Best they can do

I've been on the receiving end of some very sweet compliments from guys recently. It helps, a little, to ease the hurt incurred Thursday night.

Another wedding, Thursday night.
I was actually excited about this wedding, since I had been told it'd be a very intimate affair (the fact that this was going down on a Thursday aided in fueling this false sense of security).
Intimate = not many people = comfortable.
Of course, I should have known better, considering this was the wedding of the girl whose bridal shower I attended last month where the ladies hounded me about my single status and the girls shunned me for being hopelessly single.
Sure, this was going to be "intimate"... but how about the quality of the people? No one promised that to be "comfortable."

Comfortable this wedding was not.
Since I'm single, OF COURSE my paired up friends (ALL of the girls at this place had a partner of some sort. Except for me, of course-- the eternal bachelorette/spinster/cat-allergic-catlady) thought they'd do me a solid by sitting me at a table alongside single dudes. Of course.
1. They were younger than me.
2. They were divorced.
3. They had children.
4. They were bald-headed ex-cons.
5. Covered in tattoos.
Rad.

The outcome? They were treating me like garbage... THEY were upset they got stuck with me.
Ahhhh, this familiar spot, yes.
I had a wonderful flashback to the summer of 1999... the beautiful time when the boys in Mexico decided to bully the fucking shit out of me for being fat... when they'd moo and oink at me when I'd walk by. The awesome days when boys would be absolutely disgusted at the mere insinuation that they'd have a crush on me, or WORSE, ME on them.
(Just mentioning that shit makes my stomach drop... it's insane how my mind still remembers the exact feelings all that shit elicited in me... it's so fucking vivid)

It was SO FUN to sit there and see these bald-headed cholos treat ME like the leper... how appalled and annoyed they'd get when others at the table tried getting them to talk to me. Shit, even ACKNOWLEDGING my presence seemed to irritate them.
I'm not quick when I'm upset. I don't know witty comebacks to throw at jerks who cross a line with me... not this line. No, I freeze. I am so shocked and upset at the realization that adult men can still treat me this way, I lose my power to speak.

The worst part was that the ladies at the table would not relent. They'd continually poke around to try and encourage them to hit it off with me.
I'd look down at my phone and play games, hoping any conversation topic relating to me would end once they'd note I was mentally checked out. I also did it to avoid seeing the look of disgust on one particular dude-- he was SO annoyed... and even looked insulted at the fact that "this was the best they could do?"

What was my sin? I have no clue... sitting at the table? NOT being a bitch when I took my seat, and actually smiling?
I walked into the venue ten minutes after the party was allowed in, looked for my table, found my table, smiled and greeted everyone that was already seated, and I took my seat. I looked around and admired the decorations and food, and the bride and groom. I was being me and minding my own business.

When the insulting glances and snide remarks finally made me reach my breaking point, I excused myself to the bathroom and did what I do in public restrooms-- I cried.
When I returned to the table after sniffling away the emotional injury, the main jerk was gone-- and his mom STILL tried giving me his number.
???
I proceeded to stuff my face with a cupcake... spending the rest of the night calmly watching the rest of the room hit the dance floor.

It's shit like that which fucks me up. I can hear 100 compliments every day for a month and never believe a single one... but give me ONE "Ugh" or disdainful stare and I will be emotionally fucked up for MONTHS. I will believe I'm disgusting for fucking MONTHS... if not forever, which seems to be more accurate.

A fucking cholo made me feel like a hideous monster and reduced me to tears at a wedding... ain't that some shit.

Hey, AnoMALIE! Why do you have massive social anxiety, again?

Why'd you do that?

It took me a nice nap to recover from the hurt of my Saturday night.
I napped for four hours, woke up at 7 in the morning, and rolled out to church... where I served the purpose of a sad, lonely zombie for an hour.

I then sped home to catch the final games of the Confederation's Cup.
Soccer has always managed to get my mind off issues... especially when the sport's lovers in my life and I get to spend time chatting and analyzing the situations.
It's fantastic clarity... it helps ground me... and remember that I do matter in the lives of some people... that I AM part of circles.

By the time night rolled by, I was fine... fixing a nightclub outing for Darcy and Baby Bennet for Monday night.
I hardly ask for favors... because it makes me feel stupid... but since it was Twiggy, she was... almost eager to help me out.
When she saw I wasn't adding my name to the list, she was compelled to ask what the deal was (come on, it's Twiggy... she HAS to know everything).
I told her the deal, and asked her if she still thought it was a good idea to add my name.
Noooo! AnoMALIE, I recommend you do not go tomorrow. It's too hard... I could not deal with that.
See, Boom! That's what I thought.
I know this girl often drives me bananas, and I talk shit about her and her wonky ways... but she HAS always had this weird admiration for me. She has NEVER talked ill about me (of my sister on the other hand, well... ha! We know about that shit)... so I do have love for her... and some trust.
So... she proceeded to help me out... more than I thought she would.
*Fiance* said to just go and say you're on HIS list... everything is taken care of. If you end up feeling up for joining them, you'll have no problem ;)

I relayed the message to Darcy, and when asked if I wasn't going to join them after all, I remembered Baby Bennet asking me to please join them at the club as I hastily said goodbye to her that horrible Saturday night.
I'm a girl of my word... and Baby Bennet is cool... and adding an extra girl to a party always helps.
So I agreed to go.

True to my soul, I hit the club looking like Elvira... prepared for... for... the worst.
Get them in, toast, jet.
I imagined the entire night to be awkward... but it was not. At least not for me.
At one point in the night, there was so much people traffic in the hallway, BB and I had to stop and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before following Darcy.
As I momentarily distracted myself with a glowstick, I was caught off-guard by the most violent push to my right shoulder... damn near giving me whiplash (it did give me a bruise).
"DON'T BLOCK THE HALLWAY!!"
I was so shocked to see a fucking idiot MAN i.e. security guard had manhandled me so viciously, I was silent... on the verge of tears, actually.
Does this motherfucker think I'm a transvestite? Some MAN to push me like that?! WHAT THE FUCK?!
And that's when I see Baby Bennet's little figure turn around and scream "HEY! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I had to think of how angry I was in order to keep from crying.
She's defending me... oh my....
I was so touched, I don't know how I didn't just lose my composure and start sobbing like a baby.

I stayed the remainder of time Darcy and Baby Bennet remained at the club... no more manhandling... just people watching and chatting.

As the elevator doors opened to their floor of the parking garage, I wished Baby Bennet a safe, and fun remainder of visit to the States.
She frowned a little, I hugged her, and waved goodbye as she stood outside the elevator... waving as the doors closed.

Girl, I got your back for life. Thank you.

Gettin' Paper

Someone got paid today.
For the first time ever.
Me!

The day started out rough. I was exhausted... the road I use to get to work was closed due to a fire... and best of all, that stupid catty bitch almost made me cry AGAIN.
I was doing my job. I was sitting there, feeling quite proud of myself for doing everything meticulously correct--being extremely diligent for 8 in the morning-- and next thing I know, Ms. Catty was standing over my shoulder.
By now, I'm like an abused dog who flinches at the mere sight of the SHADOW of anything that resembles a rolled-up newspaper.
The moment I sense someone over my shoulder, I flinch, close my eyes, and prepare myself for the chastising.
Ms. Catty: THAT'S NOT HOW WE DO IT HERE AT WORK!
Oh wow... here we go again...
My tonsils prevented my heart from escaping out of my mouth.
I froze-- sat still, looking at the computer screen.
Ms. Catty reached at my lap, where I was holding the binder I was working on.
I was half-way through with a binder, so the clasps were open.
Ms. Catty: We remove ALL of the papers first, Scan them ALL, THEN put them back in the binder when everything's done. You're wasting too much time the way you're doing it!
She removed all the sheets on the half of the binder I had yet to scan.
I shifted my sight to the keyboard.
Ms. Catty: And move the binder over HERE.
She grabbed the binder by one of the flaps and threw it to the left side of my cubicle. In the process, all the sheets I had replaced in the binder fell out.
Yes.
I didn't move. I didn't say shit.
I wanted to cry. Honestly. I felt beyond embarrassed.

What she did was beyond patronizing.
So, I did what is the only thing I know how to do when someone offends/hurts/embarrasses me past my breaking point: I look them dead in the eye, while the only thing I'm thinking is "Why?"
A very Jesus move on my behalf, but it has been my response to any and all abuse I've ever received... because it really is the only thing I have left-- that question.
Why do you hurt someone who has not done a thing to you? It's just... something I cannot comprehend. I have never been able to understand people's unprovoked cruelty.

The two closest chicks to my cubicle looked over at the scene, and gave me what I hate most: Pity.
They said something to Ms. Catty in Tagalog, in a grave tone, then picked up the sheets closest to them.
Ms. Catty tried putting the sheets back in the binder, but I gently grabbed them from her.
Me: I got it.
I just wanted her to leave.

It took me about three hours to recover from that scene, three hours in which Ms. Catty was nowhere in sight.
The dudes were all very sweet to me. They tried making me laugh... but it's hard to laugh when you've been unjustly humiliated in front of an entire office.
(seriously, the shit that happens to me leaves my head spinning. Does everyone get as verbally abused/attacked as I do? I can't be alone in this shit)

The day started to look up once I was ready to clock out of work.
Ms. Catty was suddenly chummy with me, and tried encouraging me to work extra hours over the weekend.
Wait... my work ISN'T shitty and too sluggish for the weekend? Make up your mind, woman.
I declined, citing my weekend LA trip to catch the Tim Burton exhibition for which I had already purchased tickets (I haven't, but I'm about to, so it was a half-lie).
She wished me a nice trip.
It was then when BossLady walked in and handed me my check.

The moment I got in my car, my day instantly turned brighter.

It's all sunshine and rainbows from there.
Pretty fucking expensive price for sunshine and rainbows.

If you looked like...

"You'd be perfect if you looked like your sister!"
I've heard that "compliment" be told to many girls before, and I've always thought it sucked... even if I wasn't the one being told that bullshit line.
Well, today I was finally on the receiving end.

It was that sort of day.

Instead of getting angry and going on some sort of vulgarity-laced diatribe, all I could muster was "Wow."
He tried fixing it, by saying something about me being too tall and whatnot... and still, all I could do was say "Nah, nah, it's cool. It's cool. I get you."

I'm "cool," "funny," "smart," "into sports," with decent taste in music... and still, still not good enough.
That's cool.
I get it. No, really, I DO.
I may be a cool chick, or whatever the fuck you want to label me as, with whom you dig talking music, sports, or any other stupid topic... letting your homies know how "tight" this homegirl of yours is. But I'm just not a "hot" chick you want to parade as YOUR chick... 'cause that's just bad taste. What are you, blind? Yeah, I get you. No worries.
You want a short-ish chick... around five foot five... you know, short so you can look like a massive man standing next to her... also, so she can wear high heels, like all the normal girls do.
She should probably wear a good amount of make-up... at least some false lashes with some brightly colored lipstick. Big, rock-hard titties... which she always shows off because she finds those really low-cut shirts.
This IS Vegas... I KNOW the type of girl you've been exposed to your entire adolescence/adulthood. You know those girls exist-- in fucking abundance in this city!-- I can't blame you for wanting one.

So uh... yeah, we're cool. I get you. Don't feel too bad. I'm 26. I'm used to that shit... not being told I should look like my sister (that WAS a little jarring. Very similar to getting socked in the gut, or square on the nose), but just not meeting the standards of dudes.

26, dude... 26! I should not be emo by this motherfucking age.
Goddamn.

... and people wonder why I refuse to get excited about anyone.
Have I given enough reasons, or must I really keep putting up with this sort of shit because others promise me there's some mythical prince out there waiting to find me?

I'm done.
Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mi. Tan solo e sido una soñadora (pendeja) mas.

rocks

I need a rock. A giant... humongous rock... to hide under.

Always happens. Always fucking happens.

The part that always sucks, and I doubt it'll ever change, is trying to act cool... as if I don't feel shit.
I either do a great fucking job, or people are just... the most horrible creatures to walk the earth.

How many times, and in how many different ways, can a person's heart break?
A question I was never eager to answer, but apparently, someone somewhere chose me at a very early age to be part of the lab mice for this one.
I think, right now, the answer is 17 and six.

I'll never get it-- why it happens and why I put myself in the position to be hurt.
What's that saying... the one Einstein supposedly said, about the definition of insanity being the repetition of an action, with the expectation of getting a different result. Something like that.
Hmm.

No, I'm not intoxicated right now, though I really wish I were. It'd make it so much easier to fall asleep and forget everything.

Silence

"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt."

I'm changing my "no cheese" Lent promise.
I'm no longer speaking.
I'm done with that.

I'm sick and tired of being misinterpreted.
Maybe I should stop interacting with such IMBECILES.

Once again, I landed in trouble for opening my mouth.
It wasn't even something... I wasn't... I wasn't being opinionated. AT ALL.
These were my EXACT WORDS: 

I'm very sorry for your loss, *Girl*. Your gramps always made me laugh.

Ok. So what was so malicious about that?
I said the truth: this girl's grandfather would make me laugh. I would see him at picnics in Hometown over the summers, and I'd always listen in on what he would say. His conversation was entertaining.
I. Would. Laugh. Just like everyone in the vicinity... just like he intended.

Of course, as is ALWAYS my case, my words were misconstrued to mean I laughed AT HIM.
The entire family is now 1- mad at me 2- not speaking to me.

I kept telling myself this was all in my head.
But today *Girl* humiliated me PUBLICLY, the absolute worst thing anyone can do to a timid person.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I was strong and defended myself.
I was caught off guard... so I cried.
The girl is a sweetheart, which is another reason why I was so surprised by her behavior. I'm usually rarely shocked when a person known for cattiness or rude behavior lashes out (which is rare in the first place, since I purposely avoid those people, or refuse to speak in their presence).

I spent the rest of the day trying to cheer up and forget about the situation. When I saw that wasn't working (although I did have many laughs with D and Rafa when we went out for lunch. My siblings are hilarious), I slept.


This is a prime example of why:
1. I DON'T speak.
2. I DETEST apologies.

Yes, I write a lot HERE... but no one in my real life reads it (with the exception of a few). It's an outlet. I can't just sit there and listen/deal with all the drama and BOLOGNA without venting about it somewhere. But to have me speak up and intentionally hurt someone is something I've done very few times in my life.
The ease with which others hurt me... and the malice with which they do it... scares me. I can say that in all the instances where others have humiliated me or have been cruel to me, I've deserved it TWICE. All the other times, which I've completely lost track of, have been... misunderstandings. I'm then left to deal with "apologies."
I'm supposed to forget the humiliation, the tears, the mean words... and go back to being nice... all with the uttering of one very STUPID word.
No.
NO.
NO!

When you crush someone's... soul... all because you're too STUPID to comprehend what is actually being said, and you go on a rampage and destroy someone's reputation... someone's sense of self-worth... you DON'T deserve to be forgiven.
You were an IMBECILE... pay the consequences.

I'm telling myself it's only a matter of time before she realizes what a mistake she committed, but it still feels like I've swallowed a gallon of battery acid.
To think... so many people now think I'm such a monster...
It's hard to live with that.

I'm a sweetheart. I promise, I promise, I promise. But I hate having to continuously prove it to others, then appear to be gracious when accepting an apology after being repeatedly falsely accused.

I'll go back to only smiling and looking at the floor, now... since speaking only gets me deeper in trouble.
There will be plenty of people who will forget the sound of my voice.

my eyes

Yesterday sucked.
I was feeling like shit, but I was still forced to stay in a different town for 4 hours.
By the 3rd hour, I was almost passing out (you see, I had these horrible cramps, accompanied by the desire to vomit). I wouldn't tell them to please leave (the people who had given me the ride).
I did, however, get a little rude by not talking or making eye-contact. My sister did the same thing.
Well, one of the times, as we were silent, one of the ladies in the room said
"Wow, you girls have very pretty eyes!!"
...
And you know what her sister said after that?
"Yeah, but it's the only nice thing about them."

...

that kind of shit only happens to me.

More Proof I'm Unlikable (at least not despicable, yet)

Just when you think you don't (or at least, didn't) have enemies, you read something like this on a friend's Myspace:

"now i like her, [AnoMALIE] that is

the only responsable one =]

thank god for her..cuz u and [Sunny] and [TravelinDin]..van de mal a peor..oh dios mio :o"

Sure, she likes me now... but when the fuck didn't she like me? I was never aware... I'd always greet her like a moron!

I noticed this comment as I saw some photos (extremely unflattering, by the way) on my friend's Myspace (AnoMALIE04).
I saw she had a new main picture, I clicked, saw her new albums... and then I saw that comment that Sunny's little sister left (on a picture of just Sunny and me... where I looked like a fucking horse!).

Shit, I tell you guys... I'm not paranoid... people really don't like me.
Why?
The world may never know.

I'm pissed now.
(Add that to uninspired and depressed. AnoMALIE's world has been getting darker and darker as the days progress. WTF?)

Stupid Azz Shoes?!

There's definitely something on me that says: talk shit about me, to my face preferably.

Why? Because today, while in the midst of my Mexico shopping (someone kill me now! I'm going insane with all this bullshit. I didn't have lunch today until 10:30 PM!), some ghetto hood rat bitch heifer talked shit about my shoes--my favorite ones, as a matter of fact!
It wasn't like she was trying to be discreet about it, either.

Ghetto Hood Rat Bitch Heifer's equally ghetto bitch friend (who was Hispanic, around 17, and was the mom of a kid around the age of one and a half. She then had the nerve to call me Ma'am... Bitch, am I holding a kid? Do you see a ring on my finger? Fuck you, hoe) stopped in front of me as I was looking at some stuff, pointed at my shoes, and said "See, those are the type of shoes I have to wear to work."

I sat there... since I saw these two ghetto hoes get in my face, and let them both gawk.
Yes... I grant you the privilege to stare at the wonderful beauty of my fantastic shoes!
I guess only normal people like my shoes (they were flats!! Fucking flats!!--the brown ones with the cute belt buckle in the front!), because her bitch ass heifer friend went:
"Eghhh! Why da hell you have to buy such stupid azz shoes?!"

Which made my jaw drop.

Wha...what you say, heifer? I couldn't understand through your wigger accent!

I dropped the clothes I had in my hands, and of course, turned hood-rat Mexican on them.
I did The Rock eyebrow... looked the dumb ass up and down once (not the Ghetto Momma. I respected the fact she was carrying her baby in her arms. Who fights with a lady carrying a baby?)... then stopped my gaze at her shoes (what else? Err Force Ones!)... then looked her in the eye.
No words.
No need... because her Ghetto Momma Friend started stuttering and trying to fix what her dumb ass friend said.
"I like 'em!! I'm just sayin'... I can't find any... I mean, they're nice."
That's when Ghetto Hood Rat Bitch Heifer started stuttering as well.
"Your shoes are stupid too. My shoes are stupid. Shoes are stupid..."

Yeah, bitch, that's what I thought. Next time, talk shit about some chick who's at least two inches shorter than your stumpy ass. Biiiiiiiiiiatch!

Seriously... these are stressful times... why the fuck does some imbecile, who's probably 17, think they can play with me like that?
Yeah, I'm a good girl... I rarely fight... but when I've been out since 10 in the morning, I've been to the gym and back, I haven't had a single bite to eat since 12 in the afternoon, and it's already 9 PM, don't fuck with me.
I won't be nice, I won't let shit slip. Well... maybe if you're a five foot six Latina or taller... or a very angry black woman. I don't even argue with either of those groups of girls.

(Ha! And to kill it, I finished my day by grocery shopping at 9:30 PM and I had this long ass conversation with this Iranian guy and his wife about Habanero chiles. At least this time it wasn't a ten minute conversation on how to properly roll up a burrito... and which flour tortillas work best. That shit's annoying. Just because I'm standing by the Mission Tortillas stand doesn't mean I work for them... or that I even know how to prepare award-winning tortilla dishes. Pop 8 of those bitches in a microwave for 2:22 and you're good. That's the best I can do)

Where did you hear "no boba" in that entire sentence?

I love worrying myself sick for an event, and then realizing I pumped myself up for no reason. It's a sick cycle, but I do it anyway... it helps ease the disappointment. Just a survival trick I picked up my first year of college (better would be getting new study habits... but my ADD will never permit it).

Today, while I was in a much happier mood, a lady that's always been nice to me made me angry (a common sight nowadays). Ever since... I don't know... maybe November? I've acquired a love for Boba. Best-friend took my other good friend and I to the Meadows Mall one day and introduced us to the new Asian sensation that is Boba tea.
At first I was a bit reluctant of what the poster referred to as "black balls" (Do YOU want squishy black balls in your mouth? You know... I've never really thought about that). Each time I thought about it, I'd giggle... and became afraid of getting one of these squishy black balls lodged in my esophagus. However, once I tried them, I liked them. Plus, the lady who sold them to Best-friend was very friendly and thought mine and Good-friend's reaction to the Boba Poster was hilarious. She also gave us free... I can't remember the name of the little "cakes" but they're these little healthier-looking-than-Twinkies pastries. So I was happy with the customer service.
After a while.. I realized I was becoming addicted to squishing the gooey balls while drinking something really cold. I took about 5 different people in different occasions to have a go at these things. None liked it as much as I, but I always said:
I go cause the little lady's so nice to me! She's really a sweet lady and I just want her to get more customers.
I went again in January with a cousin, who was leaving to Florida in a couple of days, as a going-away outing. I hyped the damn place up for her, and when we finally got there, the sweet lady was rude to us!
I was dumb enough to think it was her having a bad day, so I decided to go again today (I had been craving Boba since Ash Wednesday).
I gave the lady my best smile, I was courteous, and said:
I'll have a peanut butter one. No whipped cream.
Best-friend asked:
With Boba?
I said:
With Boba.

5 minutes later.

I was given my Boba, and it was... just a peanut butter milkshake... no little bobas.
I pondered whether or not telling the lady (Yo.. what's up with my freakin' Boba?!). Best-friend convinced me to do it (rather than sticking to the usual "Oh... I guess I'll just... sit here and take it" garbage).
I tried being nice... very nice... but she got all ass-hurt on me. She scowled at me then went:
You told me you didn't want any Boba! You said no whip cream, no boba! It'll cost you 25 cents!
I looked at Best-friend and laughed.
Did I?! (Was it implied when I said NO WHIPPED CREAM?!)
The lady took the drink from my hand in a hissy-fit fashion, turned to her ONE worker and scoffed:
NOW she wants Boba.
While pointing back at me.
(Yeah, bitch! And I'll flick ten more quarters your way so you can fill my damn cup with fucking Boba if I damn well please! Want attitude? I'll give you fucking Mexican attitude, bitch... come here! Wait... it's lent. Well... Middly-Fiddly... fiddly, fiddly! fff... I hate BOBA!)
When I got my drink back, I was terrified thinking she might have spit in it... or added faucet water... I don't know. It was just extra runny and all messed up.
Just poke them down with your straw.
She said as she handed the mangled cup to me full of little Bobas floating on top.
Faucet water, or no faucet water, I drank it anyway.

Sure, I was mad most of the time, but I just had to think back on a really cute dog I saw at the pet shop earlier that day:
A nice little English Bulldog, that in my mind I named "Capone."

The real Capone would have approved of Internal-AnoMALIE's reaction ...