golden

Still going crazy.

My godson has been living with me for the last week... and I'm ready to jump from a skyscraper.

I have done and seen so much bullshit in the last week than I have in... years.

Saturday night I attended a party (mostly to give my 25 year old godson a nice Vegas experience) where, in my attempt to be NORMAL and SOCIAL, I took a seat on the closest bed to the group of people (this was a hotel party at the Wynn). It took me about two minutes to realize the seat I had chosen in the entire room also happened to be the spot where the prettiest, most popular chick in the room, had decided to set her eight ball of yeyo.
Seriously.

Moments like those make me realize just how fucking WEIRD I am.
While everyone in the room was acting as though this was normal as fuck, not batting an eye, I felt sick to my stomach.
Is this normal? Does EVERYONE have fucking COKE at their parties?! Am I really THAT weird for fucking hating drugs the way that I do? IS THIS NORMAL?!
Shit like this makes me have a massive existential crisis. It makes me feel like I'm living a lie. Am I really that much of an anomaly... such a rare human being... that my parties, and my example of fun is just... good music, laughter... games... a nice alcoholic buzz... and that's all? Like... is being "clean" really that fucking weird?
Even before stepping foot in the room, the smell of weed permeated the air. I walked in, and so much drug paraphernalia was in plain sight, I found myself staring at the motherfucking alarm clock the entire night... because I felt like shit if I saw the activities taking place.

As I sat ON the fucking cocaine, I saw as all the girls in the room swarmed my godson, and offered him an orgy. Right there.
Wait, wait, wait... what, what, WHAT?!

I still feel a little panic attack just remembering.
This can't be fucking normal. It just can't. No, man. No. I can't be THAT anomalous. I just can't.

Am I suffering these horrible depressive episodes because I'm one of the few imbeciles NOT doing any sort of drug? Would my life be THAT much more fucking bearable if I just went ahead and aimlessly fucked any and all guy who wanted to? Is all of this the secret to NOT wanting to put a bullet through your fucking brain nearly every day of your adult life?

It was hard to keep my composure... not burst into tears the moment I realized I was such a weirdo.
I don't do drugs. I don't smoke. I don't fuck. I hardly drink.
I don't like any of that shit. And this makes me a weirdo. A loser.

So, as we were going home... and I was driving my very lit godson down the strip... we started a conversation on this subject.
I came clean to him after he made a comment on how all girls are whores and all girls love some drug (his words, not mine).
Not all girls are whores-- I have yet to fuck ANYONE.
Not all girls love a drug-- I have yet to do ANY.
And then this ensued:
"OH MY GOD. You're like... a fucking... you're a GOLDEN..."
Me: Unicorn. I'm a unicorn. A mythical creature.
"But... OH MY GOD! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'D DO IF I HAD THE POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?"
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA. AHAHAHAHAHA. "Power." HAHAHAHAHA! No. None of that.
"Do you know what any man would give if he found you?"
Me: Apparently not a damn fucking thing. I AM perpetually single. I'm 30 now. 30.
"But you're the.... you're the... you're the top... the maximum. A good looking, athletic, intelligent, tall, kind, funny, selfless, rich, chill, drug-free, VIRGIN. It doesn't get better than that. It's what all men look for."
Me: No. No it's not. It never is.
"If I were to find a girl like you right now, at this second, I'd marry her instantly. Instantly. I would give her the world."

... Marry her. Marriage. That's the ultimate prize? I'm supposed to be... to feel... to uh... aspire to MARRIAGE as the ultimate reward? Marriage? For real?
I sat in my car, once again, fighting the urge to cry... the urge to "ugly cry" with screams, violent trichotillomania... all that shit.
I don't want marriage. I never have. I don't want a commitment of that nature.
I just... want company. Kindness.
In a world where I can't find a guy who literally wants to hold my motherfucking hand for a few seconds, I want something as fucking SIMPLE as kindness. Simple company.
Just stay. Just... stay.
But that has proven to be difficult... damn near impossible... definitely undesirable.

Instead of a marriage proposal, the only thing this girl gets is heartbreak, humiliation... disdain.
I am forgettable... meaningless.
I am the lame nerd who sits on the pretty, cool girl's coke at a party... and spends the night observing the boys swarm the coke fiends... as she quietly drinks water all night by herself.

What all men are looking for... lol lol lol.

Horse doodle

Yesterday I attended a friend's babyshower (the couple whose wedding I was in back in December of '13).
I'm actively trying to dig myself out of the horrible, mean-ass depression I've fallen victim to these past... almost three months... so attending this social function was a must.

This party, as predicted by the pessimist in me, drained me. I ended up sleeping for twelve hours last night... after crying myself to sleep, of course.
This shit sucks, man.
I can't really pin-point what it was... but... I get so tired trying to act as though everything is ok. I'd catch myself at the party spacing out, usually with some innocent bystander observing me with a worried look on their face.
The party started out fun, in a way I had never experienced before-- we were given crayons and a sheet of paper, and asked to draw an animal or fruit or some other object for the letter given on the sheet of paper. There was a sheet for every letter of the alphabet, so after everyone was done with their work, the sheets would be put in order and made into an alphabet book for the baby.
This, of course, cheered me the fuck up, since I have a tendency to doodle in the first place when I'm in a social setting, just to calm my nerves. Give me paper and crayons so I can doodle ON PURPOSE? Well FUCK! No need to ask me twice! Give me five different letters if you want!
What letter was I given? H.
H... as in HORSE.
So, there I sat at my table with my mother and some other ladies, and doodled my heart out... for an hour. Because FUCK talking to people.

As I doodled away, my cousin/friend sat next to me with her 23-month-old. This child was smitten with me despite having only met me that day. She refused to stop crying unless I held her, and she refused to eat unless I held her. She'd mumble weird baby talk, and then shoot me the craziest, most hilarious looks, waiting for my reply (which was always "... oh yeah?" This was always acceptable to her). It was odd. And heart warming. I tell you, kids sense the fear I have of them and purposely gun for me.
So this baby was cool... her mom? Well, she was ok. She kept throwing shade, in her usual manner. She kept taking jabs at my appearance (kept staring at the four gray hairs I have on my bangs... my hair part, my nose... I could just feel an aneurism coming on from the pent up aggravation this was causing me), my single status, my unemployed status... typical shit.

Anyway, after enough frustrating exchanges with this mean girl, I went back to my doodling.
Once I felt the horse was sufficiently colored (the crayons were not Crayola... and so... it was a pain in the ass to get it to stay on the paper), I decided to turn it in to the celebrated lovely couple. This was a mistake. The area was packed with people, and instead of retreating to my seat like my brain told me to do (and just wait for the people to leave), I decided it was going to look stupider if I would sit back down... so I kept walking towards the area.

The look people give me when they learn/realize I'm good at something breaks my heart. The look of... surprise and... how excited they are to see I'm genuinely good at something makes me sad.
... it makes me feel like a loser.
"OH MY GOD! COME SEE THIS!"
"*GIRL*, I'm sorry, but AnoMALIE just beat you."
There they were, a group of seven women and three men gushing over my horse doodle... and all I could do was stand quietly, avoiding eye-contact because their look of... surprise with my skill was bumming me the fuck out.
"She's actually GOOD at something?" That's what I feel goes through their mind, so I'm shitty at handling the attention because I'm too busy trying not to cry.

I should have taken a photo of the horse so I could have proof that it really wasn't much... but meh, just take my word for it, it wasn't much.
Nothing I do really is.

TF You Want?

Hey, how are you feeling? See photo above.
Hey, are you ok? See photo above.
Hey, why aren't you... SEE PHOTO ABOVE.

That's my "'the fuck you want?" look/vibe... but the non-menacing kind... more of the "irritated, but still listening to you" kind... like you just MIGHT say/suggest/demand something interesting, but I definitely had more pressing matters to handle.
"What do you want, weirdo?" and "'The fuck you doin'?" could be suitable replacements.
("Weirdo" because thanks to your stupid shit, you just made me take away my attention from that candy I was trying to enjoy)

(Tangent-ish: now do y'all understand why I mostly chill with guys? That's all that surrounded me in my youngest days)

This I find appropriate only because I attended a baby's birthday party yesterday where the fucking asshole parents DENIED me a goodie-bag... only me.
Yeah, I was pissed... mainly because:
1. I love candy
and
2. Here I am a single, barren girl...
  A. surrounded by CLOWNS who wanted to
     i. Paint my face
     ii. Make me dance or
     iii. Make me laugh. No bitch, I don't do clowns.
  B. surrounded by ILL-BEHAVED children who were
     i. running
     ii. screaming
     iii. THROWING GANG SIGNS (kids are still into fucking cholos?! Blew my fucking mind).
     iv. throwing toys into people's plates full of food. Fuck. That.
  C. surrounded by her Mexican relatives, all of whom have procreated... and I'm just... you know... single and almost-30 (never mind the fact I was also the only person in the building with a college degree... who give a fuck about that, right? Probably why the bitch will die alone, anyway... too smart for her own good, am I right?). Good shit.

The LEAST I deserved was a fucking $2-worth of candy bag.
But no. Instead, I sat in the kitchen, watching the Disney channel... completely captivated by some movie I had never heard of ("Mirror, Mirror"... embarrassing to admit, but whatever. A fucking kid threw a Hotwheel into my plate of birria, do you think I gave a single fuck the rest of the day? Nah, man, I mentally checked out right then and there).

I go on fun tangents, don't I?
See photo above.

Compañia

I had NO intention to participate in this year's Halloween.
After a couple of intense years full of parties, I was fucking tired of it.
I mean, I grew up NOT celebrating it at all due to my fanatical Christian folks (It wasn't until I was in college that I started dressing up and doing whatever the fuck I wanted [like wearing black nail polish. Even THAT shit was off limits growing up. I'm sorry, but I can think of ten thousand other things that are FAR WORSE than wearing fucking black polish on my nails... but I digress]... because I was a goddamn adult), reverting to the non-celebratory times would not be too upsetting.

Sure, I dig using my creativity and painting the hell out of my face... but that shit gets tiresome... especially trying to crank out a new costume, sometimes multiple costumes, every year. I'm not one to opt for the simple, slutty-whatever costume many ladies rely on (I don't have the flawless body, for starters).
So I said I would take this year off... crossing my fingers no one would invite me to a party (Oh, child, you and your anti-social, hermit ways).
All was going according to plan, especially since my friend who invites me year after year is currently pregnant, unable to throw a party, too busy prepping for her baby's arrival.

Then one of my besties decides to throw a party... where I watched many of the guests bitch out with some pretty lame excuses (what is so hard about saying "Oh man, sorry guys, but I have another party to go to at the same time as yours. Have fun though!" It's sincere, and though I'm sure it's a bit of a bummer to hear, sincerity is always appreciated-- at least in my case it is). The excuses irritated me enough to decide to pull out of Halloween-retirement.

And so... here I am... once again participating in the activity.
Shit has had me frazzled as fuck for the last week, since I was suffering from a horrible mental block.
But alas, like always, it comes down to crunch time... my procrastinating ass came up with a costume last night.
Have I practiced the look? Hell nah. Will it work? I don't know. Do I care? Nah, man, I'm going to be eating sugar all fucking night in the company of my best friends... the fuck do I care what I look like?

And with that, the month comes to an end.
October-- always so beautiful, so cool, so chill... so heavy with melancholy.
This year's October was no different.
This year, I had a random gift from a friend constantly keeping me company... meaningful to me in a way in which she has no idea ("It's like, your favorite movie, right? You're into that weird shit..." Yeah, weird shit).

Olvidar-- imposible.

Goodbye October.

NOrmal

I am officially retiring from quinceañeras for a while.
No, not in participating-- that ship sailed long ago-- but attending.

The last quince I attended didn't hit me this hard... maybe because I'm not as close to that family as I am to tonight's family.
Maybe I wasn't as upset then because I basically just went in and out.

Today I sat at the party from the very beginning. I had time to sit and admire my surroundings.
And then the nostalgia monster attacked me-- violently.
Maybe I had a worse time because many of the teens present reminded me of my friends, family, and me at that age... we all do look alike, after all.
I was transported to the early '00's... which hit me pretty hard. I thought of the style, the music... the slang of the time. I thought of what it actually felt like to be a hopeful little 14 year old girl... excited about the years to come.
Excited about the upcoming years dating and flirting with boys.
Excited about finally growing out of your awkward chubby stage.
Excited about how cute your crush(es) is (are) going to get.
Excited about the motherfucking future!

God, I was so jealous of those kids and their youth... like some wicked witch in a fairy tale (now I understand why they do all that mean shit).

I was fine, smiling for most of the party... memories do make me feel warm and chirpy for a minute or two.
But the MEAN nostalgia monster takes over... and everything goes to hell.
"AND LOOK AT YOU NOW!" it seems to scream at me.
I lose all concentration and stare idly at the ground as two thirds of the room hit the dance floor-- my conscious paralyzing me with its crippling insults.
"How many of those teen dreams came true for YOU, AnoMALIE?! How much advantage did you take of your youth?! NONE!" it continues to abuse me. "You are A-L-O-N-E! Your dreams are D-E-A-D."

And I finally lose my cool and beg to go home.
And so we do.
I get home, and can't even look at myself in the mirror as I power-walk to my room. I feel like the oldest, ugliest spinster in the world, I fear seeing an old, wrinkled catlady in the reflection. An idiot who wasted her life.
I wash my face and sit in my room in darkness, only my television occasionally illuminating my room, my laptop illuminating my face.
This is the only way I can calm myself down. This is the only way I can silence the self-loathing thoughts.

Others can be extraordinarily mean to me... but I am definitely the most vicious of all-- to myself.

Pre-party, knowing all too well how psychologically fucked up I will be returning.

Somehow, I always manage to make this girl feel like the stupidest, ugliest, oldest, and most useless creature to inhabit the earth-- like the worst waste of space.

I don't think I'll ever be able to stop-- I've tried, but it only worsens with the passage of time.

At least everyone was nice to me at this shindig, not a single backhanded compliment was given. There's that.

Boy oh boy

Baby showers that run past 10 PM... is that fucking normal? Is that fucking protocol now?
FUCK THAT.

I bit my tongue, swallowed my pride... and left my house during the half-time of the last World Cup game of the day.
I thought this party would be done by 8... maybe 8:30 at the latest.
The one thing being dangled over my head to keep me at this hellhole for so long? The fucking gender of the baby.
It was a gender-reveal party which also serves the purpose of a baby shower. I've never experienced this.
Besides the fact that I wanted to experience a gender reveal, I also stayed because of my stubborn, extremely persistent personality.
This little creature is a BOY! Just look at that belly!
I stayed because I wanted to prove my point.

By the time 9PM rolled around, I was anxious... visibly frustrated, constantly rubbing my forehead and burying my face into the palm of my hands.
I went to this party alone, and I'm not on good terms with the pregnant woman-- she's being a total cunt with her pregnant hormones... and I have little patience for that shit. HOWEVER, I try my best to be rational and behave myself... constantly reminding myself that she has a parasite growing inside her that is capable of controlling everything she does and thinks, and so, I take a deep breath and put up with her shit.
SO, I told myself I had to be an adult... a rational, nice adult, and go to her baby shower, even if it was me all by my lonesome... in a sea of married/divorced/coupled women who have or are going to have children.
I did my usual "pump up" routine... where I think happy thoughts, take deep breaths, listen to dance music, and try my hardest to make myself laugh. I tell myself I'm decent looking... and remind myself to not feel sorry for myself. That sort of shit. Social anxiety sucks FUCKING. DICK.
And so... after going through outfits for 30 minutes, I finally grabbed my shit and headed to the party.

Typical torture occurred at this shindig. I walked in, couldn't "see" shit because of the social anxiety that creeps up when I am first exposed to a large group of people. The first people I saw were the family of a girl I'm not too happy with (well, she's the one who is upset with me... because she can't handle my timid ways and that frustrates her, which only guilt-trips the shit out of me). I said my hellos, then finally found the pregnant woman.
I then went ahead and sat with the family of the girl who is mad at me.
This girl has a 6-month old... and so... she's the one I chilled with-- the six-month old.
I didn't eat anything, because they had a very unappetizing shrimp cocktail for food. (That's always tricky, telling a Mexican woman you're not hungry at her party)
I just sat there... tickling a little creature that was apathetic to me, not discussing a damn fucking thing beyond "Oh MAN, she has such fucking HUGE eyelashes!"or the freakish strength possessed by this same baby... ok, I also discussed proper M&M eating etiquette. (This girl eats them with a spoon... ?)
I sat there patiently waiting for this grandiose event of the baby reveal.
Mariachis came in and fucking wrecked everything... all loud and shit... flirting with all the girls... dirty, shameless flirting. They made this fucking party DRAG for what felt like an eternity.
What I must say, is I'm glad no one asked me about my relationship status or WHY I don't have kids-- I am not kidding when I say I was the only single, childless chick. They just kind of sat there, pitying me and how lonely I am... but that I can handle, since it's going to be the story of my life.

Anyway, 10PM rolled up and I was finally fed up-- I HAD to leave.
That's just crazy shit... crazy fucking shit. Parties with bottles and babies and pacifiers and pastel colors abound... no liquor or music (there were the mariachis... but that's just seven extra people we have to make room for, seven extra people with whom we must interact, seven strangers we have to applaud each time they finish a song. That's too much fucking work) or dancing... just a bunch of old, nosey ladies... bunch of loud, obnoxious kids running around giving me a fucking headache and anxiety attack thinking they're going to suffer some sort of accident... no no... no no, fuck that.

Ugh.
At least I don't feel "drained" emotionally... just irritated. I think that has to do with recent events, but I'll discuss that later, when I get some sleep in and completely forget the anxiety of this event.

No artist here

The slowest progress ever.

You'd think it would take me less than three weeks to do that shit... but you would be wrong.

I thought about my little theory of only being able to paint/doodle/write when infuriated, so I decided to do my best to prove it wrong. I plopped my ass on the floor, started up my workout playlist, and forcefully got to work.
It's pretty obvious where my inspiration waned... right? It's obvious where I just could no longer deal with mixing colors and shading and all that shit... and just called it a night-- my stubbornness got the best of me.
That mallet and that face are going to be the death of me (not to mention I now have to do the lightening on the black portions of the costume to even out the depth). But look at that bicep (and that enormous tit... if there's anything I know how to draw, it's fucking giant tits... I've had that shit on lock since elementary school).

I've never taken a painting lesson (well, now I have that wine-drinking painting class I did back in October with my friends... but that was about three hours of my life)... so this is all trial and error.
I've never really considered myself a professional artist, due to my lack of education on the subject and the fact that I certainly do not run in the same circles as the "artsy" people.
I'm a nerd. A reclusive nerd who likes nature. A reclusive, good-girl, nerd who would rather be sitting under the stars in the company of two or three friends... laughing.
I am not rambunctious. I am not wild. I don't like drugs... at all.
I am quiet. I am shy. I'm a goody-goody. I crack nerdy jokes almost no one catches... or make random plays on words that-- again-- few understand, and which only expose me as a total weirdo.

Tonight I accompanied my friend to her birthday party at some art expo thing at a warehouse (I have visited far too many warehouses this week... what the fuck?). She's an art teacher, so this is her circle of comfort... she even had a piece of her work on display at this thing.
I tried being comfortable, I swear... but I couldn't.
First, the place reeked of weed from the get-go. I fucking HATE the smell of weed... fucking shit nauseates the hell out of me. I walked around the place fighting a headache within two minutes of entering.
Then there was the fact that people present were obnoxious... not all, but many, too many. So angsty about nothing... so into bullshit... and so, SO into getting drunk and high. Fuck that shit.
I don't know... I guess the word "pretentious" covers the air at this shindig. Nearly impossible to feel at ease... and these people trying entirely too much to be perceived as cool.
And if people weren't being pretentious, they were being far too liberal for my shy, uptight self. No, I will not play the tit game... I don't even flash myself, why the fuck would I flash anyone else? No. No, man. Not game for that game. Call me uptight, call me a prude... I am me, and I do not enjoy exhibiting my body. Never have, never will. Sorry.

The entire vibe didn't jive.
I don't belong in this circle of people either.
I'm such a fucking weirdo... unable to find a niche... because I'm such. a fucking. weirdo.

I'm not smart enough to be with the brainiacs.
I'm not pretty enough to chill with the cool kids.
I'm not... uh... laidback enough to be with the artsy kids.

What the fuck am I, man?
I'm such a fucking oddball.
(I'm not bummed out, just irritated... the weed probably got to me... there really was too much weed)

Love: Persona non grata.

God. Fucking. DAMN IT!
Another one of my "possibles" is Facebook official.
This one made me want to barf... as if I had been mule kicked in the stomach.
I kinda want to cry. He was a REALLY good one... damn near perfect... if he were taller, but still a great dude. FUCK.

It doesn't help that I just got back from that fucking Quinceañera (yup, this is yet another one of my "cheat" updates)... where my sister was drunk texting me her heartache. She is REALLY fucked up right now. My poor baby.

And the emo begins... I'm (very appropriately) the blue one.

I'm always random.

Very true to how I talk in person...
So hard not to look like a psycho as I furiously typed away at her.

umm... I MAY have had a drink or two by now...
Why do they always sit me by the bar?

I tell ya, my fucking priorities..

I officially HATE this guy.

Hmm...

The conversation only got more depressing...
And I'll refrain from invading D's privacy any further... but FUCK, I was so upset during this conversation. I wanted to hug her and slap her at the same time. Shit, I wanted to slap MYSELF.
We even got into talking about Darcy, and I had to correct her: Look, it's not like HE ever led ME on. Plus *Darcy* is so fucking awesome. He's smart. And doing things with his life. And his fucking pants fit him. Quite fucking nicely, actually. It's impossible not to fall in love with him. Don't group him with *asshole we're talking about*
We had to change the subject and talk about more depressing shit: the future. Jobs. Gross.
But seriously... I read this shit over and I STILL feel my fucking blood boil.
I don't get it. And it's so disheartening. If my sister, who I think is GORGEOUS and pretty fucking tight, can't get a dude... such a simple, normal, average dude... what kind of fucking hopes does it leave me?
I swear to god we're fucking cursed.

I also found out my first cousin, whose wedding I was bitching about back in '10 (the one with the brick-colored bridesmaid dress),

is getting divorced... from the love of her life... with whom she has been with for twelve years.
What the fuck is she supposed to do now? She wasted her youth on him. She has been part of the duo for nearly half her life... and now... what is she supposed to do? I feel like fucking shit FOR her.
I nearly cried when my cousin told me at the party. My heart was pulverized for her.
If HER love of over a decade went to shit... what kind of hope do I have? I can't get a guy to like me for a day... shit.
I want to hug her too. I'm going to text her tomorrow, and offer her my support... even if it's just my physical presence... or a shoulder to cry on... I give awesome, tender hugs when needed. I'm also really good at petting people's backs... and I have a high tolerance for tears/screams of frustration. I give the support I wish others gave to me when I'm at my worst.
My poor, sweet, innocent cousin. She definitely did not deserve this... she was the one LEAST deserving of this outcome.

(On to more frivolous shit)
And I ripped my favorite dress ON MY WAY to this fucking Quinceañera... I didn't notice until I took a seat at my table.

The seatbelt ripped my dress! HOW?!
I spent the night with that shit on my leg, holding on to the thread, crosing my fingers it wouldn't run any further.
Like how my shoes are obviously too big? My feet seem to have shrunk.

At least I'll no longer provide the damn perverted Hometown men with gratuitous shots of my cleavage...

Tittayyys!
Dude sitting across from me at my table was "burning a hole" through my chest.
Fucking dude probably designed the dress...

It's all too fucking much... it's like the universe is conspiring to fuck me up and see me cry.

I knew I was done the moment I caught myself getting watery-eyed as I sang along to "Part of Your World" at the Quinceañera (like I said, the motherfucking universe CONSPIRES to fuck me up. I have no clue why a kid born in 1997 would play a Little Mermaid song at her party... that's so 1990-92)
"When's it my turn? Wouldn't I love, love to explore that shore up above? Out of the sea, wish I could be part of that world..." Why the... fuck am I crying right now? Jesus Christ... I had never taken the time to think of the lyrics... curse you, Little Mermaid... no, no, I don't mean that. I'll always love you!

Wait... it was Friday the 13th, wasn't it?
Fuck, man. Fuck fuck fuck.

I'm just bracing myself for some more shit-tastic news.
This isn't going to end nicely... I'm going to be a sobbing mess on the floor any moment.

Bruiser

When I started working on this fucking house, I had completely forgotten about tomorrow's event. Though I've been out of Quinceañera commission for ten years, I'm still forced to attend these fucking cotillions (is that what it's called in English?). Tomorrow is no exception to this rule... I must go... and sit around, watching teenagers grind on each other for a couple of hours, all to the chagrin of... everyone.

Fuck... kid's these days... that's dancing? Why don't you just pull down his fucking pants and stick his dick up your twat? Shit. Your parents and grandparents are watching! Tone it down, morons, this isn't EDC!

Sometimes I don't cringe at the thought of this social occasion, after all, it gives me an excuse to act like a girl. But see... the whole painting thing I did the last few days has left some battle wounds:

My badassery came with a price...
I do love the look people shoot at me when they see this at the gym.
If only they knew I acquired this shit after falling off a bar stool... while completely sober.

Not to mention I have very stubborn paint still clinging to my hair.

Mom has some pretty gnarly bruises as well.

We're going to look like a couple of champs at this fucking thing.

Alas, I don't really give a shit, I mean, who the fuck do I have to impress? These things are only frequented by family... and boys looking for a girlfriend... or a chick to grind on for a minute.

Back in the day, you know, when I was still "in commission," I did fantasize that maybe I'd find my next boyfriend at one of these shindigs. I'd be one of the numerous chicks hitting the dance floor... most of the time being part of the... what are they called? Entourage? Like... not bridesmaids, but... maids? Whatever... one of those chicks. I'd dance in the large group of girls, but of course, since my life has been pure discord and bitterness, I was never asked to dance one-on-one with a dude. Nothing like that ever happened. I'd just end up hanging out with the younger girls... who weren't old enough to get picked up by the boys in the "dancing age" (this made me INCREDIBLY bitter... but now that we're older, the "popular" girls have popped out at least one kid, and the "popular" boys are fat and bald and uneducated and working in warehouses... so... whatever. I'm happy they never chose me as a dance partner and chose to ignore me their entire adolescence. It only means I get to ignore them in our late twenties... which... well, isn't that awesome... because I still end up alone... but... hey, I get some sort of revenge... right? Nah. I don't. It still sucks dick and I still carry those wounds in my heart... I'm still that wallflower who feels less than everyone else in the room. I still sit there and wish I were invisible. But hey! Enough emo talk). I was left eternally yearning for the moment where the boy of my dreams walks up to me and asks me for a dance... for everyone to see.
See, guys! I AM pretty! Boys DO like me!
Sounds corny, but it's true. It's my unfulfilled wish... which I will never own up to in front of anyone else.

I must admit, all of this is largely responsible for my stance on love... which is similar to this:

This movie's the fucking shit.

Hmph. Easy for you to say.

So, I can't fully blame the stupidity of the youth for my hatred of Quinceañeras... I have that little secret bit of heartbreak nagging at me the entire time I sit through one of these.

Waiting... just... waiting. Your entire life composed of this, AnoMALIE... and yet, you refuse to leave post. You just sit there and watch everyone else be happy, banking on the hope that one day it'll be your turn. You're an idiot.

I just managed to make myself sad.
... bummer.

cuatro de Julio

Ah, yes, finally recovered after my first "successful" 4th of July festivity.

I don't think I have ever gone to a party celebrating Independence Day, though I have done the whole fireworks bullshit a few times.
It was a bunch of Mexicans... eating American food... which I don't dig.
Hot dogs, burgers... chips... and watermelon for desert... three dozen giant BURNT chocolate chip cookies... and carrot cake.
Americana... erghh. They didn't even have hot sauce.

Dude's my first cousin, and has always been super cool with me... a little on the creeper side sometimes, not gonna lie.
He was born and raised in Mexico, finally immigrated (illegally, of course) to the US when he was a fifth grader. I'd say he's trying very hard to assimilate to the culture... really, man? No salsa? Ufff.
Anyway, I love this cousin, so I go to every single one of his parties, even if I know I'll be hurting the entire time. Nig boozes me up, I can't complain!

So yeah, this party... it had:
1. Food I do not like...
I found myself eating SIX of the burned cookies.
In the middle of my fourth cookie, I thought to myself
Yeah, I definitely have an eating disorder.
It didn't keep me from going for another two.
2. Crying babies.
So many fucking babies... ill-behaved babies... loud babies.
3. NO cell phone reception.
I LOATHE Mountain's Edge. Fucking retarded piece of shit neighborhood that might as well be on the moon.
Mountain's Edge... more like "Murder's Edge." Someone could just drive you out there and kill your ass... you'd be unable to call for help... seeing how there is NO CELL PHONE RECEPTION. Location for the perfect crime.
4. Fireworks.
FIVE HOURS WORTH of fire works. Is that normal? I was fed up by 11:30... when my head was pounding and I couldn't see straight. I hate the noise, I hate the smell... I hate everything about fireworks. They're dumb, pointless, and dangerous. Fuck those shits, seriously.
I'm mesmerized by the people who DO love fireworks.
WHY? What the hell?
Especially the LOUD fireworks. I'm completely dumbfounded by those people.
5. Dogs.
I love dogs. Dogs love me.
I love dark-colored pants. Dark-colored pants don't like dog hair.
I ended the night completely covered in white and gold dog hair from... I can't remember the dog breed, I just know it's the breed from Lady and the Tramp... "Lady." That dog. Super soft... impossible not to pet for hours on end. I also made the mistake of feeding my burger to the three dogs, and so I spent the rest of the night hounded by the little fuckers.
6. No "single" people.
I was the only single person there. Everyone else was either married or living together.
Worst part was the pity-party they were throwing for me.
Awww! Poor AnoMALIE now home alone with her parents. No siblings. No boyfriend. No babies. No job. No... anything.
Gee, thanks.
7. My ex-boyfriend.
Yeahhhhhh.....
8. LIQUOR!
YEAAAAAAAH!

Needless to say, I was fucked up.
My cousin asked me if I wanted to drink... actually, he demanded I drink, and seeing how I was not going to be DD, I took full fucking advantage.
I drank half of the Cake Vodka bottle. Straight. Yup. I don't play.
Shit hit the fan once my ex showed up.
That dude I liked as a kid... I liked him throughout my childhood but nothing happened because we were both too shy to say anything. Then he was introduced to his cousin's best friend... dated her for a few months and got married to her.
Now, whenever we coincide at parties... it's awkward as shit... especially since his wife knows our "story."
These two have a kid... so that's weird as well... to see his kid... have his kid be all over me, and me proceeding to play with her and make her giggle and whatnot. It's all so strange and I really just wish I wouldn't have to do it.

My other cousin's baby boy was there too. This kid I love. He's a silly little grouch... whose first words are officially "NO!"... and he mean-mugs everyone who tries to touch him without his consent. Kid has a meanass attitude problem... and I love it. Reminds me of me.
Anyway, I spent the majority of the party playing with this baby. I was running up and down the house playing peek-a-boo, tag, races, "I'm gonna grab you by your feet and drag you across the carpet," "toss you in the air and act like I'm going to drop you." All those violent games that make hyper baby boys laugh.
And I did it all drunk.
Well, ok, not fully drunk, more like buzzed.
I did it to get my exercise in, avoid the ex, avoid the fireworks, avoid the dogs (which was unsuccessful because the moment I started playing "horse-y" with the kid the dogs were all over me), avoid the burned cookies, avoid thinking about my feelings, avoid explaining to everyone at the party that I was NOT sad over the fact that I am now "alone" without my siblings (seriously, guys, that shit gets tiring to explain. People GROW UP. Let it go. I'm fine)... all that shit. I just wanted to be in the moment.
I'm buzzing, I'm chasing this baby, and all I want to see is his smiling, mischievous face, and hear his hilarious, unique giggle. Fuck everything else, buddy.

I think I succeeded.

Fuck, I hate American food...

Cake

Fuuuuck.
I feel like shit today.
This weekend's events ganged up on me and slapped me across the face.
The good news is that the pain is strictly physical, because emotionally I'm at a good place. I had seriously underestimated how good it would feel to be there for a friend in something as simple as a running event.

To say these two sisters had a rough 2011 would be an understatement.
One lost her husband, the other nearly loses her life.

This helped solidify my suspicion that charity work... completes me.
Seeing the look of joy on others makes ME feel good-- and that's not me being a suck-up. I'm being sincere, as corny as I may come off. I'm fine with that. It's no news flash that I'm a total cornball.
Soy cursi hasta la madre!

However, a night of hanging out followed by an early morning run added up to me nearly losing my voice... and walking around like I have been beaten with a hundred bamboo sticks.
I've had that (sorry for using the term) tranny voice since yesterday, I've been making slow movements like some curious hermit crab, and I've been falling asleep all over the place like some narcoleptic.
Good times.

But enough complaining.
Actually, no, no, this complaining reminds me of a little something that went down on Friday.

Alright, so, the man of the hour was totally my homie Alex. Sure, the shindig was for someone else, but  he just cracked me the fuck up.
I was being a whiny little bitch about my car for some reason or another, and the more patient of the dudes volunteered to see my mangled car... you know... because I was so upset about its condition and whatnot.
Upon returning to the party, Alex asked where we had been.
Me: I went to go show him my tainted baby, my hideously messed up car.
Apparently I spoke too loud or something, because everyone in the room became interested in the story.
Me: No, no, don't worry. I'm kind of a drama queen.
Alex: Yeah, you kind of are.

And THAT, my friends, is why I have more guy friends than girl friends (and ALL my female besties are truthful like that. It's the reason I have so few of them, they're more difficult to come across). So straight up. It cracked me up... just like this cleverness:

Many chicks would be offended/alarmed by this...
Me? I'm game, bro.
Makes me giggle like a maniac... must be the ever-present pre-teen in me.

It's also how I stay grounded and chill the hell out when something upsets me.

The straightforwardness came in handy when later in the night a very drunk girl swatted my Tequila-and-Squirt out of my hand and onto my right pant-leg and right shoe.

Reenacting the scene, once the puddle (and shoe) dried out a bit

I didn't scream, or freak out... I just grabbed some napkins and wiped my leg and shoe.
Poor chick apologized profusely... which was unnecessary, since that shit comes off... I just reeked of tequila the rest of the night-- nothing out of the ordinary for a Mexican at a party.

This little incident also helped me meet the love of my life:

WHY had no one told me about this shit?
I'll even forgive the fact that it's French.
Fuck you, France!

Cake.
Yes.
Please.
Forever.

Babies R Everywhere

So uh... I'm still here.
I was so upset about being left behind during the rapture (as I had previously predicted) that I:
1. Massacred a slice of Devil's Food cake (it's CHOCOLATE! You think I'm not gonna touch that shit? Get off that cloud, homie)

the remnants remind me too much of skid marks... yet I still damn near licked that fucking plate

2. Got drunk as shit at a baby shower.
(luckily, no photos of THAT available, at least not from my behalf)


You mean I've been a virgin all this fucking time and I STILL get left behind to endure the motherfucking apocalypse?! FUCK THIS, MAN! I need a drink... or two... or ten. This is BULLSHIT! And give me a slice of that fucking monstrous chocolate cake, it's going down into my belly... fuck milk, I want another mojito, NOW!

Yeah, I'm being sarcastic here... for the most part.
I DID massacre a piece of DFC, and I DID get drunk at a baby shower today... but it was obviously not because I was upset over the rapture. Duh.

Today was all about babies.
First off, there's one friend who currently has me in her pregnancy scare crew.
I find myself being on period watch. It's not that I WANT to... but I feel so horrible for her, she's been crying all day. I just... I've never been this interested in knowing whether or not a girl has bled. Gross, I know... but sheesh... I'm worried for the poor chick.

This brings me to today's baby shower.
I was going to write about it sooner... but I just never found the point in it.
Remember my little cousin from that one summer... the one who was "in love" with my godson. The cousins, remember? I was freaking out and trying desperately to break that shit up... 'cause we ain't from West Virginia, so you put that shit in check QUICK.
Anyway, turns out I did a terrific job in separating those two lovebirds (they were still going at it this past summer, no matter how much I'd complain), so much so, that when she came back from Mexico this past summer, she got knocked up by her brand-new boyfriend.
I was bummed when I first found out, because I can't believe that in 2011, we still have idiot girls getting knocked up.
You had unprotected sex, you fucking moron?! What is WRONG with you?!
However, I didn't judge... or chastise, because I'm sure she got plenty of that.
Instead, my weird maternal instinct made an appearance and I let her know that I'd always be on her side.
Ok, so that's settled.

So, today was this girl's baby shower.
I love this kid like a baby sister, so I very gladly attended, regardless of how much I dislike being around kids.
Something extraordinary occurred: for the first time EVER, I was extremely comfortable at this party.
I was surrounded by nothing but my mother's cousins.
Now, some of these broads might be pains in the ass when in other situations, but since the MOST annoying woman of the clan is the soon-to-be-great-grandma (how fucking bizzare to say that. I imagine great-grandmas as 90-whatever year old ladies, not 60-year-old ladies who still shop at Forever21), she had to eat a GIANT slice of humble-pie... so she was the sweetest ass-licker in the building.

This is the woman, the now-ass-licker, who always gives me backhanded compliments like:
Oh, AnoMALIE, you'd be SO BEAUTIFUL if you used a girdle!
Really, bitch? I just said hello to you outside church... the HOUSE OF THE LORD! and you're gonna say THAT?
D is such a gorgeous young lady! AnoMALIE... that outfit would have looked AWESOME had you not worn those black shoes with those white socks. Actually, it would have looked FAR better if you wore a dress... you'd look... like a girl!
This lady must be VERY curious to find out the taste of my knuckles.
Well, today, she COMPLIMENTED ME, and not my sister. Yes, she gave me ONE backhanded compliment (she complimented my sister's hair when she greeted us at the door, then when it was my turn to say hello, she "whispered" to D "Convince your sister to do this to HER hair... she'd look GREAT!"), but aside from that, she was all over me. She did one thing in particular that nearly made me pass out from the shock:
She asked to touch my eyelashes... because "they are SO ENORMOUS, THICK, AND BEAUTIFUL! Look how far back they fold! Why didn't my kids get these?!"
This had me reeling because back when I was five (yes, I remember. A kid never forgets when someone is a rude asshole to him/her) she was complimenting my sister (like always) at a birthday party and she wouldn't shut the fuck up over how gorgeous Sister was, especially her beautiful eyelashes, eyelashes she had never seen before. She moved me out of my seat so she could sit next to D and examine her eyelashes.
I remember I very dejectedly took an empty chair across from D--the only chair available-- and thought to myself Well... my eyelashes are KINDA like my sister's... right? and as I thought that, I tried to very discreetly reach for my eyelashes to feel them. But I was caught. And she laughed SO hard... like an evil witch HA!HA!HA! SHE'S FEELING HER'S TO SEE IF THEY'RE LONG! HAHAHA! And I felt so stupid and embarrassed for being called out in front of so many people, that I went outside and didn't come back into the party the rest of the day.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm still heated/scarred over this memory, that this bold move from this lady... 21 years later, nearly made me pass out.

Ummm... what was the point of this post? To talk about the baby shower?
Ok, let me try and get back to it:
I was in a fantastic mood because all these ladies were being such sweethearts, that I felt comfortable enough to eat me some delicious cake.
There was one bad side: the family members of the babydaddy. Those cunts wouldn't stop staring at me and D.
D and I were just chilling inside the house, sitting on a giant, comfy couch, drinking mojitos like we had no responsibilities (oh wait, that's right, we DON'T) and these girls were giving us the evil eye, especially when we were eating our cake.
After my second mojito (remember, my diet's still kinda... on the weaksauce side, so it doesn't take much liquor to fuck me up since I don't have much in my tummy to begin with), I stopped giving a fuck and I turned mean. What did I do? I tweeted a photo of the meanest bitch of all: the cow.
I'm not normally this (openly) rude to anyone, but this girl pissed me the fuck off.
The last straw was when they were going around giving everyone those stupid little party favors--which happened to be See's Candy pops-- and they purposely avoided my corner of the room... the corner with my entire maternal family. I know this because I made eye-contact with the hoe.
OK, heifer, check this out! I'm gonna hate on you on the internets... and I don't care, because I'M DRUNK!
And I'm going to hate on her here as well:

Bitch should be glad I cropped her face out.
I'm considerate even when I'm being mean. 

Grrrr!
Anyway, after I did this, I found I couldn't stop laughing... or drinking... and the room was still wobbling... and I kept on talking.

Then... the night got ugly when the nice ladies of my family decided to start telling dirty jokes. No amount of alcohol will erase the words these woman uttered... especially not when Mom alluded to the size of my dad's penis (it's "huge, but he's SO boring!" in her own words)... or how he's in the sack.
I wish this was all a figment of my drunken imagination... but no... it was uttered... and I'm forever sickened... and embarrassed for my father (see, Momma was a little tipsy as well. Oh, what the hell, we were ALL lit). No amount of alcohol, dude... NO AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL will erase this traumatic event.

Anyway, once we sobered up a bit (or at least my sister did. I'm still sort of drunk and I need to be up by 5:30AM later today for good ol' church. It's already 2:20... church is gonna be AWESOME!) we came home.

Today's take-home message: I'm glad as FUCK that my cookie box is intact... and I'm in NO rush to crack that baby open. I'm good, yo. That shit ain't happening for a good minute (at least not while I can still remember, verbatim, what Mom said about Dad's sexual organ/habits). Biiiiirth control, muthafuckaaas!

XI

Three things:
1. Today marks the three year anniversary of my arrival in Bilbao. It was the best time of my life. You can't see me right now, but I just swooned.
Ohhhhhh Spain.

2. Japan.
I was on-line when I was notified of the breaking news.
It saddened me to watch all the footage live. It was horrible and what nightmares are made of. What made me... well, it made me sad, but it also made me lose hope in humanity, was how many of the people on my Facebook were reacting... especially the very distasteful jokes they were making.
THEN, while I was watching up until about 2:30 in the morning, all I could really think was "Uh oh... Dad is going to frustrate me tomorrow..."
Why?
Because Dad ALWAYS mentions how "The end is near" or how "Christ is coming!" whenever a natural disaster occurs. He traumatized me as a child because of this.
Whether it was an electrical storm, a hail storm, a flood, or an earthquake, Dad ALWAYS brought up "end of the world!" being VERY near.
What three year old wants to hear that? I was lucky that Mom has always been a cranky Catholic and keeps Dad's Fundamentalist Christian-self under (some) control. I'm sure if Mom wouldn't have been around to roll her eyes whenever Dad proclaimed Christ's second coming, I'd be quite the... weirdo.

Anyway, true to my suspicion, I was woken up by Dad saying "CHRIST IS COMING!!" after turning on the television and seeing the news. I walked over and watched him trying to act like a preacher (SO irritating. I think it may be the reason why I'd rather be shot than join any protestant denomination. Dad has made me dislike the guys). What I did tell Dad was "Well... it was the end of the world for those hundred of people who were killed, that's for sure."
It's a hassle I doubt very many people have to deal with. It makes me angry, but oddly enough, it always leaves this sinking feeling in my gut.

Now I just have to avoid him for a week or so... until he notices the world is still turning and the sun is still rising.

3. It has been decided. I'm going to the party.
I found a flier for it... :)

SEE what I've been having to deal with for the last... 4 months?!

I now understand why I was invited: two of the three people celebrating like me. Only one wants to see me dead... who is, sadly, the main character of the night.

I'm also going because D ran into problems with Twiggy. Twiggy, surprise-surprise!, doesn't want to accompany D to the party.
My peaceful meditation (read: reading of my e-mail) was disturbed by a very angry Sister screaming at her phone. Twiggy was on the other end... and things were getting NASTY. I've never heard D put Twiggy in her place like that.
Anyway, since I saw my sister so worked up and nearly in tears, I agreed to accompany her to the party. I'm kind like that.

So, I have spent the last hours trying to mentally prepare for this outing. I just KNOW I'm going to come home an emotional wreck.
It comes with the territory of being socially awkward. I have to keep reminding myself that "everything will be ok. Breathe, dude, breathe.... and speak up... and smile." Social anxiety really, REALLY sucks.
The things I do when I love people (even if we fight like cats and dogs).
I do find solace knowing this is what I have to look forward to:

This is why I get sloshed when I visit this guy's house.

Yeah.
Happy weekend.

11-11

I pregamed for the New Year's festivities at home... with my mom. How's that for weird? AND I did it per her request.
I was just going to head out with some friends for dinner, shots, and the countdown... but Mom was all up in my business wanting me to get drunk since the previous day.
Some people may not find this strange, but see... MY mom asking me to get shitfaced for New Year's is like having Mother Theresa ask you to get smashed. It makes you worry.

So, I was only following orders when I took a double shot with her... and I was downright threatened into drinking some champagne with her before heading out (when this little lady tells you to do something, you do not ask questions... you just do it before you wake up in the ER with missing teeth and one eye).
Me: Para que quiere eso, si ni siquiera son las doce todavía? (what do you want that for, if it isn't even twelve yet?)
Mom: Oh, porque quiero! (oh, because I want to!)
I turned my glass of champagne into a mimosa, 'cause the shit Mom bought was gross.

Anyway, I left Mom to get trashed off the bottle of champagne on her own (which she did. She told me this morning that when she went to bed, she nearly fell because she felt the bed turn into a waterbed. That was cute).
The plan was to be calm and spend a couple of hours with my best boys... you know, so I could keep from debating whether or not to crash Darcy's fun (which I wouldn't do [sober] because I really have no business being on that side of town, my side is far more poppin' so to speak, since I live a hop and a skip away from the awesome beer palace known as Yardhouse), 'cause these guys keep me from thinking about, well, guys.
The boys were great and everything, dinner was pretty (I'd say "good" but I wasn't feeling so great, so I didn't really enjoy eating anything. But it all looked nice), the conversation was hilarious... but I was just a little irritated with some of the guys there because they fucking swear they're part of Kanye's posse or some shit, let's just put it that way (the way they dress and speak).
The dude who randomly kissed me at the posada the other day was also there... and he was joking about New Year's kisses and shit... and all I could say was "Homie, you ain't touchin' me" (apparently I too think I'm part of Kanye's crew).
I was also a little bored because the shindig was a total sausage-fest... with about three guys for every girl... and I... well... I don't really enjoy being in that position... 'cause I'm sure if there'd be more chicks in the picture, they'd ignore me and allow me be the wallflower I really am. Those thoughts rush to my head all the time, so then I turn into a bitch and I respond to flirtation with sarcastic, caustic shit that would make anyone wonder what the hell was wrong with me. I'm sorry, I'm just fucked up like that... my bad.
SO! Before I turned too much into the Ice Queen of the room, I left and met up with my sister at The Cosmo... where the ratio of girls to guys was far more favorable, and I was able to relax.
Who was there? Jay-Z, Coldplay... and I think Kanye (how fucking ironic).
The vibe was nice... until one of the girls of the group came up to us crying, because apparently she lost her wallet that had her entire life-- except her phone-- in it.
It was horrible to see the poor girl that messed up... we even tried cheering her up with a Mexican Hot Dog (the ones that are wrapped in bacon. Bacon fixes everything, at least for a couple of minutes).
Once the crying girl was slightly subdued, I called it a night. The parking lot was a mess to exit (as always), and when I came home, what was I greeted with?
MENUDO.
HOMEMADE MENUDO.
MY MOM made menudo. That woman NEVER cooks. Fuck the world ending in 2012, I think it's going to happen in the coming week.

And that was my weird New Year's Eve celebration.

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.

Anyway, nice day.
While I was never the kid to wish on 11:11, I do find it cute that today is written "1-1-11."
Make a wish, suckaaas!

Romania + Argentina = NO

Funniest pick-up line anyone has ever thrown my way:
Guy: So... I have a question for you. What's your name again?
Me: AnoMALIE.
Guy: Ok, I thought so. This may sound weird, but are you Romanian?
Me: Uhm... no... not that I'm aware of.
Guy: No? Well, still... you have a very beautiful name.
Me: (internally) Well... that's a first. (spoken) Thanks.

What makes someone think I'm Romanian? I don't know... I think my features are distinctly hispanic-y... but maybe that's just me?

Porn-tastic Latina pose, although I skimped on the cleavage

Screams "Romanian," right?

Poor guy gets points though... for still trying to talk to me after seeing I had my "bored bitch" face on.
Obviously it wasn't because I was bored, but I'm still... all flustered over writing statements of purpose. I spend the majority of my time re-editing my shit in my head, constantly trying to come up with interesting sentences (I've re-edited my "I was supposed to go to Med school" opening line about four times. Still not happy with it, clearly).

These two gay dudes totally weren't my fans...
Oh, I should probably clarify this all went down at a Halloween costume party where I was a Notre Dame football player ("Play like a chick today," since those boys are fuckin' up this season and playing like girls, not champions. I was going to be a Cowboy's football player, but I do not own a single piece of Cowboy's paraphernalia)-- explains the "eye black" on my cheeks.
Anyway, back to the gay guys, they hated me. They called me boring because during my turn on "Apples to Apples" I chose "poison ivy" as opposed to "Brad Pitt" and some other guys for the "organic" subject. My reasoning was "well, technically, I'm a biologist... so..." I was their fucking pony the rest of the night.

Then sitting directly to my right was the guy who thought I was Romanian... and by directly, I mean "He was on me." His leg was resting on my leg, then his foot was on my foot, then his hand found his way to my (outer) thigh.
Um... o...k... you do know your own leg works just as well when it comes to resting your hand, right?
He was handsome, with freakishly light blue eyes, fine features... and he was an English teacher, but he had one giant flaw:
He was wearing an Argentina soccer jersey.
Giant fuck up right there, homie. I'm starting to hate Cristiano Ronaldo because he rocks a Real Madrid jersey-- regular dudes in Argentina jerseys run worse luck.
Plus... I think he was gay. What dude likes a chick wearing a football jersey and eye black?
Did I remove his hand? Nah. I did remove myself for a while, then returned to move my seat a little closer to my friend (guy dressed like a sexy female gypsy, so I doubt that helped)... but English Teacher found a way to scoot close to me and rest his knee into my leg once again. I just gave up and let him keep invading my bubble. At least he wasn't going for my boob, or even my inner thigh.

While I don't mind the male attention... I can't really react to it, either.
My brain was saying "HANDSOME! He has blue eyes, AnoMALIE, BLUE EYES! He's sorta smart and all over you! GO! Touch him back, idiot! At least flirt, for fucks sake!" but my body (and heart) was like "Eh. Thanks. But who cares?" up until my brain decided to give up.

Hooray for self-sabotage!
Then again, he was wearing an Argentina jersey... there has to be something wrong there... right?

23

Alright, here's my second post for the day. It's going to consist of more cheating, since it's going to be last night in pictures (God, forgive me. I'm just really tired and stressed and I still need to study and I have no time to bother with actual entries. Those shits require actual thought put behind it and I'm in no condition to do so. It's difficult to be clever and "punny" when my mood is so shot)

I couldn't help myself, and I caved. I purchased the hot pink shoes I fell in love with last month. But I let the birthday girl wear them (i.e. Little Sister took them from my closet and I opted against getting her in a chokehold until she tapped out because it was, after all, her birthday celebration).

Moment I stepped in the lounge, I was given champagne... and while I typically hate it, this one was tasty. I never knew how easily this shit buzzes a person.

Had to sober up somehow before the guests arrived. I hate Jamon Serrano. 

More drinking and some Spanish music to get the party started.

At midnight, it was time to celebrate Baby Sister's real birthday. She's no longer such a baby :(

Something tells me this guy might be a little violent with his girls... like maybe... I feel sorry for anyone who ever thinks about giving him head... just sayin'.

Then people started smoking and tried getting me in on the action. "Sorry dudes, I stopped that shit at 23. I take care of my lungs." Are you starting to understand why I was stuck with photographer duty for the night?

I also used my skill to catch minors at the bar. JK, she was no minor, she too was a birthday girl... a 21st birthday girl. She pretty much embodied my mood for the night. "I need a motherfucking drink! And get rugby off the screen! Weren't we just watching the highlights from the Spanish League?!"

Then I drove home and fell asleep like an old lady.

But in all honesty, and keeping true to this week's celebration of "I love my sister week" (no, seriously, it is), I love my sister. We fight... she makes me cry, I reciprocate... but I also defend the hell out of her. Anyone hurts her and I immediately go out for blood, ask anyone. I've done it multiple times... I even flew up to Spain to put her roommates in check the moment she told me they made her cry.
She holds my hand when I'm upset... she cries with me when I don't know what to do... and she hugs me when I'm lost.
No matter how old she gets, she'll always be that little creature I once saw my mom holding inside of our Jeep on a rainy October afternoon. I was busy being a brat, running away from my babysitter... playing under the hole in the porch with my brother, taking turns on who would run under the water. The world seemed to stop the moment I saw the black Jeep make its way into our driveway... and Rafa and I froze in place, watching the car park... and Mom hop out holding a pink blanket. Baby Sister was home.

I love you, sister.