Not so free in that zone

Well, I guess after last night I can mark three things off my "To do before I die" list:
1) Check out a gay bar.
2) See a drag show.
3) Get my ass grabbed/fondled by a female stranger.

Now, honestly, none of that has ever been on my list (no shit, Sherlock), but it all happened last night.

Before the bar thing happened, I accompanied Chase to her band practice, and I was astonished by the similarity between one of her band mates and Ray Romano's voice. I mean, the likeness is uncanny.
The entire time, I found myself thinking "Keep talking!!! I feel like I'm in the presence of Ray! I miss Ray..."
I also wanted him to keep talking, or anyone else for that matter, because I was stuck listening to the one other person there who's not part of the band (but thinks she is), the wife of... I think he's a basist?
She talked... and talked... and talked... even when all I would do would be smile... or nod... or look in her direction.

She was trying to force me to drink a Bud Light... but she couldn't hear me saying "I don't like beer!!" Instead, she thought I didn't want to drink because I felt bad about "wasting her money."
She leaned in to me and screamed:
"Listen!! I make in one day, what you make in a year!! SO DRINK UP!! Don't feel bad about wasting my money."
I smiled... held back my urge to grab the open beer, turn it upside down on her lap, then get up and leave... but instead, I screamed "I. DON'T. LIKE. BEER!!!!"
"What kind of person doesn't like beer?!"
"Umm... me."
So she went on and drank... I think maybe 7?
At her 7th, she then proceeded to talk to me about what a sham marriage is. She told me never to get married, unless I found that ONE guy who'll still give me butterflies in my stomach each time he kisses me... then it's ok to get married.
I nodded.
Then she went off and talked about boobs.
How big boobs are great... how she loves her boobs... and how people thought she got her boobs only to call attention.
She then goes:
"If I wanted to call attention, don't you think I could just do this..."
She grabbed her left tit and proceeded to lick it... and I mean lick that thing like a hungry baby calf .

O...k....
What do you do when you see a 37-year-old woman licking her left boob in front of you?

I was more than ecstatic when it was time to leave the place.
Sure, bummed I wasn't going to hear Ray Romano's voice anymore... but fucking alleviated that I was no longer going to see this lady do weird shit to herself in my presence (if you want to do weird shit, do it in the privacy of your own home... or I guess a club).

Anyway, from there, we called our group of friends and asked where they were.
Where were they?
Free Zone.
And a little hammered.

I was reluctant at first (here I have family members constantly thinking I bat for the other team because I refuse to get a boyfriend... and now... if by some off-chance they see me walking into a gay bar... I can only imagine the damn roaring rumors this action will spark), but seeing the state DiabetesType1 Friend was in (she greeted us a block away from the club, because that's where we found parking), Chase and I decided to go in and check on the other two girls inside (Chase said she heard FutureDentist Friend screaming "Woooo-hooo!!" over the phone... so it was safe to assume she was tipsy as well).

En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo... God, here I go...

The bouncer at the club was a lot more cautious about letting me in the place than any other bouncer I've encountered.
He checked my ID meticulously... then made me remove my glasses... inspected my ID some more, and finally let me in.
Was it because I was smiling in person?

We then got in and saw why FutureDentist Friend was screaming: a drag show was going on.

Yes... we were up close and personal with the drag queens.
I must say... those guys have great make-up skills... and it saddened me to see three of the four had better bodies than me (How can they control their boobs like that?! And no, I'm not talking padded bras... I'm talking BOOBS).

As we stood there watching the show, some fucker decided to sit next to me and smoke his damn Kools...
That, along with the shot and Mai-Tai DiabetesType1 Friend bought me, made up my mind to get the hell out of there and hit the dance floor with the buddies.

So we danced...
And danced...
and danced.

It was comfortable because there weren't any guys trying to rub their crotch on you... or even staring at you. Well, actually, there were only two guys doing that... and I'm guessing they go to the club to do exactly that, bother the straight girls that only dance with their female friends to have a good time being dorks (there was no one to impress, so you know, whatever. I've never really felt that before... except maybe a couple of family get-togethers where I've danced my ass off like that).

Anyway, I noticed gay dudes are pretty touchy feely.
They won't think twice about moving you over by grabbing you firmly in the waist with both hands.

Well, then... thanks, dude... I guess... that's better than you poking my ribs with your elbow... I suppose.

And the ladies?
Well... there were a good amount of chicks that looked straight to me. Most chicks that weren't straight were there with their girlfriends... so there was not much to worry about.
But of course, since you're dealing with AnoMALIE and her shitty luck, of course she was going to be the one to get groped by an overly aggressive lesbo.

I was standing there... minding my own business,

Man... they have a pole in the middle of the dance floor!!

when all of a sudden I feel a small, slender hand grabbing the small of my back.

Whoa, there, buddy, if you want me to move, just push me!

The hand then proceeds to caress my entire left ass cheek in an S motion down, and when it reached the bottom, she cupped her hand, then spanked me lightly.

HEYYYYYYYYYYY!!

Instead of screaming, or punching her--like I would have done, to anyone grabbing my ass, had I been my usual self... or had I not downed alcohol at the speed of light upon entering the establishment-- I stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

Did I... did she... I got... Oh my God...

I just turned to Chase and said
"That girl just touched my ass..."

So what did we do?
We went to the very far corner of the dance floor and made an impenetrable circle where we danced until the back of our necks were soaked in sweat. I took the spot directly in front of the wall... so no sneaky bastards (female or male... what a hassle) could get behind me (why must I have such an irresistible ass?! To the wrong people, of course... 'cause you know, we're talking about ME. My ass could never be irresistible to someone like, say, Cristiano Ronaldo).

So there you have it... I went to a gay bar... and while it was fun to see guys weren't being your typical creeps who want to slip GHB into your drink or ass rape you on the dance floor, it was a little annoying to have to watch yourself from the ladies. It was also depressing to see the good-looking drag queens... they do a better job at being a girl than I ever will.
:(

Just sad...
Now if you don't mind... I gotta go shower...
My poor little ass is just a tad bit disturbed...
the Body Pump instructors didn't warn me about this.

What my momma gave me?

I don't like weddings.
I usually attend two or three a year... last year I went overboard by attending 5.
The show of affection burned me the hell out... and I didn't have any desire to attend another wedding for the next two years.

Well... being that I'm Mexican, every Spring becomes Wedding Season, and my goal (of not attending any) is always broken. People rush to the altar like they're getting paid or some shit in my family. If you're female, single, and past 27 years of age, you're a failure (haha... just wait for me, family... I'm gonna be quite the fuck up in your standards. Bachelorette 4 lyyyyfe!). So lately, it's really been sucking balls to go to these things. The couples getting married are my age, if not younger... and I end up sitting at the lonely-but-don't-you-fucking-get-near-me table, wanting to stab myself with the Marriott-provided silverware as I watch couples dance and make-out to shit like Shania Twain's "You're Still The One" (in English and Spanish).

What's that, waitress? Do I want red or white wine? How about you just break that fucking bottle over my head and put me out of my misery? Preferably the red, so it can conceal my running blood a little more successfully.

However, rather than going to a fresh new couple's wedding this Saturday, it's a 25 year wedding anniversary.
I wasn't going to go at first, mainly because the invitation to the party irritated me. It mentioned how you had to wear black or white. I detest "theme" parties. It's cool if you mention that it has to be a suit and tie affair, I can handle that... but when you tell me what colors to wear, you're pushing your luck.
All I really own are black dresses... but I'm still pissed they had to specify "only black and white." You gotta be kidding me. I usually rock black and red. Fuck you, old people. Fuck you (Lent is ALMOST over! Yesss! I'm that much closer to being my regular, super-duper vulgar self again!).
Anyway, I decided to go for at least 2 hours because a friend I haven't seen in over a year is going to be there. I've flaked on her before, so I might as well show up this time.

Since I decided to go, I also decided to buy myself another black dress today. I have a favorite one that looks like this quick doodle:The problem is I've worn that thing to maybe 2 weddings, 2 Quinceañeras, a funeral, AND I took family pictures in it ("Love" does not nearly describe my feelings for that dress)... all in 2006.
The dress is comfortable and flattering. Lots of lace and tulle... and the length's a little past the knee. I do have a problem with the abundance of cleavage it reveals, but shit, something has to be sacrificed so that the damn thing doesn't look like a burlap sac.

I've encountered a couple of uncomfortable scenarios thanks to wearing that dress.
Prime example: I was a little angry prior to the reception of this one wedding in San Diego back in May. Older Brother had gotten us lost in the ghetto because he was following fucking natives because they supposedly knew where it was going to be. We stepped out to ask for assistance at a hotel, and as I stood outside, pacing around, I stumbled into one of the natives (I call him "Walrus" because he looks just like one... a walrus during mating season to be exact. He puffs his already-robust chest out as he walks, he waddles, he has facial hair that look like husks). He's around five foot six, and I was around six feet because of my heels. So... once I turned, Walrus was directly in front of me, maybe eight inches away from my body, with his eyes and nose directly between my chest. I took as big a leap back as possible, made eye contact, and saw the biggest, most disgusting grin/smirk in the universe coming from the old ass man.
He then said:
"My, AnoMALIE... so sure have... grown."

I claim to be ghetto and down to sock fuckers if they ever insinuate anything wrong with me... but at that very moment... I feared for my life. I was alone, with this five foot six pervert-walrus man... in the San Diego ghetto while my family was inside a hotel asking for directions.

I now wear that bitch with a sweater covering me.

So anyway, as a preventive measure from encountering any further sick events I decided to go shopping for a new dress today (there are going to be TONS of middle aged men at this thing... and lots of them are divorced/widowed and those bitches flock to me like... zombies to brains [I was going to say pigs to slop. What a fucked up analogy]
Hey, sweetie, why so lonely?
Because I bite people, you fuck. Now get away from me!).

Mom tagged along to the stores... and didn't see my selection until we got home.
It looks like this (minus the handkerchief covering her eyes in a very S&M fashion) :I liked it because it wasn't skanky (well, it shows a lot of leg... but hey, no old-dirty-walrus-men-attracting cleavage!), and it's all black with some white accents.

However, this was Mom's reaction:
(I walk out... proud of myself, like an idiot)
Mom: What the hell is that?!
Me: A dress!
Mom: You look like a Chinese masseuse!
(I'm quiet and look at my hair in the mirror... Holy shit... she's right)
Mom: And what happened to your boobs?
Me: They're hidden, like I like 'em.
Mom: Te me pones ese vestido de la foto! (You wear that dress from the family picture!) A enseñar lo que te dio tu madre! (Show what your momma gave ya!)

What my momma gave me? I guess that's what happens when you've been an A cup all your life and you give birth to a kid who grows to have DD's. I wish we could just trade so she could show off what her momma gave her... I'm sure the old-dirty-walrus-men would appreciate it.

I still might end up wearing the old-dirty-walrus-men-attracting cleavage dress though... I don't want people to think I'm giving away happy endings while at this thing.

Why don't you try: 40 Kicks?

Note to all Old Men:

Unless you're getting into your Bentley, do not-- I repeat-- DO NOT hit on me and expect me to smile at you... or be in any way courteous. You will get a scowl and quite possibly a digit... my middle one.
For old, flirtatious men in Bentleys: Not only will you receive the above mentioned treatment, but you might get the addition of some verbal abuse. Douchhhhe Bagggggggs.

I don't understand what goes through these men's heads. How do they think that they, some 50+ year old men, can get any sort of positive reaction from (normal) 20-something-year old girls when they try to flirt? How in the hell is that appropriate... or even appealing to anyone? Why not swing that built up... whatever the fuck you're feeling, to a woman closer to your age range? I'm sure they're in much more desperate need of your Neanderthal-esque love overtures than I am.
Are you lonely and you want someone to talk to? Cool. Just don't fucking lick your lips while speaking to me... don't wink at me after saying a word like "pole"... and don't cup your (sometimes not so) imaginary breasts whenever you see me.

I only mention this because for maybe the tenth time, a man much older than my father shamelessly hit on me and my friend (my friend and me?) as we walked out of Target. It was appalling. Made me a little angry because he felt it necessary to get in our face about it. He reached for us (me, because I was closer to his... pedophile-ass) and then proceeded to make hand gestures and all that shit when we walked away. God knows what would have happened if he landed a hand on me. No one touches me... much less a sick ass old man.
I hate old perverts.

That's the last fucking time I wear a Rolling Stones shirt...