Tits suck

Tit pains ain't no joke, guys.
I've been a total wimp about this uncomfortable pain on one of my boobs... and it has pretty much ruined ALL Friday for me.
I really can't think of anything else, really.

Fuck, man. 

Haters Gon' Hate? Fuck that.

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

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

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

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

The old lady looks directly at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

En una de esas...

I need to get in the habit of avoiding third-world countries.
But it's SO hard...

I had never dealt with a parasitic infection... I mean, a parasitic infection as an adult. I have a faint memory of being nearly deathly-ill as a two year old, along with my three year old brother. We were both sick as hell, and while I could walk around moping, crying, and hiding behind sofas as mom searched for me to "fix" me (insert the doctor-prescribed suppository [Worst. Feeling. Ever.]), my brother was not so lucky. He would be lying in bed, too dehydrated to move or cry, and only uttering "Ya dejenme morir!!" (Just let me die!)

Twenty two years later, I finally caught a case of worms as an adult, back in December. Something that was fixed around my birthday... with home remedies.

NOW, on my second week of vacation, I was lucky enough to catch a mild case of Giardia.
I begged to be cured then and there, since Mexico is packed with anti-parasite meds. However, it was recommended I hold off another week, until I'd be back in the US. Once home, I could "deparasite" myself with these magical pills (cartoons of giardia, tricha-whatever, and other worms, on the box. On commercials it has a catchy jingle: "Si tu sientes que te pica la colita... en una de esas, tienes lumbrices." I was curious, ok?), but only a week after being back.
You can always catch another case while still in Mexico, so just wait until you've spent a week back home... a month would be ideal.

Fuck. That.
A month? Who the hell do they think I am? Maybe they can put up with an extra month of giardia holding a rave in their gut, but I sure can't.
So today, exactly a week after coming back, I grabbed the two pills they gave me and I popped them in (orally, FYI).

Now I have a sweet ass headache going on... I feel the room spin once in a while... and I lose my train of thought every other minute.

That'll teach me to eat pulled-pork sandwiches while in Mexico... I should have stuck to my usually kosher diet.
And next time, I'm drinking soda... fuck this "I'm only drinking water" bullshit, sugar withdrawals be damned!
Next time... like there will ever be a "next time"... no, wait, there is... I have to get my wisdom teeth puled out in December... what a vicious cycle.

I can't think, my brain hurts. Let's hope I'm alive tomorrow.

Celebrity-dom?

Man... I fucked myself up... man. I have this huge bruise... I've never had such a thing... pretty gnarly. It looks like I got hit by a car or some shit. It's all... man... I have so much blood up on that shit. Ahhhh! (That's just me spazing out) It's not painful... yet. I'm sure I'll be crying about it tomorrow
(Booo... I wanna die! If this is what childbirth is like, F-U-C-K T-H-A-T! etc, etc).
I'm just paranoid right now (Fuck... I better not let my mom see this or she'll forbid me from taking the class again! and Man... aren't bruises like... bad... like... can't the clot move on to the brain and cause some sort of stroke? Oh my God! I'm going to die!!), but that too passes.

Diosito... porfavor no deje que esto me afecte demasiado! Que solamente esté un poquito loquita... eso es todo... porfa!!

Anyway, let's get my mind off blacking out and suffering a stroke for a second (God, that bruise is so horrifyingly disgusting!) and let's talk about my day:

Beginning: I was woken up by Mom at 7:30 AM because she needed to take my phone on her ride over to Caliente, because apparently, only Verizon is available in them there yonder parts o' Nevada (Can you hear me now? No, you fuck, I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere... where prostitution is legal and beef jerky costs eight dollars a slab!). Mom has shitty-ass Cingular, so I had to live without my phone from 7:30 AM till around 6 PM (I never thought I'd be so happy to be a Verizon costumer. I was glad with my unlimited In-texts and In-minutes... and free long-distance... and free nights and weekends... OK, I was overall a very happy customer... but now knowing my phone works in the boondocks makes me that much happier).
Well, I also went to church... where there was some weird stuff going on (people are so weird when in hoards... very, very weird). It was super packed (I hate going Sunday mornings... it's so... I feel claustrophobic) and I got to sit next to 2 kids.
The kid closest to me was a girl around 5, and she kept looking at me and imitating me. I was cool with everything... until she started touching me (no, it wasn't a "bad touch"). Once that started, I made sure ample space was between me and the child, but not enough for another person to sit next to me (so what, I'm a jerk, ok?). I just get bad memories from this one child a couple months back that confused me for his mother. He stood next to me, hugged my leg, and his hand would go higher and higher. I didn't stop the kid when he hugged my leg, I mean, I did the same mistake as a child once (only it was a lady's arm), but once he started getting all... Curious-George-climbing-a-palm-tree on me, I had to pull him off (I'll be fucking damned if I let a 3-year-old molest me!) . When he realized I wasn't his mother, I felt bad for him... because he was genuinely upset... like "OMFG... I'm such a retarded ass perv!" Ok, maybe not like that, but I'm sure he'll look back on it as he gets older and think "Shit... I can't believe I did that..." (I know I look back on the arm-hugging incident and I start wishing for the sand to just... swallow me whole right then and there).

Middle: I went swimming at Chase's house... got burned, but had a good time. I then went to hula-hoop class... and freaking A, I got tore-up! No need to explain more... pictures may follow... if I ever get the cojones to take pictures of the disaster that is my right hip.

End: I went to the grocery store (I took a real nice gulp of a gallon of milk that was due on the 31 of May... NOT COOL). Now, I despise the grocery store... but I was so tired, Mom was able to get me to oblige.
There were these two bastard little kids that were being trouble makers. They each got a can of Cheese Wiz and poured it all over the store. They got ice-cream and left it out in every aisle... I mean, they were just little punk asses.
Nothing else was special, except for the end, where the cashier lady recognized me. I hadn't been to this particular store since... I don't know... February? But she was all up in my conversation.
I was bagging my groceries when the following occurred:
Cashier: Oh!! You cut your hair, Mama!
(Lalala... I hate groceries... lalala)
Cashier: When'd you cut it?!
(What the hell is she talking about? To whom?)
Cashier: I hadn't seen it like this! It looks wonderful!
(Oh... it is me... smile!)
Me: Oh, me? Yeah, I cut it.
Cashier: I love it, Mama!
Me: Aw, well.... thank you.
(Holy hell... how does she remember me?)

She continued asking questions... pretty loud (people were turning over at my aisle and trying to get a glimpse of me)... and I even gave her directions to the hair salon (and the name of my cousin). Of course, I never gave her the tip of: Don't you ever, ever, ever piss off the hairstylist... she'll fuck you up!
Nice lady. She'd never piss off the hairstylist, anyway.
The lady did make me feel like a celebrity for a second.

Maybe this would be my headline, which would in turn make me even more famous/recognizable:
Come one, come all!
AnoMALIE- Circus Freak (with nice hair) who fucks herself up Hula-Hooping with a four-pound hula-hoop! It's siiiiiiiiiiiiiick (positive, AND negative connotation!)!

Pain Killers sound good.

If I could describe my life in one word right now, it would be:
OUCHHHHHHHH!!!!
I can't even open a door without whimpering!

FUCK YOU, kickboxing!
You hurt so damn good... but you make me immobile for two days!
Shit, man!

So I must go now... and lay down... because even typing hurts me.

P.S. I'm sorry Chase, I just couldn't go today... but it was a wonderful bonding experience for you and my sister, wasn't it? ;)
She already told me you're kicking my ass... and I guess I accept (especially since all you really gotta do is lift my hands over my head to get some tears out of me). Just don't go for the nose, OK? It's fucked up enough.

P.S.S. I never thought that day would come when I would be sitting in front of my television screaming "ZACATE! Z-A-C-A-T-E!!!" (Grass in Spanish-- Nahuatl to be exact)
But the day was yesterday... that spelling bee contest is CRAZY! And that word was the only one I would have gotten correct. Hooray for my people (and hooray for my family being Mexican "hicks"), for inventing such a "puzzling" word that little U.S. geniuses miss!

The hippie within

I have a tendency to complain about hippies... sort of in the way Cartman does on South Park.
I never threaten to kill hippies, but I do become bothered by them from time to time (they flock to me like... ducks at a park do to loaves of bread carried by a toddler).
However, it has come to my attention that I possess some of these Hippie Qualities.

First off:
I love "Mother Nature."

-Why else did I become a Biology major (to be a doctor, that's why)? While, yes, I had my mind made up to become a doctor, as the years went by and the classes became increasingly boring... I figured I only enjoyed classes that involved "Earthy"-related topics (NOT plant physiology though... fuck them and their different types of chlorophyll. And plankton... man, if I hear one more thing about plankton, I'm going to... dump iron in the oceans! Which may actually proliferate plankton colonies... but whatever. Do they live in colonies? Man, I hate aquatic ecology... it gets to my head).
- I really like the outdoors, mainly because it's quiet. While I do live in a dirty city, I try my best to escape during the summer and winter... or just weekends (which is difficult as how my parents think I'm going to go out and get assassinated by the next Zodiac killer or some shit).
-I watch PBS's "Nature" series out of longing for the discovery channel (stupid Vegas boonies and their cable-less homes!).
-I've been known to hug a tree or two.

Second:
I don't litter or eat much meat.

Third:
I wear my hair down on a daily basis... this one worked a lot better when I had long hair.

Fourth:
I'm a Pisces (mannnn).

Fifth, and final:
I don't take pills.

While this last reason may be... well, not the greatest because of the fact that some hippies were best known for their love of hallucinogenic drugs... I know of many that prefer to take the "natural" route when it comes to medication.
That's all the way me. I have no clue why I fight it, but whenever I feel a headache coming on, I refuse to take Advil/Tylenol/Whateverelseisoutthere. I somehow believe "thinking positive" will make the pain go away... and the strategy works maybe one out of five times. I have no concrete reason behind aspirin rejection... maybe because I don't like foreign chemicals being ingested by my body?
Anyway, this hippie behavior really pisses me off sometimes. Particularly today.
I woke up with a mean ass headache and an accompanying sore throat. While I did get up to take some medication for the sore throat (it's a... man, I learned this in micro... but can no longer remember the type of pill that it is) at six in the morning, I decided to try and "sleep off" the head ache till 10:30 am.
I woke up at 10:30 and felt worse... like the covers were glued onto me, I really couldn't eat, and I was sounding like a transvestite (some transvestites have a better voice than mine even when I'm healthy).
I drove off to school and I swear I was seeing blue (What the fuck? I didn't take Viagra...). While I knew it couldn't be that bad, I couldn't wait to get to school and relax my head. However, once there, the headache only increased.
To make a long story short, I had the opportunity to get some Advil/Tylenol about 3 times, but I turned each one of them down.
I came home wanting to pass out and ready for nap time.
I caught myself and thought:
Well, fuck this hippie bullshit. Where's the Tylenol?

And sure enough... my headache is gone.
Thank you, acetaminophen.