Kelley.
August 2001, assigned seat in my first class of the day.

SHE is easily the best human being on this planet.
She very patiently (no, seriously... she is ridiculously PATIENT), and gently showed me that I could have a best friend... that I could identify, and get along, with another girl. She proved that not all girls are horrible. She proved that I could have a female best friend who'd respect me, support me, and be the absolute best person in my company.
And while I was SO damaged... SO mentally/emotionally fucked up... SO paranoid and reluctant to believe such good people existed... she very patiently worked on rebuilding my trust in... people-- making me better. This all despite the number of times I hurt her with my paranoia... as though I were some feral dog she had rescued off the street who was so hellbent in defending itself from the one person trying to save them. She never lost her patience, not ONCE. She just healed her wound, and then would go back to trying to teach me how to heal my own.

She's my sister. My entire family loves her, despite me never telling her this. They are grateful that someone is capable of understanding me... more so than they can sometimes. Grateful someone has kept me form jumping off the edge. And they even wish they could have a Kelley of their own... she's a rare gem.

She's responsible for so much of the positives in my personality, so much of my sense of humor... shit, she's even responsible for my awesome vocabulary/curse words of which I'm so fucking fond. She's responsible for about 80% of my grades between 2001-2007. She's responsible for 90% of my taste in english music. She's responsible for this nickname-- AnoMALIE. She's responsible for Henry David, my gnome I've been taking on my adventures since 2006. She's even responsible for some of my wardrobe. She's responsible for my gym membership-- she held my fucking hand through it for a good couple of months, before I felt secure enough to go on my own. She's responsible for my more relaxed view of life (yeah, I'm actually more chill about life now than I was before... I was tight-wound like a motherfucker ten years ago). She's responsible for A LOT of my courage. She is largely responsible for healing my VERY fucking mutilated heart.
She is an ENORMOUS part of my life... motherfucking HUGE part. The absolute BEST part of it.
I can't properly... adequately describe how much I fucking adore this human. I owe her so freakin' much.

The time has come where... well, things are going to change. The time has come for semi-giant changes.
What she told me last week put my life on pause, made me rewind and re-evaluate... everything. Made me appreciate my last 13 years.
It's not my story to tell... so I won't go beyond that.

She is my best friend. She is my sister. She is the one who restored my faith in... humanity.
I admire her as much as I do my parents and brother... maybe more, because I am always so fucking amazed by how she handles the fucking BULLSHIT life can throw her way. She is so, SO MUCH stronger and braver than too many people give her credit for. She's a motherfucking beast. Unstoppable. Resilient, creative, responsible, and resourceful AS FUCK!
The memories we've made over the last 13 years... are awesome. Rad. Hilarious--cramp-inducing hilarious. Maddening. Slightly scary. Some horribly sad.
All life lessons I probably would have never accumulated had I not been seated next to the girl in the crutches with pink pom-poms in her hair, in our 11th grade physics class-- our first class, of our first day of school, on our school's first day as a school.

Goddamn... I was so fucking scared... it took me a week to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

But I am only wishing the best of the best for you. Always.
Do things as you deem fit, and best... do it YOUR way. I will always support it. I will always respect it. I will always defend it. Always.
Thank you. For everything.
Everything will be awesome.

This is not the greatest write-up in the world, it's only a tribute... of the greatest write-up for the greatest person in the world.

Esperándote.

I swear, my Mexicanism pretty much makes my affinity for this mandatory.

I wait. I've waited. For what? I have no idea... but it must be important, because the universe has kept this fucking suspense going for far too long.

But don't worry, I'm patient. So very patient.

Muero lento

My kindergarten memory rushed to mind the moment I woke up on the floor.

I've told this story before: I was in kindergarten, it was Mother's Day, we had all made roses out of tissue paper. I remember my rose was red, and in the little paper vase I had decorated.
For some reason, I felt very sentimental... and panicked when I realized I missed my mom.
I cried so hard, I passed out. I later woke up surrounded by my classmates, and teacher holding my head.

I do that when emotionally distressed. I mostly pass out the day after I receive news that pisses me off, but I convince myself to bottle up... to "get over." I act cool when the news hits me... but the next day, I find I pass out all over the place.

Today, I was feeling shitty at the gym, but dismissed it as the fucking stupid cold my idiot brother gave me.
As I was doing the final stretches for the day, as I was laying myself of the floor, in the deadman's pose after crawling out of the child's pose... I felt lightheaded and knocked out.
I woke up as I heard my instructor calling out my name and asking if I was ok. She was about to walk over to me when I woke up.

I thought I was fine for the rest of the day, but then my condition worsened, to the point where I projectile vomited a few minutes ago.

Last night... was a terrible night.
I tried laughing it off... but given my physical state today, it's obvious something is bothering me more than I'd like to admit.

I haven't cried. I CAN'T. I'm just... so confused.
People think I'm dramatic, but I swear, the shit that happens to me is... I just can't believe it happens. It's insane... so motherfucking IMPROBABLE... yet it happens.

I'll elaborate... I'll write a story about this, but for now, I have to sleep. I feel like my exterior is going to match my interior: dead.

This.

Exactly.

Packing sucks dick.

That's all I got.

Type NO

What does AnoMALIE look for in a guy?

That's simple: I don't look for anything.

Sure, I am physically attracted to things most girls would agree are beautiful in a guy: large, bright eyes... a pretty smile... broad shoulders, etc etc... but that shit is never enough.

I feel... not with my hands (god, no! I'm not that fucking brazen. You fucking kidding me?), but with my heart.

It's the way he: 

makes me giggle... 

makes me feel my face flushing with color...

makes my knees buckle...

makes my heart race at the mere thought of his smile...

smiles...

laughs...

walks...

makes me want to be smarter...

makes me want to be funnier...

makes me want to be wittier...

makes me go deaf the moment he enters my field of view...

makes me smile the moment his name is mentioned...

makes me feel.

Physically he's... normal... I guess people would say that.

He's somewhere around six feet or something like that... perfect for a five-foot-eight chick.

His eyes are brown... color often neglected in books, poems, songs, movies... everywhere... they're just so average, right? Ojos marrones... so dark, but with this inexplicable kindness behind them.

He's normal. To other dudes he's normal looking... just another dude you'd see at a pub or concert... but my heart stops, my breathing stops, and I become stunned... from the moment I first meet him, and even eight years later, that reaction is a constant.

Sorry if this doesn't help much... but that's just the way it goes.

If I don't feel this way the moment I meet you... then the likelihood of me ever liking you that way goes down to... zero. I'm so very sorry.

Yeah, you guessed it: I'm having difficulty finishing the story.

Brain-purge

It happened again-- that thing where too many things happen at once and my brain wants to explode.
I really need to get that shit under control.
These last few weeks have been lacking updates not because of the monotony that controls my life, but quite the opposite.
Each day has been... different.
Too much for my fucking brain to handle.

I've been so frustrated by this sudden buzz in my life, that I've resorted to taking AUDIO MEMOS. AUDIO MEMOS! Do you know how fucking weird that is?! I feel like Joseph on Amelie... talking into his recorder as he stalks his ex... except I do it to keep my ideas in order.
There I am, sitting at a red light, holding my iphone to my mouth and talking to it... silly, really... but if I don't do it, the idea is more than likely gone forever. At 27, it appears my memory's "full," so I'm S.O.L. if I want to remember anything new.
We had a good run, brain.

Anyway, what can I say about these last few weeks?
There was a 50th wedding anniversary (topic I wanted to talk about here was "how the fuck do you put up with someone's bullshit for 50 fucking years? It's admirable... but kind of nauseating to think about. That being said, my parents BETTER FUCKING MAKE IT TO 50! They're gonna be married FOREVER, you hear me?!"),

so THIS is how you filter your nose out of a shot!
Eye-makeup: the only redeemable thing about hitting up a 50th wedding anniversary.

Birthdays galore (my fellow Pisces rock. March babies are the shit... also... why are there so many around the same days? Like... around the 7th-15th? The 10th is LOADED with birthdays... what holiday falls on the conception date for March 7th-15th babies? Memorial Day? It's-Hot-So-I-Wanna-Ride-Bareback-Weekend? Whatever it is... that day is fucking popular... no pun intended),
Leaky bedroom roof-- discovered while it poured and I was HOME ALONE (plans ruined by my inability to be a resourceful Mexican... a couple of my paintings ruined as well, which led to a rage/sadness-induced mini-meltdown... melt-down eased by hanging out with a group of dudes... and drinking whiskey on an empty stomach... because when I want to drink, I don't do pussy shit),

My room flooded today? Hmm... I can't seem... to... recall that.

One-Year Anniversary of my "Death," metaphorically speaking (Oh, that lucky 2011 St. Patrick's Day... Eat a dick, St. Patty's Day!),
March Madness (this speaks for itself. I'm a meanass wreck. So violent... kicking shit, punching shit, cussing in front of men, women, and children. I need a chill-pill...),
"Mood-stabilizers" (they work MAGIC. I think this qualifies me as... insane... right? Nah, not even... I just need help when it comes to not wanting to jump off a cliff when sadness gets a hold of me... or strangle that dumb cunt at the gym who only gives me two feet of space when I'm clean-and-pressing or kickboxing. I'm 5'8"! Get out of my way, you fucking midget!),
Body recomposition (I have some MEAN obliques going on right now... and my deltoids are kinda dreamy... I'll cop to being a tool and admiring my back as I flex in front of a mirror. My one year anniversary is coming up and I have a massive entry dedicated to this whole weight-loss/strong-girl issue of mine... hopefully I don't go all ADD on it again),

Down side to lifting like a dude for MY clumsy ass?
The random bruising that comes along with it!
I mean... have you seen what a weighted glute bridge looks like? Yeah. THAT bruise sucks.

Arm wrestling--and beating-- boys at night clubs (we M girls are fucking beasts, that's all I gotta say about that),
and SO much more.

But I'm tired as fuck right now...
so... hopefully once the pace slows down, I'll hit one or two of these subjects. I'll just make an AUDIO note of it.

2.5 VS 1.5

Well, now that Christmas 2011 is a thing of the past, looks like we have to move on with New Years.
I'm debating what I'd like to do.
Month by month recap?
Quarterly recap?
No recap?
A survey?
The possibilities are endless.

Since I went ahead and dug up last years "resolution" entry, I'll go ahead and assess my... failure?
First, the part of last year's entry that mentioned some sort of resolution:

During the dinner, we all started talking about resolutions, and more than half of us were of the "FUCK LOVE!" crew. I even blurted out "Fuck it, I'm getting married to the first fucker that asks this year! I'm done!" but I blamed that shit on the Agavero. Marriage... pshhhhhhhh! In all reality, I haven't even thought of resolutions. I never really follow through... like that one year I swore boys off (not that I was going to start seeing girls. I just meant no relationships), I broke that one off within days and I paid DEARLY for it. So... no resolutions so far. Maybe just... less thinking about boys and more thinking about school. Simple enough, right? Blaaaaaah. I also resolve to be more of a girl. This tomboy shit is starting to bug me. And maybe I'll talk to Darcy about something other than Cristiano Ronaldo being a dick... and I'll quit being so sarcastic and full of "HA-HA!"s when writing back... I don't know why I do that. On the physical aspect... I guess I can gun for a 150 bench-press (here I go talking shit no one wants to read). I've been meandering in the 100's like a chump for too long (last week one of my friends accompanied me, and when she saw what I was lifting, she gave me that "Ughh... muscles on girls are so gross" talk. I just laughed... 'cause this was coming form a girl whose high school sport was bowling... get out of here)... and I'll work on keeping my thighs under control, 'cause I'll be the first to admit that with those bitches, along with my ass, I could have saved all 87 members of the Donner Party that tragic winter of 1800-whatever.

Umm... where to start? The first part of the entry would be good, I suppose. Brace yourselves, this is gonna be a long one.
The relationship thing.
I might as well have sworn off relationships this year. This year has definitely, without a doubt, been the... emptiest of my life.
It's not because of a lack of boys... this year was full of strange dudes coming into my life. I can't act like that shit wasn't fun... because it was (often times, I find myself bringing up that DC memory of me walking down the rainy sidewalk with T. It was... pretty fucking sweet. And the Berkley Math Major is... he's tight. I like that kid... he calls me "cute" and I mean... no one has called me "cute" since I was in 5th grade. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside).
I just... couldn't connect. My head and heart would refuse to accept anyone.
Part of it was due to my Darcy block, but this time around it was largely due to school, actually... because I was "too focused" on what was going on with that shit.
My heart had zero interest in finding a guy after my world had been blown to smithereens by the March rejection letters. So... I kinda followed through with that first part of my resolution... in the worst possible way.
AnoMALIE: 1 World: 0

"Be More of a Girl" thing.
Not really... though I do wear more colors now... and I paint my nails often. I also hell of follow through with my nightly face-washing routine. I have that shit on lock.
But I definitely have to step up my game when it comes to wearing dresses... and lipstick... and enjoying "girl time." I guess this is a half-fail.
AnoMALIE: 1.5 World: 0.5

"Talk to Darcy about something other than Cristiano Ronaldo being a dick" etc. thing.
This is... I guess I'll consider it a fail. I don't really talk to him at all now. Well, more like... he doesn't really talk to me, at least not how he used to.
Since I hate being that girl, I'll say something, and if he doesn't respond (which is probable) I try not to harp, much less dwell on it (easier said than done). I don't want to be that annoying pest who never shuts the fuck up. All I can ever think of is that saying in spanish "al buen entendedor pocas palabras" which is basically saying you need to use few words with those who "understand." As in, your actions speak louder than words. You can't force someone to like you... this ain't no "Misery" shit... no bricks and sledgehammers needed.
It just sucks to note how you're like that attention starved mutt at the pound, trying to get adopted, only to see the humans go for the cuter breeds with some rad pedigree (fuck you, Yorkies!).

I always have to remind myself to shut the fuck up and back down whenever I happen to direct something at him... which I won't lie, bums me out... it feels like when I was a kid playing in the backyard and our ball would fall into the grumpy next-door-neighbor's yard. The moment the ball made its way over the fence, we all knew that shit was a goner, so we just had to suck it up and go find something else to do with our time.
He may or may not get irritated by me... he may or may not be (ah, who the fuck am I kidding, he is) indifferent to me... but... my heart still flutters at the mere sight of his name. He's still the motherfucking shit. He'll always be Darcy.

He did show sweet sympathy the day my world collapsed. After reading what he wrote, it did make me stop crying for about ten seconds... then I proceeded to cry even harder because I felt like an even bigger fucking stupid idiot.
GREAT! Now Darcy knows what a fucking loser you are! Congratulations, AnoMALIE, you fucking stupid idiot!
So there's that. I guess it's what keeps this resolution from being a terrible failure.
AnoMALie: 1.5 World: 1.5

And finally...
The physical aspect.
I've stayed away from this subject... though I have various drafts saved up in this bitch. I just don't have the heart to post them... because they embarrass the shit out of me. I avoid the subject because I feel shame and disgust and sadness... with some pride and joy.... it's all a fucking wide array of feelings that generally mess me up.
Like I've stated before, I wasn't thinking about my resolution the moment I decided to embark on this trip. I was thinking of DYING. I no longer had any will... desire... to live. I did not care to see another day.
Then my body changed. I started to get curious about the possibilities... gave me another reason to see a few more days... you know, just to see what could happen... and to try and get accustomed to the changes (it wasn't until recently that I stopped bumping into walls because my brain couldn't properly gauge the size of my frame).
I gained some muscle once I started to love what I saw... but that took time... enough time to find a reason to live. No, seriously. I found purpose to wake up in the morning thanks to the gym. Had that shit not been available... I don't know if I'd still be breathing today.
In the words of Daft Punk, I'm harder, better, faster, stronger...

It's cold as fuck outside, but I still roam around the house in a wife beater...
because I like to flaunt my trap and delts...
like some dude.

with a ton of room for improvement, which actually excites the shit out of me.
I definitely improved from last year. Last night, we were all sitting down watching the video from Coconut's September 2010 Quinceañera.
At first we were all giggling, cramping up from laughing so hard... then D and I ended up crying. Sis thinks SHE looked bad... but I was three times worse. I had to look away after about ten minutes of watching myself... because it was painful. Painfully embarrassing. D and I were so upset, we got emotional and started to cry.
Imagine... this was me exactly a year ago... even with me lifting heavy and hitting the gym four to five times a week, religiously:

I will beat the fucking shit out of anyone who mocks this.

It embarrasses me SO bad... so fucking bad. Just check out how that old yarn bracelet fit me back then:

Christ. This is so embarrassing.
And to top it off, an ant just bit me as I wrote this.

It was starting to cut off my circulation, where I'd have to place it on my ballerina wrist so that it wouldn't hurt me (I could balloon to 400 pounds and my wrists would still be useless skinny pieces of shit that would simply break under the tremendous pressure. How the hell such skinny stupid wrists made it evolutionarily-speaking is fucking beyond me. That trait should not have propagated that successfully... but I guess they do look classy while playing the violin... I give them that... those stupid dainty wrists).
Today, that same bracelet nearly wriggles off my much bonier ballerina wrist:

Oh man! And that wonderful watch, while I adore it, gave me the most atrocious bruise on Friday!
It definitely wasn't made for clapping hands.
I walked out of the basketball game with a bruised hand from where the watch would bang up against my skin/vein each time I'd go crazy with a play.

So, physically, I've never been better, seriously, NEVER... unless you consider me at like... toddlerhood to third grade... back in my jump-roping, tag-playing days.
My skin is also far better than it has ever been (although I do have the occasional puffy eyes from crying like the pussy that I am. I'll also have dark circles under my eyes from time to time).
So physically, 2011 was my fucking year. I spanked that ass.

Sentimentally/emotionally, I've never been worse. I've never reached such terrifying lows.
I've never been physically paralyzed by sadness as I have this year. I always thought that was a fucking lie. Fucking impossible. Made up for the movies.
I felt things I never thought were possible... dark, evil... terrible things.
I thought things I never... that I never wanted to ever think.
I am FUCKED. UP.
Sentimentally/emotionally, 2011 fucked me up... fucked me up real good... placed-me-in-a-coma type good.

According to my calculations, how'd I fare for 2011?
AnoMALIE: 2.5
World: 1.5

It sure didn't feel like that. Not. At. All.

Someday is NOWday

I'm one of those girls who has spent her life buying clothes for "Someday."
It's not like I do it intentionally... it's just that my body is so fucking weird, the new clothes end up falling in the "I'll wear these someday" (any logical person can say "TRY ON THE MOTHERFUCKING CLOTHES BEFORE YOU BUY IT!" and I do... for the most part. There are days when I'm in a hurry and all I do is step in the store, look for my size and Bam! Let's go!) pile.

The majority of the issues arise when I buy pants... these damn thighs bring the drama.
SO... while the pants claim to be my size, my thighs and ass often beg to differ.

This little issue has been in my life since... high school. I have a collection of Someday Pants that can rival Mariah Carey's shoe collection (ok, not THAT drastic, but I definitely have more Someday Pants than everyday pants. It's about a 3:1 ratio).

WELL, last night-- in my infinite boredom-- I did what I do maybe once a month: I took out the clothes I rarely wear and threw myself a little fashion show.
I do it as a way to clean out my closet, since it has the tendency to fucking break on me, and instead of GUESSING (like I do BEFORE buying the fucking clothes) if the clothes even fits anymore, I try it on one more time (and proceed to rag on myself. How the fuck did I ever wear this?! that sort of deal).
I have a couple of favorite Someday pants, so that's why they stay in my closet regardless of the fit.
Last night, there was magic in the air.
Why?
I fit in my Someday pants... from high school.

Now, I know this is such a girl thing, but fuck it, I'll admit it: it was thrilling!
Of fucking course I squealed!

That was the story the entire night. I went to bed at three in the morning, because I would prance around in each of the pants for well over ten minutes. I'd even go off and try on shirts (which is also another issue, especially button-downs. My tits have ALWAYS gotten in the way) with the pants... which, by the way, my Someday Shirts also fit. It appears I've lost about a cup size... which I'm also very stoked about. Sorry guys, but this girls prefers having a NORMAL chest. Big boobs are such a hassle.

SO... needless to say, I'm a happy camper right now.
Screw sugar and salt (never dairy, though... dairy is a gift from the gods. The best creation ever... and not having it is such a huge void in my life. I love you, milk, cheese, and yogurt! I think of you every single day!)!
This shit is worth it.
I should get severely depressed more often (no, no I shouldn't).

no more.

I made the conscious decision to move on.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am moving on.

I've put off adulthood long enough. I will grow up... even if it is alone.
Grad School: here I come!

(I just wish things wouldn't have ended the way they did... on that mean note. Why the fuck must guys do that sort of shit? Instead of having that "You know, I appreciate you as a person... and that's why we're just going to stay friends. See you around," conversation. Why the fuck must they act like you no longer exist? Suddenly I'm not even worthy of a goddamn "Hello.")

No estaba muerta... pero tampoco de parranda

I'M BAAAAAAAAACKKKKK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'08 in review

January-

Weird times. Weird, annoying times.

Too much praying... too many references to God and Jesus... too many strange visitors.

I was left siblingless...

Couldn't have passed any slower... even with the help of Guitar Hero.

February-

That whole Hepatitis C scare bullshit... man!

I purchased my Euro-trip tickets...

Things were gonna be alright :]

March-

Lonely, quiet birthday... with nothing... and I mean NOTHING.

I LEFT!!!

I visited places I had only dreamed of before!

I LEFFFFFFFFFT!

April-

I met the love of my life: Barcelona!

I went to my first soccer match... to see some of the world's greatest players... to cheer with some of the craziest fans... and I got to boo Barcelona and cuss to my heart's content!

I cried my ass off when I had to COME BACK.

I came back... :[

May-

Saw my siblings come back from the old continent.

Prepared for one of my best friend's weddings.

Slowwww time.

June-

The wedding... that horrible time.

Not subjecting myself to that shit ever again.

Left for Mexico... scared as fuck... hoping I don't die.

Time goes by EVEN SLOWER.

July-

What can I say?

::sigh::

Too much Guitar Hero...

Too much day dreaming...

Too much drinking...

singing disney songs at the top of my lungs at gas stations...

WEDDINGS!

Threats...

Bloody scars and  STILL danced

Too much makeup

Too much fun

August-

From the get-go, DRAMA.

Fights...

nasty words...

tears...

Getting deleted from Myspace and Facebook...

awkward silences...

Loneliness

saying goodbye

too much fucking heat!

Walked the strip one too many times!

road trips that were 10+ hours long... I'm shocked I didn't get that one illness... or died.

the bayyyy!

September-

THE BAYYYY! 

Laughed until it hurt

Made peace with one of the parties involved in the giant August argument.

Fell in love... with everything.

Smoked... yeah... but not anything illegal... but never again.

Lied... a few times... haha

October-

Drama... again.

The suite party...

Reciprocating the lovely gesture from the Bay area kids I so love and adore... haha.

More walking of the strip... gahhhh

FIGHTS...

more tears...

humiliation...

heart break

anger

That stupid massage night that was the final straw ::crack::

November-

The definition of drama... seriously.

Heart break beyond belief.

More fighting... big time.

Ripping someone off my friendship list... more like two people... for good.

Betrayal... hardcore.

Crying... sobbing so loud, even I got annoyed with myself.

Insomnia...

I was a hermit

anger

confusion

December-

decided enough was enough... let him go... that hurt.

Grandpa went crazy... we're told he's gonna die... so now we prepare ourselves for the end.

Dad's place gets robbed.

Our lives get threatened.

No more Mexico.

I make peace with the girl I said I'd never mention again... we're friends again... and wow... it feels good. I feel stupid for being angry so long.

My heart still hurts... metaphorically.

I'll never trust again.

Plans for the future are made... I have dreams and aspirations once more... with NO GUYS involved... NO MORE ROMANCE. FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

Here's to a great 2009!

I'm stoked!

The knot in my throat won't let me talk

Today, Life bitch-slapped me across the face.
It shook me around...
It dug my nose into the dirt...

and like a little kid, I can't stop crying.


My life will never be the same.