lobsters in a tank

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

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

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

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

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

The hero

I guess this is the part in my story where the hero comes to my rescue after I have lost all hope.

Life is SUCH A FUCKING TRIP!
After quite possibly the most traumatic week of my life (this whole election bullshit has made me physically ill... where I've fainted in the middle of bootcamp and have felt nauseated all damn day. That same visceral reaction I have to news that upsets me horrifically), like in a fucking movie... the hero in my life reappears.

Today, out of the blue, at around 6pm, I logged on to FB to notice I had a new friend request. Rolling my eyes, I clicked on the notification expecting some annoying middle aged person from Hometown... but instead saw the name... a name I have been looking for since high school: Mario, the boy from the Red Ruffles story from a few years ago.

HE'S ALIVE!
He's a fucking stereotypical Raiders fan... but he's fucking ALIVE! And FREE.
I screamed.
I almost cried.
I shivered like a dog with no shelter in the middle of a rainstorm.
All over an ex-convict.

I had not seen this guy since 1998... I felt elated.
My one protector during one of the most difficult times of my life... the one voice telling me I was beautiful when the majority were taking time trying to drown me in the negative;
The boy from the wrong side of the tracks who showed me and only me the depth of his soul:
Mario.

And it did not take him more than five minutes to remind me I was beautiful, that I am "prettier" now.

Like... man... I fucking cried with joy... that bittersweet joy... of just how fucking FUCKED life is.

Is he trying to get in my pants like some dads my age are nowadays? Probably. Do I care? No. I'm happy to know he's out there... and it makes me blush to know he went through the trouble of looking for me. I feel... even if it's not the case, I feel as though... someone with whom I've intersected in life still remembers that time, and remembers it fondly. It makes me feel like I matter... like I'm memorable... like I really did mean something to him. It satiates that desire, that dream, that little line I'd constantly tell myself, the line I so badly wanted to believe during my lows: someone out there is looking for YOU.
After over a decade dealing with these situation where guys I think so highly about are constantly reminding me how fucking worthless I am to them, how forgettable and often obnoxious/burdensome I am... there's this kid I shared memories with twenty years ago... and he still thinks fondly of me.
That means the fucking world to me... especially right now.

This feeling is so fucking weird.

I am a nerdy shy girl... whose been on the back of the mind of a hardcore ex-con... and it makes me blush...
What?!

A fantasy

Ok, I think I'm somewhat recovered from the drama that was this visit from the Costa Ricans.

I seriously underestimated how upsetting it is to deal with a crumbling marriage.

When I first met this couple, they proudly showed me the framed newspaper cutout where the guy asked the girl to be his girlfriend in a cartoon... that was in the city capital's newspaper... a cartoon HE drew for HER and paid to be placed in the fucking newspaper.
I remember being a little cynical about it... thinking that perhaps this was a bit too much... because I'm a bitter cunt.
We were all sitting in the living room-- my folks, the Costa Rican couple, their two daughters, and me-- and I watched as the daughters caressed the picture frame, smiling and saying they wished their future husbands would do the same for them.
"And then they got married. And then we were born," the youngest said.

When I saw the motherfucking drama these two supposed-soulmates were bringing to MY house, this image kept popping into my head. I'd think of the stark contrast between the daughters, especially the eldest... that poor girl was making a heart out of her intestines (Mexican slang right there... quite possibly my favorite, because it's so accurate. Your heart is gone, so you make do with what is left-- and that's your goddamn disgusting intestines). Her parents were being children, and SHE was the one responsible for talking sense into them, all while disciplining her spoiled baby sister. This fourteen year old girl was being the adult in the entire situation... and her sad little eyes are a thing I'm sure will haunt me for years.

In the final days of the Costa Ricans' visit,  my folks sat down with the husband (this was on Sunday) and tried seeing his side of the problem. His wife and daughters had stayed Saturday night at the woman's family's home, because they planned going to church together. The husband is Catholic (the wife is Protestant, so apparently that wouldn't work), so he used it as an excuse to return to MY house with my father, claiming he was going to work with my Pops Sunday morning. My folks saw this as an opportunity to "talk sense into him." I saw it as an opportunity to lock myself in my room and disconnect the wifi to prevent myself from beating the fucking shit out of him.
(Friday afternoon I damn near beat him... seriously... I was ready to pound into his fucking face that afternoon after I returned from the gym and he jumped into MY shower I had prepared for myself. Before heading to the gym, I gave them my time frame-- I'd be coming home at 2:45ish, take a quick shower, then give them a tour of the city. This gave them an hour and a half to get ready, and I told them to do just that. When I got home, I checked up on them, told them I was going to hop in the shower, turned it on, RAN to the laundry room to get a fresh towel, and by the time I RAN back to the bathroom, I heard the dumb son of a bitch locking the bathroom doors. I almost fainted from the rage, and used up ALL of my self-restraint to keep from kicking down the bathroom door. "HE'S JUST NOW GETTING IN THE SHOWER?! WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO ALL MOTHERFUCKING DAY?! FUCK IT, WE'RE LEAVING. WE'RE LEAVING RIIIIIGHT NOW!" I screamed as I changed into my clothes, grabbed my wallet and car keys. The wife and oldest daughter were ready to bounce, but the youngest made time, sitting down on the floor, claiming "We should wait for Daddy! Poor Daddy!" and I glared down at the kid... biting my tongue to keep from telling her to pity HERSELF... "poor Daddy" was going to ditch THEM once they got home. However, instead of getting cruel on the child, I grabbed my shit, threw it into my bedroom, and locked myself in for the remainder of the day. GOOD LUCK, KID! Hope you remain that fucking thoughtful for the piece of shit who traded you for some dumb, gold-digging married bitch)

What did we learn Sunday-Monday? That this marriage is done... that it took two people to destroy it... that being stubborn gets you nowhere.
Apparently, the guy is "tired of trying" because the girl is a spoiled Daddy's Girl who spend too much time caring for her paraplegic brother.
"What about me?! You know what I've always wanted to do? Go to a restaurant and SIT DOWN to have my meal... NOT order 'to go,'" he said.
Apparently, the wife refuses to do family stuff with just her nuclear family, and invited her folks and the paraplegic brother... and in turn, these people always order "to go" because they're too embarrassed to be seen in public with the brother.
I listened to his EXCUSES for ending the marriage... fighting the urge to slap him across the face... good thing I was locked in my room... and yes, that's how loud they were conversing in the kitchen.
"Tell me the truth, you already have another woman, don't you? A man doesn't let go of a marriage, and leaves his house and kids unless they already have another woman waiting," said my mother.
"No, but one is starting to appear," he said.
Again, I wanted to walk to my living room and drop kick his ass.
I HAVE FACEBOOK! THE STUPID CUNT YOU'RE CHEATING WITH HAS A PUBLIC PROFILE! I SEE WHEN YOU LIKE AND COMMENT HER SHIT, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE! YOUR WIFE READ YOUR FUCKING TEXT MESSAGES WITH THE WHORE OUT LOUD! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!

But my parents are classier than I am. They calmly listened to this piece of shit lie, and walked away.

Now, what do I think? I agree that the wife is a "daddy's girl." I agree that she is pretty... uh... helpless. When we went to Disneyland, we made a pit-stop at a Golden Corral, where I treated the couple and their 14 year old to the buffet. When we were going to walk in, the wife "tried" opening the door, struggled, and said it was locked.
I looked at my watch and said "That's odd... it's 10:30AM, it should be open by now." I reached for the door, and easily opened it. We all looked over at the wife, and she giggled "That door was hard as a rock!"
Another complaint from the husband is that the wife doesn't discipline her children, and refuses to let HIM discipline them. To this, I can also attest. Monday night, as I watched the girls pack their bags, I looked over to where my painting are kept, and noticed one of my unfinished paintings was just chilling there, with a gash running down the center.
"What the... wha... WHO did this?" I asked, grabbing the painting.
The 14 year old quickly denied, and looked directly at the youngest.
"It wasn't me. Why's everyone looking at me?" she asked.
The little one walked up to me, trying her best puppy-dog eyes... and this only angered me.
Kid, I'm fucking heartless... have you not learned?
"Because you're the only ones in here. This painting was fine when I let you girls stay in my room. There are no ghosts. No one else walked in here," I said.
I looked at the mom and she smiled... like this was some fucking comedy.
"So who did this?" I asked.
The oldest girl was hellbent on getting the little one to admit to her wrongdoing, and looked just as irritated as me with the lack of concern from the mother.
I did not get an apology from ANY of them... so I walked out of the room and angrily texted my sister and friends about the incident... as far away as possible from anyone in my house.

So, yeah, I fucking get it... sort of. But still, I don't agree with the manner in which it was all approached.
Also, we asked the husband if we could get both of them together and talk it out. Sometimes you need others to point out your flaws... maybe if we told the wife it was damn time she start behaving like an adult, she might change.
The wife WANTED to do it, he did not.
(He had thrown a lot of the fault on her... which... could have easily been cleared up with BOTH parties present... only the guilty don't want to talk it out)

***

Back in September, when they Skyped me to tell me the news of their visas being granted, they begged me to "please don't be married by January." I laughed, told the Costa Ricans that was definitely not a concern... that I'd definitely not have a boyfriend, much less be married by January.
How quickly, and ironically things seem to change.
While these people drained the fucking life out of me (it hurts to watch kids swallow the story that everything will be ok. Trying to build as big of a fantasy as Disneyland tends to feed... all while knowing the stark reality of a situation-- your father is going to ditch you upon your arrival to the homeland-- is painful and difficult as fuck)... I do wish them... healing.
What else is there to hope for something like this? It's so fucked up... and insane... that this little family that once seemed so freakishly loving and bonded, is going through this shit. It's disappointing-- as jaded as I may be-- to see "love" not just crumble, but EXPLODE out of existence.

I hope that I somehow managed to repay at least a portion of the kindness they always showed me the times I visited them in Costa Rica (I know throwing money at something doesn't always help, but I'll fucking try my hardest to at least ease the pain a bit... it can help keep one's mind preoccupied)... and gave them nearly as many happy memories as they gave me.

cheaters never prosper

Well, I'll be fucking damned...

I'll never complain about my parents arguing, because despite their frustration with one another, they remain loyal... and adhere to the commitment they made, contract they signed: I'm sucking this shit up until one of us croaks of natural causes.

I never knew how tight wound I was as far as infidelity is concerned. I mean, I knew I was a stickler-- it's why I'm single as good ol' dollar bills... well, you know, partly due to that. But yeah, I don't feel capable of sticking with a dude for the rest of my life... at least I haven't felt that way about any of the guys who have shown interest in me (again, because the guys I've always liked have wanted nothing to do with me).

Dealing with this couple has made me fall into some despair, because I had never dealt with infidelity/marriage deterioration in such proximity. I'm just an observer, but goddamn, is it heartbreaking.
I've spent more on the two daughters of this fucked up couple (I don't like referring to them like that, because the girl is such a sweet person... but in the last five days I've seen her transform into a jaded, cynical woman. It devastates me) in the last week than I spent on myself the last half of 2015.

At Disney, I'm pretty sure I was the only person frowning. I couldn't muster the heart to smile because I kept watching this family interact and my mind couldn't stop thinking about the sadness this trip will carry for the kids in the future-- "the last trip as a family we ever took... and it was to Disney."
They'll think of it as "remembering the good ol' days," a time when their parents' marriage "might have" been salvageable in the children's eyes, but to the rest of us observing the scene, it was blatantly... painfully obvious that there was no turning back-- hatred finally entered the heart of the mother.

The wife, Mom, Pacemaker (she joined us and caught on to what was going on without me telling her), and I watching this fucking imbecile man buy HIS LOVER all sorts of Disney shit, while his daughters and wife just wished to own something from the place (I tried buying them stuff, but they adamantly refused because we had already paid for their entry fees and hotel... and we drove them out there. By "they" I mean the wife and kids... the husband doesn't mind taking as much as he can).
This made me SO sick to my stomach... to see this fucking asshole behave this way... but opted not to make a scene... because it was motherfucking DISNEYLAND. The audacity and shamelessness of this piece of shit irked me to the point of giving me a headache that lasted two days.

All this observing has made me incredibly resentful of the man. I go out without inviting him, but I take his wife and kids EVERYWHERE. When he asks me a question, my reply is ALWAYS "I don't know." Always. I am NEVER alone with that guy, ever. Fuck that motherfucker. The good guy I met in CR died the day he decided his wife and kids were a burden... when he decided he "wanted to experience what normal guys" his age experience... when he decided his dick was more important than the self-esteem and comfort of his children.

Fuuuuuuuuck that guy, man. Fuck. That. Guy.

Leve her sleeping

I have been dying to find the time/moment to update this past week.

Jesus. Christ.
All fucking hell is breaking loose, and for once, it's not happening to me-- I'm just standing in the middle of it trying not to get trampled in the madness

I waited too long to update. My father's birthday came and went... that in itself was interesting because I had to deal with his family who decided to drop by unannounced. This visit included one of the cousins with which I'm in the most fucking acrimonious relationship after she failed to invite me to her baby shower IN A TIMELY FASHION. I was trying to be a fucking adult, and swallowed my pride... I was gifting these bitches some of my most prized art pieces (mainly because one of the bitches was part of the collection. The photo session had taken place during happier times), and for the first time, I felt like MAYBE they realized I'm sort of a good fucking person, who gets motherfucking offended and doesn't give them a free fucking pass. It was my "Look, you pissed me the fuck off with your goddamn shitty behavior towards me, I didn't act like it was ok... but I'm fucking over it now... please quit giving me more reasons to want to go to your house and break all the motherfucking mirrors and windows. We're family. I'm a dumb, forgiving bitch. Let's be cool again, I want to laugh with your once more," gift.
And... I think we're cool now. I think? I mean, I did my damn part. I'm done. I let that shit go. I quit. Whatever. There are more pressing issues.

I also received my passport. It took 10 days. Fucking shockingly awesome.
I look like shit, but that was expected, so I'm not even angry about it.

My acne is chillin the fuck out, too. I purchased some new facial shit, and surprise, surprise, I look like a post-puberty female... like... I'm in college or some shit, not some stressful highschool AP classes. This adds to my happiness, so it's all good.

NOW... the drama:
Remember the Costa Rican family I met... almost four years ago?
The family who was incredibly sweet and welcoming... with that one brother-in-law who messaged me some gross, creepy shit on FB before I knew how to screenshot incriminating evidence?
WELL, ok, they're in town. For years, they worked on getting a travel visa to the States, they finally were granted their wish in September, and they arrived last Saturday.
Now, I SORT of figured the couple (who have 14 and 9 year old girls) were having marital problems because about two months ago they had a public fight on FB. The argument was somewhat in code, never mentioning exactly WHAT the issue was, but I just figured someone fucked up.
I never received a message from them telling me the trip was off, quite the contrary, I received messages from both the guy and his wife... where we discussed who was picking them up, and where they were going to stay.
I received conflicting information, but thought nothing of it besides "Man, these people have idiot relatives... how the fuck are we BOTH going to show up to the airport?"
So, they show up last Saturday... and at the airport, I see it's me, and their actual relatives chillin' at baggage claim.
After some discussion, it is agreed they will be staying with the relatives for three nights, and we get them for the remainder of their stay (until February 2nd).
Cool up until then.
We got them back Wednesday night (THAT was some bullshit... they showed up at my house at 1 in the morning, and I wanted to stab motherfuckers for waking me up from my slumber).
I didn't notice anything weird because I left for the gym at the same time they woke up for "breakfast." In the afternoon we all went to a kid's birthday party, where I noticed the husband sat on the complete opposite side of the table from his wife, and as soon as he finished his meal, left to the other side of the HOUSE... leaving his wife and daughters sitting alone at their table (I was a table over, because there was no room with the Costa Ricans).
That night, I was sorting through my recorded shows in my room, in complete silence (because who the fuck talks to themselves when doing that sort of shit?) when I hear the wife completely losing her shit in my sister's room.
The woman was sobbing as violently as I've ever heard anyone sob... and her 14 year old was telling her to chill the fuck out, that she "saw everything."
That's when I knew all shit was about to break loose. I had the option of sitting in my room like a heartless sociopath... or comforting a 37 year old crying mother.

Me: Uh... is... everything ok?
(Might I add, I had a facial mask on because, again, I'm fucking old and I'm trying to fix my fucked up face)
Her, through violent sobs: I guess... you... al...ready... noticed.
Me:... no?
Her: That... th...things... aren't... ok... with... me and... (starts crying out loud)
(I look at the 14 year old, concerned and upset as shit. What the fuck did I just do?! I should have acted like I was sleeping)
Her: He.... leftTwoMonthsAgo (cries inconsolably, loud... not giving a fuck who hears her)
Me: Ohmygod, ohmygod...
Her: I just... I... I feel... I'm so embarrassed.
Me: No no no. Don't be... oh my god.

She continues to cry like a lost toddler... wiping away at her eyes like... a lost little toddler... and I feel a knot in my throat and I hug the poor girl as she stands in the doorway between my room and the bathroom. She starts to tremble and shake from her sobbing, and I swear I'm about ready to lose my shit too... because that is quite possibly the saddest thing to feel-- another human being breaking down in my arms is not something I've felt often... it's usually just me doing it on my own in the privacy of my room, in complete darkness. So I just tighten my hug of her and pat her back gently, telling her it's ok.
We do this for a good two minutes (an eternity), then she finally catches her breath to talk some more.

Her: I wanted to cancel the trip. But he told me "I deserved the trip." I told him we should have told you guys before coming here. I told him we needed to be upfront about it... and he said... that we needed to fake it. Not to bother you guys.
Me: I'm sorry...
Her: One day he just... changed. He told me he no longer felt anything for me... and he just... slept in the living room... then one day, I returned from work, and all of his stuff was gone. He left me and the girls in the house. Out of the blue. He left each one of us a note... telling us how much he loved us and what great people we were... but he left us... no explanation. I have no proof that it's another woman, but someone has changed him... this is not the man I've known for 16 years. And to see how these poor babies have suffered... how they've cried for him, is what hurts me most. How they're here crying, broken hearted, and HE DOESN'T CARE. He has seen them TWICE in these two months. And here, these poor girls are excited thinking our problems will be solved now with this trip... that we'll get back together... and I love him, I STILL love him... and I was a fool for thinking all was going to be well... because he had been so sweet in the airport, and these last couple of days at my cousin's house... but the moment we got here, he changed. He kicked me out of the bedroom last night. Then today at the party he just abandons me with such anger, like I did something to him... embarrasses me publicly like I am the absolute worst. I don't get it!

By now, I'm ANGRY. Things are starting to make sense, and I'm ANGRY... so I quit protecting people and speak up.
Me: Oh... now it all makes sense. Of course he wanted you to put on the act like everything was fine... because he knows HE is the one who did wrong, and if we knew, he'd be fucked... we have NO tolerance for that bullshit. NONE. You don't do that to your kids, you don't do that to another person. He would not have been welcomed here. I figured something was going on because I did see your sister have that public argument on FB once...
Her: That was the night he left the house...
Me: Ok. And then when we were making these plans, he did mention how I had to take him clubbing... and I told him how you and I had agreed that WASN'T going to happen because it was too cold, then he said that it was ok, that we'd just leave YOU sleeping in your room... I found that strange.
Her: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed.
Me: DON'T be. It's not your fault. I flat out told him NO, that it was NOT going to happen. What a fucking asshole. What terrible influences he must be surrounding himself...
Her: I don't know what his problem is... but he's under the impression that he's 15 again... like he's some rich conquistador... RICH WITH DEBT is what he is! He doesn't have a penny to his name! But all these bitches see him with all this shit... that HE OWES. The moment they find out, he's getting dumped as far as their arm can throw. That fat piece of shit.

So there I am, listening to her go from heartbreak to anger and indignation. I tell her to calm down, that all will be well, and that I will no longer force them to put on the act... that she is free to act as she likes... go sleep with her daughters if she chooses, that none of us will judge her for it. As far as her husband, we will NOT be showing him around. FUCK that guy.

And she starts crying again, thinking about her kids.
I tell her she might want to talk to my mother... and that I could talk to my father, so that this fucking idiot doesn't go around with impunity in MY HOUSE, taking advantage of MY SHIT.
So I arrange for her to have a conversation with my mother.

Knowing my mother's backstory, of course she is completely outraged with the revelation, and gives solid advice.
Guess who overheard. The dickhead.
Friday morning the girls wake up fresh as roses, and the fucking piece of excrement is silent... like a fucking dog who nows it did some fucked up shit.

I have no clue if my father knows what is going on, but I have no doubt the fucking cheater is making up stories, trying to cushion his fall from my father's grace... desperate, cheating men do that... they play the victim card-- I fucking know, I've seen them work that angle... the "I'm so fucking angry at you for some made up reason because you just found out what a piece of shit I am so now I'm going to act angry to make you paranoid and guilty."

No, bitch. Not me. I have the screen captures... I have all those fucking winking faces and euphemisms saved. FUCK. YOU.

Indeed, I did feel uncomfortable, downright paranoid when I was first getting his messages.
"Is this... motherfucker hitting on me? WHO does he think he is? WHY would I in any one of his fantasies EVER be interested in him? I'm too YOUNG, SMART, and RICH for that shit... goddamn, I'm to motherfucking PRETTY for his troll piece of shit ass. GET. THE FUCK. OUT.
... but don't be conceited. Just ignore it, AnoMALIE."

I asked a couple of friends for advice, just to make sure what actions I should take... if I was justified in what I suspected, because men have mindfucked me so much into thinking I'M the one who is making shit up. It was agreed I keep the imbecile at bay, but not disclose the information to his wife.
But then this happened... so... FUCK sparing him from anybody else's wrath-- he deserves it ALL. I did nothing wrong, and I never gave him reason to think he had any sort of shot with me... and I'm game for making piece of trash like that PAY. Get read for the heat, motherfucker.

So, guys, I'm having a bitch of a time out here... trying to juggle these poor girls from feeling bad, or seeing their parents belittle one another, comforting the poor wife (who is very much like me. We're equally "sweet" and doormat-y), while letting the POS husband know he's TRASH. (oh, god, I forgot to mention how Thursday afternoon--before the party-- we went to the mall... and I lived the most fucking surreal moment. It was a straight scene from Love Actually, but twisted as hell. We went to a perfume shop, were we watched the husband buy "his boss" a $100 bottle of perfume "discreetly" and then throw a fit when his wife wanted a $30 bottle. The wife later told me how he has been buying a bunch of fancy female shit, and he "hasn't even given me a pencil!" Basically, I am seeing him buy his lover all sorts of shit. It's great. sarcasm)

Let me say this again:
I AM NEVER GETTING MARRIED.

De cualquier modo

While in Chicago at the start of this month (I think it was something like July 8-13th. Feels like a fucking eternity ago for some reason), I managed to get my sister to admit to moving out there for a guy-- you know, what we ALL suspected.
Also during this time, I saw this guy (the dude for whom my sister moved to Chicago) for the second time in my life (first time I saw him was the same time Sister first saw him, which was back in September of 2010. I'm pretty sure there's an angsty post about that shit if I'd bother to check on here). I wouldn't necessarily call this Chicago trip "great," but it was pretty cool... more like educational... lots of prime people-watching was done (most of it bumming me the fuck out because I kept noticing how I AM the fucking anomaly of the group... actually, just a straight up anomaly of a human. I am totally not normal or average or typical. I'm one weird, odd case). Much, MUCH people-watching relating to romance was done. Hook ups and break ups and unreciprocated feelings were observed.
One thing in particular that irritated me was my sister's relationship with her guy. They had been in an argument where he had just dumped her a week earlier, but while I was with Sister, they were making up.
Things with Sister and her dude were good by the time I left the city.
Fast-forward to this weekend, which was a cousin's wedding to which my sister flew back home to attend with us.
Sister: Ugh. *Dude* is being a fucking asshole again... all fucking weird and moody... telling me not to talk to him because I offended him with a joke. I wish he were back to how he was when you were in Chicago. I'm mad at him now.
Me: I don't even want to hear it anymore. I'm mad at YOU for putting yourself through this again. How many times has he dumped you? You're an idiot for not moving on. You bring this onto yourself.

My self-righteous ass is one to talk. Here I am getting frustrated with my sister for her strong adherence to this dysfunctional relationship with a clearly damaged man... yet I have always been one to gravitate towards dysfunctionality as well. I only have to look back to that hell year that was 4th grade where my "friends" would beat my ass day in and day out to remember that I too participated in that strange behavior of staying put in an abusive relationship.
People show us they're not worth a shit, yet there we go again... back into the cycle of emotional abuse.

This brings me to my current frustration/drama with my godson. I am an absolute FOOL trying to act like this is the first time he shows his true colors. I remember a few years back he broke my heart when he did something to ruin my school/work plans by slighting me... something like that, I forgot the details of the situation because it was so upsetting to me. Point is, I KNEW the potential was there, I KNEW he was not loyal, I knew his word did not mean much... I KNEW he did not hold me in the same esteem. I had all these red flags, and FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE, and yet I still went ahead and steamrolled that shit... STILL taking him with me to Europe.

I damn this very fucking stupid trait of mine... this loyalty bullshit I acquire for someone who has helped me through a difficult time... this attachment and eternal gratitude I acquire for anyone who has taken the time to put a smile on my face. That fucking shit gets me in trouble... and yet I can't seem to kill this tendency.

Bad episodes of disillusionment put me in a predicament I hate. On one hand, I want to be much more ruthless, to cut out any tenderness in my heart so as to possess the ability to destroy someone with the same violence they used to destroy my faith in them. I want to be horrible and vindictive and HURT them where it counts... cause SO much fucking emotional damage to an outed ingrate, they'll have nightmares about me for the remainder of their life. I want to FUCK. THEM. UP.
ON THE OTHER hand, I want to remain... kind. I want to be the girl who remains... selfless and eternally grateful and at someone's service. I WANT to be that person... even when I know MANY of these people will see me as nothing more than an imbecile who deserves to be taken advantage of (I hate ending a sentence in a preposition, but fuck it). I want to remain the exception to the rule... the rule that even a good girl goes bad... that everyone has a breaking point. I want to prove someone out there can remain good-- dependable, sincerely fucking dependable... with zero ulterior motives aside from seeing YOU happy. Honestly. That's what I want, what I've always wanted. I want to help others be happy... even if it means I'm going to fucking pay for it at the end.
As furious as betrayal makes me... it comes nowhere near as strongly as the sense of fulfillment I get when I know I've helped someone out. But it fucking hurts to remain this way... and I get angry each time I catch myself getting hurt by someone's betrayal after I've helped them.
It's just so fucking nonsensical.
Does anything which I just mentioned make sense? Am I weird? I don't even know why I bother to ask that anymore, I fucking KNOW I'm weird.
I have a problem. I'm a fucking masochist. I'm an idiot.

... or maybe, just deep down inside, woven tightly into the fabric of my being, I whole-heartedly believe in this (I first saw it attributed to Mother Teresa, and only just now read up on the actual story of the actual author):
ANYWAY
People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered,
LOVE THEM ANYWAY
If you do good, people will accuse you of
selfish, ulterior motives,
DO GOOD ANYWAY
If you are successful,
you win false friends and true enemies,
SUCCEED ANYWAY
The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow,
DO GOOD ANYWAY
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable,
BE HONEST AND FRANK ANYWAY
What you spent years building may be
destroyed overnight,
BUILD ANYWAY
People really need help
but may attack you if you help them,
HELP PEOPLE ANYWAY
Give the world the best you have
And you'll get kicked in the teeth,
GIVE THE WORLD THE BEST YOU'VE GOT ANYWAY.

... I just don't want others to be miserable-- the thought of anyone else feeling as horrible as me kills me. I'll do anything to get a smile out of them... even if in the end I'm the one who winds up shedding tears. And that's my truth.

bullets

Today marks my big television debut...
Hahaha... no, not television... I mean, it's on a certain streaming platform... not like people with shitty internet connection (like I do) would be able to see it.
And I'm pretty sure I'll be seen in only one episode... well, I hope that's all... no, in truth, I hope they somehow found a way to crop me out, or just deleted the scene... but no, I'm pretty fucking prominent... so... I'll more than likely show up... and I REALLY hope no one who knows me watches (hence why I won't give more information here).

I'm a little more alert now. Last night I found myself falling asleep in the middle of my typing. I finished the entry feeling like I do when I embark on a driving mission from Hometown, and we hit the horrible hell that is the area between Phoenix and Las Vegas-- that stretch of road is the worst torture of the 20+ hours of non-stop driving (your brain tells you you're almost home, and it gives you a little buzz... but the road is dark and desolate, nothing to stare at in hopes of keeping your mind busy, so your eyes begin to feel heavy as lead. It's horrible).

Anyway, the young man I wrote about last night was none other than good ol' MGH.
His cousin called me to complain about his behavior... hoping to get me to somehow fix the situation.
"AnoMALIE, he got KICKED OUT OF THE CASINO because they caught him in the bathroom with some girl doing... well, you know!" she said.
"Blow?" I asked.
"...Job... Among other things. Not drugs," she said.
"He's always had those tendencies... randomly fucking girls, regardless of his relationship status. I learned that... umm... five years ago, when I took him to Cancun," I said.
"All I could think was about how terrible I feel for *HisCurrentGirlfriend*!" she said.
"Yeah, he has always been putting me in the predicament. We'll be hanging out and I'll suddenly see him doing some shady, dirty shit with a complete stranger. I'll have to look away, because I feel guilty, but I'm not his mom to chastise him or try to correct him... so I choose not to deal with it at all and just let him fuck up his own life."

His cousin (Pacemaker) was discussing this subject with me for a good half-hour. I had to try and help her shake off the guilt.
Like I said last night, this whole situation had me thinking back to the huge explosion I had with this guy, MGH. The painful heartbreak I was in for SO fucking long. That weird-ass relationship of ours. I told that dude stuff I've never told other guys. I was closer to him than I've ever been with any guy. I was seriously moments away from moving out there for him.
I had some of the most entertaining moments of my life with that guy... and some of the most sour. I don't think I've cried so much thanks to a guy than I did with MGH. Homeboy had me fucked up.

The heartbreak I have with Darcy is SO NOT like the one with MGH-- for one, Darcy never EVER ever acknowledged me as... even a romantic POSSIBILITY. He has absolutely zero fault over my heartbreak (well... ummm... I do get upset over how I'm PREEEEEEEETTYYYYYY fucking sure he knew of my feelings for him and how he STILL tried to pin me onto a dude I repeatedly told I had ZERO interest in... but whatever. Bros before hoes, right? Trying to do his buddy a solid. Whatever. But still, all of that shit PALES in comparison to the fucking BULLSHIT stunts MGH deliberately pulled on me). It's just shit that happens when you're a shy, quiet idiot who yearns for someone she'll perpetually hold a candle for, but never actually go for... mainly because it's totally unrequited. It's what we shy folk do... because we're fucking dumb and don't know how to fix that tendency. It's the life of an emotionally fucked up introvert. Whatever.
But MGH lead me on. And used me. Shamelessly used me. He'd hold that proverbial carrot in front of me and watch as I'd faithfully follow in hopes of catching it. I was a blind moron and he used that to his advantage... just handing me crumbs the moment he'd catch me moving on, just to reel me back in.
I kept him company during the difficult time he had readjusting to life in a foreign country when he was a teen. I kept him from feeling alone... the kid's a social butterfly, "alone time" kills them. I encouraged him when he needed it, made him laugh when he had an extra shitty day, and stroked his ego when he was feeling ugly and fat (not to mention I physically massaged his back for HOURS almost every time I saw him). I'd stay up until four in the morning sometimes, video-chatting with him until one of us was completely exhausted.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I regret all that stuff... 'cause I'd be lying if I said that shit wasn't fun, or that it didn't help ME feel better... because it was fun, and those laughs/smiles are memories I'll cherish.
But man, was that shit draining... and... well, it fucked me up to watch him flirt and fuck all these girls, just random, forgettable girls... indiscriminately... and I'd have to pretty much beg for him to HUG me. Today, I hug that cat left and right, but back then? Homeboy acted like I had some contagious skin disease... or I was made of some deadly high voltage or some shit.
The years of the back and forth finally led to my angry outburst, demanding to know WHY he treated me the way he did... why he never gave me an honest decent shot, the title of his girlfriend, when he knew and SAW how much I loved him. "AM I NOT A GIRL?! I fucking love you! To me you are perfect!"
And his response is one of those sentences that is burned into my memory:
... I don't know what to say... ?

Nothing. You don't need to say anything.

And I cried. I cried for fucking months.
I couldn't stop crying because I felt so... unloveable. Here I had this guy, who had known me for the majority of our lives, and who knew things about me that no one else knew... who knew me better than any guy on the planet... and he STILL was unwilling to give ME a shot.  Still unwilling to go give me a shot knowing exactly how strongly I felt for him, and how much I was willing to do for him. The same guy I spent years watching as he hooked up with the ugliest, dumbest, sluttiest, trashiest, grossest girls... patiently waiting for him to finally call me next... was turning ME down. I was considered LESS than these LEGITIMATE whores. At least, that was my thought process at the time.
Nothing feels shittier than that. Nothing had ever made me feel so insignificant.

But eventually, I picked myself up, and chose our friendship over everything.
And I continued to watch him go back to his ways of random hook-ups... this while he was now dating a new girl. I'd see his lovey posts to her... all that corny, love-struck bullshit, only to later watch him become a dog once he was in Vegas, away from his girl.

I thought he had finally changed with this new girl... but I guess I was wrong.

So yeah... a few years back I was distraught over this rejection. My sense of self-worth was non-existent.
Now I... well, I'm glad it happened.
Painful as shit to experience, but MAN, I sure fucking dodged a giant bullet.
This was just... stubbing my toe on a corner, really.

Now I really hope his close friends don't think I'm his side-piece, because what kind of fucking idiot hangs around a guy for 22 years without ever fucking him, right?
(This idiot. This idiot who apparently wasn't a girl until about... three years ago)

Niña no fui

These last few weeks have been the fucking shittiest.
And now I'm fighting the flu... which is always fun.
The only two employees my folks had working full time quit as soon as we returned from vacation, and all hell has broken loose since then. My dad goes in and works the morning shifts every day, and my mom goes in for the afternoon-closing shift. I go and "keep Mom company" (don't want to say something that will have me lose my healthcare benefits, especially since I'm not getting paid for my time) once the sun goes down. This is every day.

Aside from the primary job of my folks, we're also working our asses off rebuilding a house we're supposed to have prepared for February 1st. That whole remodeling shit is terrible because we're working against the clock each day, since we haven't even hooked up the electricity. Each day we have until around 4pm to get as much done before we lose sunlight.
I now know more about building a fucking house than I ever thought I'd know... or would fucking care to know. Goddamn stereotypes are true as fuck... I'm fucking AMAZING at house remodeling... my perfectionism comes into play and I build/paint/sweep/cut/break/sweet/push/mend/clean like a motherfucking MASTER. It's tedious work, but I'll be fucking damned if I hand over a half-assed product. I'm polishing the FUCK out of everything. And I know it won't be returned to us in the same condition we rent it out, but there I am, still scrubbing/painting/sanding/chiseling away like motherfucking Michelangelo n shit.

Have I mentioned all this before? I don't remember, because I'm so tired and frustrated, it's hard for me to concentrate. It doesn't help that I have people on my ass, complaining and nagging about my behavior... and that just further aggravates me... it fucking rattles me. Needy folk stress the fucking shit out of me.

Yesterday I did return one of the calls I had missed earlier in the week.
I shouldn't have.
Now all I can think of is what... a jerk a certain dude can be.
It also makes me sit in awe over how the world works... how everything really does happen for a reason... as shitty as that fucking event may seem at the time.
"Why not me?! What's so wrong with ME? AM I NOT A GIRL?!" That famous meltdown of mine from like... Jesus, that was six years ago... man... Oh, anyway, yeah, that meltdown I look back on and realize that uh... that was probably the best blessing ever. Good Lord, I'm happy I wasn't a girl to him back then... fuck!

Patient. I must be patient.
And less naive. 

At 25

Today was a beautiful day.
Sure, it rained in the morning-- time at which I had to walk to the metro to head to the airport to pickup Clemson.
It was also raining when Pacemaker, Clemson and I decided to head to the grocery store.
However, once sunset rolled around, the skies were completely clear.

Yesterday was odd, and useless, because my brother was involved in a fender bender with a taxi. He got the embassy involved and it was a complete brouhaha. Because of the drama, my brother didn't come home until past 9PM, so we basically stayed home and tried cheering him up.
Today we thought would go the same way, but we actually had time to go out to a bar and chill for a few hours.

Things are awkward-ish... because his friends are pretty different from me.
There was a moment where I was a complete mute, because one of the girls went off talking about how dumb it is for my parents to believe their daughters would not have already had sex by age 25 (we were discussing my folks' upset nature when Sister left the nest).
It is beyond weird to sit there and be like "Yeah... totally fucking stupid... 25 year old virgins... in Vegas... pffft!" I sit there like "Yeah, man, totally... I've fucked my good number of dudes. Totally. I fucking love fucking!" I have to fight the urge to burst out laughing... then crying. It feels pretty awful, actually. It feels shitty to be such a rare person out there... pretty fucking shitty. And then to once again ruminate on the whole "well, I should just fuck to get it over with," but then always coming up with the same conclusion that NO, no man, I don't have any interest in fucking. No interest and no rush to fuck. And so... you just end up feeling like such a fucking freak.
So yeah, this girl made that comment and I chuckled a "Yeah..." then spent the rest of the night thinking about the subject and being unable to shake off the thought that I'm such a fucking weirdo.
Drinking while thinking about sex--or lack thereof-- is never a good thing... it never ends well... well, never ends with me fucking, anyway. It's just me, being introspective, feeling embarrassed, completely alone in the world... and realizing I want to keep it that way because I am not comfortable with the though of actually banging ANYONE.

Ugh. I've gone off too much on a tangent. But yeah, that was the topic of conversation and it fucked me up real good and now I'm sad and drunk, sitting in a cold room in Athens. WOOOOOHOOO!

DudeSearch

I've been terrible about updating. I was hoping to update sometime throughout the last week... but my days seemed to run so much shorter, and whenever I had access to wifi, I'd spend my time angrily ranting to my sibling/family about how much I hate certain passive-aggressive "friends" and family of mine.
It's very uncomfortable for me to notice how upset and worked up I can get over the behavior of certain "friends" of mine... as well as many, MANY family members (particularly, from my father's side. Bunch of hating-ass motherfuckers). I don't fucking get it. To my face they're all love and "togetherness" then they are glaringly absent from acknowledging anything I do that I perceive as fun... or even amazing. And not to toot my own horn, but I KNOW I take good photos... the only times I add a filter are when my face will be prominent-- I try to blur that shit out. Other than that, filters are something I don't allow myself to use-- because that's cheating. Period.
So ANYWAY, I need to get off that tangent because I become pretty fucking irate.

SO I'd be getting online infrequently, and when I would be connected, I'd just post photos and proceed to grow very fucking angry... because some people are jealous pieces of shit that really should not be part of my life, honestly.

Life without internet is great. Life with internet is agitating.
I collected many anecdotes, all of which I wrote down on paper.
I did A LOT of people watching... and observed so much art and architecture... and just... observed human behavior-- my own included.
This trip I'd probably remember as my Dude Search.
I did NOT want to look for men, but of course, my brain betrayed me and I caught myself getting HELL of boy-crazy... like a teen.

In Italy, I found myself holding eye-contact with guys... and had my mother not been around, I probably would have been pretty sleazy... ok, no I wouldn't, but I definitely liked what I saw the majority of the time.
Italian men seemed to think I was one of their own-- an Italiana. I'd constantly find myself just smiling and shrugging after a local would ask me questions in Italian. By the third day, I actually gave an Italian lady instructions on how to exit the metro correctly... in Italian. Me. Giving direction to get OUT OF A METRO. The Vegas local, who knows nothing about public transportation. In Italian.
I'd marry an Italian... or just procreate with one, I'd be cool with that.

Spain? Spain was kind of a bummer... but when isn't it?
This time, I noticed a HUGE spike in South American immigrants. Last year it was a spike in Indians/Middle-Easterners, this year, it's a huge Hispanic population. And while all of this does not bother me, what DOES bother me is seeing the TREATMENT of these people. The manner the South Americans walk the streets upsets me. They do not hold eye-contact, they look scared, and they try to make themselves look SMALLER. They look... like a stray puppy who constantly gets kicked in the street by strangers. The way they are looked at by some of the Spanish infuriates me. The way some Spaniards refer to these people infuriates me. They have that... egotistical, patronizing... self-righteous air about them... elitist as fuck.
Not a day went by where I did not hear someone refer to a dark, short person as a "Sudaca"... or even just drop that derogatory term mid-conversation. At one point, a young man about 19-20, tried flirting with me. The Spanish boy looked me in the face, smiled, looked me up an down lustfully, and said "Ciao, chata!" ("chata" is a derogatory term for those who have Native American facial features) as he walked past me, turning around as I walked past so he could scope my ass. I felt so offended, I got teary-eyed. Normally, this would only piss me off, but considering I fucking adore Barcelona, seeing this drastic turn of events upset the fucking shit out of me.
NO! NOT YOU, BARCELONA! NO! DON'T LET THE RACISM WIN!
When I walk the Barcelona streets in company of my sister, I don't see this side of the people... because they seem to think I'm one of them. But in company of my little mom? They were hardcore racist... and nothing is more upsetting to me than seeing someone mistreat my little Mexican mom.
So anyway, I know this was another tangent of some sort... but it popped into my head.
While Spanish men did flirt with me, it was a weird sort of flirting... like they were flirting with... a weird specimen. They knew I was a weird mix... not entirely Spanish, not entirely "South American" (not AT ALL South American, but apparently they can't distinguish the look of South Americans versus Mexicans), something weird... familiar in a way, but exotic... weird. I didn't flirt much with Spaniards, I was too busy trying not to cry at how horribly they were murdering my beautiful memory of their country/culture.
I would MAYBE marry a Spaniard... and probably not procreate with one... I was taller than many of them... and OF COURSE always wider than them.

But let's now move on, before I break my heart too hard.
Let's talk pleasant shit. Let's talk France.
BOY OH BOY! Was I popular in Paris! Dudes were hitting on me left and right... whether I was alone or in the company of my mother. French men had a strange ability to pick up on not only the fact that I was a spanish-speaker, but a Mexican.
French dudes were the most insistent on holding eye-contact... it became uncomfortable.
I'm pretty sure I bumped into my future husband while at the Louvre. The guy was one of the museum workers, and *tried* flirting with me... but you know how I have that problem where I refuse to believe cute guys flirt with me, so I end up looking clueless and miss a good opportunity? Yeah, that happened here.
Instead of catching his flow, I became confused, which only made me look like a cold idiot... so he gave up, rather than become that creepy jerk.

Some day I'll become good at interacting with men I actually feel attracted to... not do any of this clueless, confused shit I do.

Marry a French guy? Nah. Have a baby with a French guy? Dude, have you seen their eyes? FUCK. YES!
... but I'd first have him tested.

I'm the girl

This last week was spent attending my cousins' home to pray the rosary.
Why? I don't know... it was just a random thing where my mom's cousin called her up and said "Yo, I have the patron saint at my house, we're gonna pray to him for a week straight, can you come?" And so, every evening, we'd travel all the way the fuck across town, into the BIG TIME boonies for this pray time.
We'd gather in their awesome living room, pray the rosary, which takes about an hour, then we'd all move the party over to the kitchen, where we'd eat a different delicious meal for seven days.

These cousins are the cousins with whom I tend to have friction... the Euro... guys... remember that from a few years ago? In public, they treat me with a little bit of contempt--I dare say-- but in private, they seem surprised at how interesting and nice I can be.
SO, at this shindig, I'd have time to chit chat with these guys and laugh the night away. We pretty much bonded... since I was the only person under 30 who'd attend.

Yesterday, the last day, the good vibes finally turned to sad times.
What happened?
The boys found out I was the one who upset their friend.
Remember a few weeks ago at my sister's party, where that guy just straight stunned me by suddenly asking me out? Well... turns out he has a lot of friends... a lot of friends who happen to share a gene pool with me.
Now, the guys aren't mad at me, per se... but it's a sad situation... because apparently me turning the guy down really bummed him the fuck out. No, he wasn't bummed because he feels I'm the love of his life, but because he has been turned down so much now, that this last episode with me was the nudge he needed to go over the depression edge.
This has his friends upset because he's such a good dude-- which I believe, because from what I've gathered, and the conversations I heard him having, he was cool-- it hurts them to see him so down.

My cousins were surprised... because clearly I'm such an awkward girl... and I'm very, VERY far away from what the girls in their circle look like, it's surprising for them to think we'd ever coincide.
I apologized profusely... trying to explain myself... but of course, I was so upset with the news, I found myself choking on my words... nearly crying 'n shit.
I eventually acted like I was receiving an important phone call, and excused myself to a hallway.
I looked at my phone for a few minutes, took deep breaths, then worked my way to the empty giant sofa in the family room... where I laid like a corpse until my mother texted me, concerned, asking for my whereabouts.

I feel guilty. And shitty. And stupid.
And so fucking shitty.

I hate knowing that I played a part in making a good person feel bad... that's the last thing I ever want to do.
But I'd still not accept a date with him... and then that makes me feel bad because I feel like a cunt...
Then I ask myself why I wouldn't, and my answer further upsets me: because I can't handle the thought of "learning" to like someone in the romantic sense. I know what I like, I know who I like... and I'll never ever try and force myself to like someone if it's just not there. I can't handle that shit. That thought upsets me... angers me... makes my chest feel heavy with rage... I just can't do it without feeling wildly agitated.

I know I sound crazy... probably hypocritical... or just nonsensical... but... that's what's going on. It fucks with my head, it's all so contradictory.
I'm an asshole.

Asked out

My "Why are you still talking? Can I go home now?" face:

I bring a serious gun game...
Ugh. I'm such a dude.

Luckily, that was only at the end of the night, around 4:30 AM... at a taco shop.
For the majority of the night, I was doing my typical hyena thing... where I laugh at nearly everything.

A strange thing happened that night.
Aside form my teenage-angst shitty moment, there was an unbelievably awkward moment where I pretty much went deaf from the embarrassment.

Hottie sweet young ex-Mormon guy was busy... I don't know what he was doing, I think he was getting me a drink... so I was only surrounded by my female friends/family.
I was feeling good, so I was happy and kind to everyone, even the jackasses smoking nearby.
I had noticed two particular friends of my sister's looking over in my direction, but I honestly believed they would look over when I'd laugh too loud... kind of the way you look at a crazy idiot.
"Can someone please gag this bitch?" sort of thing.
They were the tallest, ummm... darkest... dudes in the area... not that I have a problem with that. I'm just saying, for imagery's sake.
I had been my typical self with these guys, since I knew they were some of the few cool friends my sister has. I'd laugh at their jokes, because they were funny, but at NO TIME, did I bring up anything that had to do with attraction... romance... hooking up... relationships... any of that.
One guy, the tallest one, was asking me many questions. I didn't want to be an annoying mean bitch, so I'd answer them, humorously.
I guess this is probably where the guy thought I was like... sending "mixed signals."
He asked me what I did... about five times. Each time I'd say something new.
Him: So, what do you do?
Me: Nothing.
Him: ... ?
Me: I am an "artist." I paint, I draw, I write, I take photographs.
Him: Is that all?
Me: Well... I travel as much as I can. I like to see the world and write about it. Draw it.
Him: Anything else?
At that point, I was wondering if this guy thought I was the worst fucking lush in the world.
Him: Do you dance?
Me: Only at Zumba.
He looked surprised.
Me: I'M KIDDING. I'M KIDDING. I do more aggressive shit at the gym. I'm not a dancer... well... I know how to dance, I'm relatively good at it... but I don't really like it... especially dancing to this music (they were playing Miley Cyrus).
Him: Well, what DOES get you to dance?
Me: I have a Peter Pan complex... so... I'm going through a really hard EDM phase.
He did not know what I was talking about... or maybe it was a ruse to get me to bust out my phone... who knows, I'm dumb and gullible.
So he asks me to name a song.
Of course I can't name a song off the top of my head.
Me: That one that says "muthafucking animals" thought the whole thing... you know what I'm talking about? Martin... Gar-something.
So there we are, laughing at how dumb I am... and I bust out my phone, and prove my point.

This is where the laughter stops and awkward begins.
He starts talking.
Him: Well... I think you're great. You're hilarious. You're beautiful and smart. Your smile lights up the room from a mile away. I really want to, you know, get to know you better. So, I was wondering if it was ok if I took you out to lunch sometime.
I FROZE.
No, seriously... I FROZE. Catatonic.
As I watched him say each word, my mind was going a mile a minute.
What the fuck? NO no no! Please stop... NO no NO! Oh No! FUCK! Don't put me in this position... FUCK! AHHHH! FUCK! My smile? UGHHHH! Don't smile, he won't know you smile when you're nervous, he'll think you dig what he's saying... FUCK! Please don't keep going! WHYYYY?! WE WERE COOL BEFORE YOU OPENED YOUR MOUTH! WHO ASKS PEOPLE OUT WITHIN A COUPLE OF HOURS OF MEETING THEM? WHO STILL ASKS PEOPLE OUT?! WHEN DID WE MENTION RELATIONSHIPS? HOW DO YOU KNOW I''M SINGLE?! FUUUUUUUCK!
And I just stood there, looking up at him, glazed-over eyes, smile on my face.
And I shake my head.
I felt like shit... but my head did not give a shit about being nice to anyone... it was shaking out of simple reflexes.
Me: Oh... you're so nice... thaaaaaank youuuu... but... I... caaaan't.... beeeecauseeee.... I caaaaaaan't...
Him: I should have known! Who is he?
Me: He is uhhhh... he livesss innnn...
Him: You're taken, huh? I should have known. A beautiful girl like you in a bar, single... it's either because your boyfriend's at home or you have something seriously wrong with you.
And he does that motion, where you move your index finger in a circle alongside your temple, to denote someone as crazy.
Me: Yeahhhh... sorrrryyyyy... but thank youuuu...
Him: Can I... is it ok if I curse him?
Me: Oh you go right on ahead and curse your heart out! Here, I'll help you! "YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!"
And there we were, two people cursing an imaginary person.

Guys, I tripped the fuck out. I looked like a cat who gets surprised by a loud, sudden noise.
The dude was hella cool, and as a friend I'd be happy to chill with him... but the way he laid it on so thick... there was just... no way. No way. Zero physical attraction. He didn't know my type of music. It just... nah, man. Nah. But it felt horrible having to say no to such a nice guy. But I had to... to keep it real.
I was still feeling like I had just been static-shocked by a massive metal block when the ex-mormon boy came by and made me forget... with more laughter.

Guess who I'm looking at...
Kinda scary to think this is the deranged look they're getting when I'm greatly amused.
No, really, just look at my nose and eyes. I'm getting slayed.

That night I learned I'm still not a fan of compliments. They fuck me up.
Come on... let's be serious... I was not that big of a deal. I'm a forgettable face... well, besides the enormous grill of mine, but you get the picture.
I know what I look like.. I know my mug is nothing out of the ordinary.
Flattery from others just gets me rattled and upset.

If you dig me (for whatever freak reason you find me tolerable), speak to me for a couple of hours... crack me up throughout the conversations (don't avoid me all night and only approach me as the night is ending). Make me laugh hysterically with your humor, and my attention is all yours, buddy.

Not a difficult concept (difficult to keep me company for a few hours. I understand it's pretty fucking demanding of me... but I'm a shy, painfully timid girl... it takes some time for me to warm up and be myself with a stranger. Some people have the patience, others do not, and that's fine. Just DON'T ask me on a date after having only spoken a few lines with me. That's... I don't handle that well. Never thought I'd have to make that disclaimer...)

adult playground

So, a little bit of elaboration on last night's [buzzed] post [which took me ten embarrassingly-eternal minutes to type up correctly].
Last night Sis wanted to celebrate her birthday.
So we went downtown to the hipster spot.
Everything was fine, since there were a good number of family members present, and I have an easy time catching up with them. Things were so fine, I was even flirting with my cousin's (whom I refer to as my brother-from-another-mother. The cousin who was able to kick his horrible pacifier addiction as a toddler by having his mom make him believe Baby AnoMALIE didn't have pacifiers of her own, and he very kindly donated his entire stash to Baby AnoMALIE. That story always warms my heart) fucking adorable coworker/friend. (By "flirting," I mean "We were both rooting against USC, high-five-ing each other, then ultimately booing at the end like a couple of maniacs")
The guy is this handsome white boy-- six feet tall, green eyes, dirty blond, chiseled jaw, buff AS FUCK (awesome ass. Broad shoulders, well-formed pecs, small waist, big ass, thick thighs... fucking beautiful, guys, beautiful), sweet, kind, hilarious. Like... an ex-mormon with the good habits, not judgmental of what they consider "bad" habits (shit, he was even drinking with us).
Best of all? He has a total fetish for Hispanic girls, since he grew up on the East side of town.
OH! And even better? Homeboy's four years my junior.
Roar, baby, roar.

As we chatted, we found out we had a ridiculous amount of similarities... bonded over our street cred, sport's teams, schools, gym habits, and even our college majors.
Basically, by the end of the night, I wanted to lick his face (HIS FACE!).
I mean, his presence was appreciated/welcomed by me, I was by NO MEANS bothered by him... at all. My body dug that vibe.

Then the coming-of-age sitcom drama began.
I swear, when this shit happens--and it happens WAY TOO FUCKING OFTEN-- it's a fucking out-of-body experience. I sit back and just watch this happens while internally, my mind is screaming "GODDAMN IT! NOT THIS FUCKING SHIT AGAIN!" and I see the events taking place in slow motion. It's almost comical (actually, it is once I recover from the bit of heartbreak).
I'm vibing with this rad little white boy, when suddenly I catch my sister return to my little circle (she was being a little social butterfly, fluttering between the different circles of groups of friends) and wrap her arms around my adorably perfect white boy.
... The fuck?! NO! This room is PACKED with men... WHY THE FUCK go for the ONE digging my vibe?! YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND BACK HOME!!
While internally I was freaking out, angry as fuck, I had to remind myself to pose a cool exterior... to not let others know how irritated and upset I was over my sister being a sleaze ball.
She then proceeded to slowly kiss the side of his face... repeatedly... while groping him.
WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING JERK?! STOP!
This is around the time I decide to post my entry from last night... to calm myself down and keep myself from body-slamming her to the floor.

So I'm upset... wanting to throw Jenga pieces across the room (the bar we went to has a giant backyard with oversized versions of elementary-school games, like hopscotch, four square, and this awesome giant version of Jenga). I see the hugging and kissing from my sister has yet to stop... and I am doing everything in my power not to scream at her, demanding she stop and go take a cold shower ("and stop going for the one motherfucker with whom I feel a mutual attraction, bitch").
This is where magic happens.
This is where my white boy looks over to me with my sister still hanging on to the side of his face, he laughs, and says:
"Damn... your sister is thirsty as fuck!"
And I burst out into a loud fit of laughter.
"I'm not thirsty!" says my sister. She stops grabbing him... and stumbles away to god knows where.
And I go back to vibing with my white boy.
We did random feats of strength the rest of the night. I carried him ("Look, I don't want to end the night with the back of my head on that concrete right there... bleeding profusely. I don't think you can handle this 205 pound body." I love proving people wrong), and he gave me a piggy back ride (at his lovely insistence)... that sort of fun, little kid shit. (but no one licked each other's face the rest of the night)

I woke up with my abs on fire.
I laughed a lot last night.
That was nice. It felt good.

Spousal bullllshit

Reading over yesterday's post, I realized I was still incoherent as ever. My times were all over the place, as were my thoughts. Comical to me, of course, because I honestly thought I was good to go by the time I updated... then I did random shit sleep deprived people tend to do... like spill milk all over their leg because they miscalculated the position of their mouth in relation to their face... or just dropping down to sleep in the middle of the hallway at 10pm-- no pillow or sheets, just the cold, hard ground and my body splayed all over it like an unclaimed carcass for ten hours.

I'm the faithful co-pilot. No, I'm not trusted to do the driving, but fuck me if I fall asleep on the driver. I'll sit there for the 20whatever hours of the drive, talking to you, singing to you, listening to you, feeding you, staring at you and poking you the moment your "blinking" slows down to a "shut eye"... that sort of shit. I'll be fucking damned if I let your ass fall asleep at the wheel, killing us all when you run us off a cliff or onto a semi-truck.
The drivers can alternate, yet my position as the co-pilot is constant. The tired driver will give up his or her post at the wheel, go to the back of the truck and fall asleep, while the fresh driver takes the wheel and start talking to me... and me? I don't get relieved of my duties until "home" is reached. So there I am, like a zombie, saying and doing weird shit until my body finally caves and I pass out.

My eyes are still blood shot and my left side hurts like a bitch. I think I leaned on that side of my body for too long, and my ribcage hurt my soft tissue. My voice is also busted... weak as fuck, my vocal chords hurt when I have to utter anything... as if I attended a music festival and screamed over the crowd and music for days.

I'm getting too old for these road-trips, I now take longer to recover.
Or maybe I'm just this fucked up because I was so fucking irritated by my road companions.
No, I'm not complaining about my parents for once... thought I WAS frustrated as FUCK by my dad's incessant religious talk (all that talk about the rapture... GOOD GOD! I had never heard so much about that fucking event as I did on this trip... It was like having my television freeze on the History channel), but what most irritated me was my dad's buddy. We had my dad's friend and his wife traveling with us. We gave them a lift from Hometown to El Paso because we feel eternally indebted to them because they were the ones who housed my sister when she moved out to Chicago. No family agreed to keep my sister, but the moment my dad asked
(ohhhhp! I just fainted... yep, still not ok)
oh, yeah, back to what I was talking about: dad asked the guy and he immediately offered his house, for as long as D needed to get on her feet.
We treat others as we'd like to be treated, so when someone does us a favor, especially one THAT big, we repay them as best as we can... so... we offered to bring them to the border, where the guy's siblings live.
Well... I don't want to sound like a cunt, but this guy ABUSED our kindness.
What bugged me most was his... patronizing way. His... superiority complex. No, he didn't patronize me, quite the contrary, he coddled the shit out of me, especially after I puked all over myself. However, the way he treated his wife hurt me to my core. It broke my heart. It infuriated me. The way she would look at him when he'd speak to her... the way she'd agree with him when he'd berate her... it made me want to cry... or at least punch him in the mouth with a brick.
This guy is a dandy. His speech is eloquent and well paced. However, the way his eyes burn holes through his wife terrified me. There is so much hatred in his eyes when he addresses his wife, it seems the fool is possessed by satan himself. It was SCARY.
Mom and I would try to correct him at first, defended his wife, but she'd get so upset, and tell us to leave it alone... we just... listened to her. It was like getting punched in the gut.
I stopped protesting after seeing the lady get WORSE with my scoffing at her husband... I had to settle for scowling at him anytime he'd open his mouth... or I'd catch him glaring at his wife.
Well, maybe she deserves this treatment. What must she have done to him to get this reaction from him, even in public? You may say... but, dude, this woman is a sweet human being. It is obvious she has dealt with verbal abuse for decades... possibly even physical abuse. The man's a fucking misogynist who thinks women are the scum of the earth, and only useful for procreational purposes... I swear he's more sexually attracted to men... but probably never acted on that because it would be seen as a bad thing in the society he was raised in... and maybe that's what has made him harbor so much fucking resentment. Because his behavior towards his wife is not normal. My folks have been arguing quite aggressively lately, but their behavior pales in comparison to what I witnessed between this married couple.

So yeah, having to listen to this man and see him behave like a complete savage for 12 hours drained the fuck out of me.
He knew he had us in the palm of his hand... that we HAD to do whatever he wanted, because he did us that giant, very personal favor when no one else would.
IT SUCKED.
Stop here, eat here, go here, get that, stay here, eat that... it was so fucking exhausting.

Over the years, my aversion for any type of commitment has increased. This latest interaction with a married couple has only solidified my resolve to NEVER get married. FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
(Maybe I'm still fucked up and this was all incoherent as fuck. Whatever)

Department store

Discussing my relationship issues with a guy... that's fun.
I don't normally discuss relationships with others, especially not men... and I especially don't often have men ASK to hear details about my relationship issues. It's weird.
Discussions normally go:
Dude: You single?
Me: Yep.
Dude: Aight, cool. Wanna chill?
Me: Sure.
Ten minutes later, dude tries to touch me.
Me: What the fuck are you doing?
Dude: You're single, what's your problem?
Me: Don't touch me, that's my problem.
Dude: Dyke.
Me: Fuck you.
Dude: You ain't even cute. Fatass.

I feel horrible when I find out a dude likes me... even worse when I learn that after letting him know that I don't do relationships, and that I'm really one really fucked up chick, they still harbor the crush... or whatever I can call that weird attraction they have. I feel bad because I know their crush is not going to take them anywhere, only down a road that will end in their hatred/resentment of me.

I feel like a freak because of the way my heart works. It seems it's terribly uncommon to like people the way I do... it makes me feel crazy, actually.
Is it normal for someone to like one person... well, to only feel with one person? One person for a very extended period of time? And that when you realize this feeling for the guy will never be reciprocated, instead of looking for someone who will make you forget... or almost match your feeling for the one who scorned you... you just feel yourself go numb? I'm talking... absolute numbness... where you feel absolutely NOTHING for anyone... where in the place in your mind where everything was bright and chirpy and hopeful, it's all just this huge blank... absolute darkness, where you don't have happiness or sadness, just... nothing.
There's no desire, no need... no hope, no... no memory... no idea of what it's all supposed to be like.

I've been entertaining Mario this weekend. He's in town for the famous tournament that's in town... of the addictive activity I had to quit a few year back...
He came to town on his own, and knows no one, and since we've agreed we're adopted family, I took him in.
It's been a chill time. We've really just hung out in his room, chatting about life. He tells me his future plans for his career and love life... he even discussed his past relationship.
M: Guess who told me to say hi to you! You're going to laugh!
Me: Ummm... is it a guy?
M: It's a girl. A blond girl...
Me: Your ex?
M: Yeah! Can you believe that? I told her I would, but that you were going to burst out laughing.
Me: Why would I burst out laughing?
M: Because it's Heather!
Me: So? We're friends in real life...
M: Come on... we all know you don't really like her... you were only nice to her to not make things awkward for me... because you...
Me: No, I really like her as a person. She's great. And I'm glad she thought of me.
M: You know she only said that to piss me off, right? Come on... everyone knows you...
Me: No. You're my brother.

I have moments where I just admire him as he irons his clothes... or brushes his teeth... or reads his email... or answers a text... or even switches the television channels.
I love this kid... I know his mannerism... his quirks... I can predict his movements... but I'm not in love with him.
I loved this kid for so long... I was so in love with him... and now, I search for the feeling... and it's like it never existed.
You know what does exist? The particular pang of pain (writing the alliteration killed me more than it killed you to read it) his rejection inflicted. That feeling is still there, raw as ever.
When he hugs me, it's tight... but it... it's so fucking apologetic... it hurts.
Yesterday, as we walked through the poker tables, smiling and laughing as we people watched, our hands bumped into each other. I quickly apologized, but he, instead of removing his hand, grabbed my hand. I turned to look at him as he stood to my right. I smiled, and did not remove my hand.
M: Walk behind girls. People will always make way for girls.
Me: ... you do understand I AM a girl, right?
M: I meant sluts. You're too polite and get manhandled easily... let me show you how it's done.

As he walked me through the crowds of tourists, all I could think of was how badly I wanted a tiny gesture of this nature five years ago. Now, it just feels like... a guide, you know, what it really is. It's not a man shielding the woman he loves... a man showing society his concern for this particular woman... it was just a friend making sure his idiot shy friend wouldn't get trampled by the glittery hoes decked out in six inch heels.
My heart wasn't fluttering, my cheeks weren't flushing... I was just quietly following my friend who wanted to exit a casino. I was following like a lost little girl follows a store employee in a department store.

The moment I got home, I broke down into violent sobs.
I don't feel anything... I don't... I don't have anyone. I don't love anyone. I don't feel anything.

I never thought being numb would be so damn terrifying.

Mains ripping out Manes

Ahhhh, Valentine's Day aftermath.
I don't know about you guys, but I had a decent day... except that my "aftermath" sucked: woke up at 3:30 AM to vomit my chocolate cake overindulgence. I now can't think of chocolate without feeling my stomach kick the shit out of me... even typing the word produces an involuntary gag reflex.

But enough of that, I'm trying to keep my food in.
I noticed a lot of hate, as expected, but also an unnaturally high number of girls posting "side chick" related shit. Apparently there are a lot of "side chicks" out there, and everyone's a "main bitch."
OK.
My take is this: if you're such a "main" why the fuck are you so concerned about the "sides" and more importantly, why the fuck are you always complaining about your guy and how guys are so fucking useless etc. etc. Wouldn't a dude who considered you his "main" refuse to treat you like shit AS OFTEN as you post all your angry, man-hating rants?

I am no one's "main", (ok! this is a question regarding grammar! You see what I just did there with the comma? I was taught to place the comma INSIDE the parenthesis... yet recently, I've seen people from all walks of academia place it WITHIN the parenthesis... this drives me batshit crazy. I need answers! I haven't been in school in seven years... rules can change in that amount of time, right? I hate this shit) much less their "side" so I don't really mention this or care about it. It's only when I see seven fucking girls on my FB and IG timeline bring up the Main VS Side Chick shit that I'm sort of forced to form an opinion.
My opinion? DUMB. If you suspect your man of having a side chick, dump the fucker. If you suspect you're a side chick, dump the motherfucker. If the guy lacks respect and refuses to make time for you, why the fuck are YOU wasting YOUR time on him? Are you that scared of being alone? Being alone is actually pretty fun... unless you're boring as fuck and can't entertain yourself... which... if you can't entertain yourself, how the fuck can you believe you can entertain others?

Ugh... too much shit talking going on from me, so I think I'll shut up.

In summation:
Don't be a side chick.
Don't settle for being a "main" chick.
You deserve to be THE ONLY chick (unless you're down with swinging or open relationships, then by all means, fuck as many folks as you both agree are cool).

Girls, I swear.

Goldie locks

I have reached the point where I can no longer keep track of the number of times my writing has gotten me in trouble.
I've been placed on suicide watch, I've been told to have a psychiatric evaluation, I've released a couple of family secrets that led to moments of shunning... the list goes on.
I KNOW my writing gets me in trouble.
I KNOW my writing gets analyzed-- more often than not, it is done so INCORRECTLY... like most people's writing does.
As far as getting analyzed (criticized) by others goes, I'm usually fine with it... but I must say, I prefer it done in my presence... that way I can take the conversation as more of a constructive effort than a gossip session. I can also take people out of their mistake if they just so happen to read into my shit just... totally incorrectly.
Also, if you base your judgment of me SOLELY on what you read here, you're committing a terrible mistake. Often, what I write on here is what I write under great stress... or rage... or... any strong emotion which I bottle up and only release here.
And again... you can't fucking base your analysis on what you read... because often, you're a dumbshit who has shitty reading comprehension/analytical reading skills IN THE FIRST PLACE... and so, the writing devices I often employ will be lost upon you (oh yeah, many things of which I write are excerpts of a larger picture... of literary work... not... you know... for your goddamned WEAK analysis of me).

So, let me hit a topic which works me the fuck up, and seems to always be in the mouths of others... especially recently, because of these last two weeks of Darcy:
The romance department.
Analysis:
"Your standards are too high."

Why does it work me up? Because it's WRONG.

A.) Yes, Darcy is the dude of dudes. He is the guy that no guy has matched. He is smart, witty, funny, ridiculously handsome and all that shit that I like... that I like A LOT... like... the most I've liked in anyone. His existence makes me feel pretty things. And he accomplished this status without even trying, without even touching me, and hardly having ever crossed a couple of words with me. It's just shit he inspired without even trying... my brain chemistry went apeshit when I met him, and so... I love the guy. And I understand that this is not reciprocated AND I did not cry about it... just went on that Kanye-styled stream of consciousness from the other night. He will always be the guy my heart beats for. He's the dude who will never be with me. And I've come to terms with it. End of story.

B.) My so called "standards" are these:
1. MUST. BE. SMART.
2. Must make me laugh.
3. I MUST be physically attracted to him.
All three in one, no exceptions.

C.) My "standards" exist because of this:
1. I may downplay my intelligence... mainly by remaining quiet under most circumstances, but I am ONE MOTHERFUCKING BRIGHT COOKIE. However, I allow everyone else to do the talking, because I enjoy listening (as long as it's not incoherent RAMBLING)... I learn a lot from others, and I just fucking love learning. Somehow, this gets twisted into me not participating because I'm a dumbass.
Permit me to be a fucking snobby cunt right now: I am NOT dumb. I aced my way through the most elite classes offered by the schools I attended, and not ONCE was I in a remedial class, not even considering the fact that I started my education in Spanish-only classes.
I read WAY TOO FUCKING much and I did WAY TOO MUCH fucking math and science-- mostly against my very free-spirited, naturally bohemian will.
My AP, SAT, ACT, MCAT, AND GRE scores back me up on this. Just because I don't brag about it, does NOT mean I'm an idiot... I just don't like bragging... because this shit is personal to me... it's something I prefer to keep to myself.
So, I'm a smart girl... and I MUST have a smart dude. He doesn't have to be a genius, but his wit must be something I enjoy. How the fuck are we expected to communicate if he doesn't understand what the fuck I'm talking about? My mind must be stimulated first if anything is expected to happen.
Also, if you tell me you don't like math, you cease to exist to me.
2. I am a GOOD GIRL. I am loyal (I'm a virgin for crying out loud! What more proof do you need to convince you I am not easily swayed?). When I love, I am selfless-- I give my all. I am faithful. I dedicate my being to my love and making him the happiest human in the universe. I won't lie to you. I won't nag you. I don't look at any other guy but MY guy. I don't drink to excess (exceptions ARE made. I KNOW how to party, but only when I feel SAFE to make a fool of myself. Instances are RARE, but DO exist) or smoke or do drugs-- I've never done drugs, even if I was/am surrounded by them. I go to the gym and work on maintaining a healthy body-- my body is my temple... temple I give entirely to the one I love. I am a motherfucking GOOD GIRL.
3. I am rich (snobby enough for you?). I may dress like a beggar, but that's because I fucking like it. I don't need to find a dude to financially support me... I'm good. If I get a dude, it's purely because I LOVE him, not because I love or need his fucking money. That shit has been LONG taken care of.
4.. The physical thing... that is of the upmost importance to me. If your presence irks me, you're as good as invisible to me. As a person who was... as a person whose trust and love was betrayed-- in the most vile way-- at the age of seven, by one of the adults she most trusted in the universe, I HATE unapproved touching. If I DON'T like you near me, I FUCKING DON'T LIKE IT. To try to attempt to "convince" me otherwise will only inspire HATE from me... sometimes violence. You CAN'T and you WON'T "teach" me to "like" or "accept" your presence. If I like you, I like you, if I don't, then I don't. Some dudes I allow to grab my ass, others I don't even enjoy accidentally brushing my shoulder. I don't NEED to "accept" ANYONE.
I don't fear solitude... shit, I don't really fucking enjoy company. I find it unnecessary to constantly have some guy I don't give two shits about HOUNDING me for attention. I don't have the vocation of a maid... or a babysitter. I hardly care about taking care of myself... I don't care to add a second person I'm not in love with.

To say my "standards are too high" implies I'm either TOO LOW to ask for this or just undeserving. Am I really undeserving of this? HELL NO.

I have ZERO need for a guy in my life. It's not a pressing issue.
I was abused as a kid, therefore I have zero desire or TOLERANCE to put up with someone who does not make me FEEL.
To make me feel, you must be smart (truly possess intelligence, none of this mimicry of your smart friends. Eventually the truth comes out, and when it does, I WILL resent the fuck out of you), make me giggle, and I must feel absolutely captivated by you. That. Is. It.
Since someone HAS managed to captivate me, I know the possibility exists... so WHY THE FUCK AM I GOING TO SETTLE for someone who does not inspire the slightest bit of... similar chemical magic?
If I don't find it, I am FINE staying alone... because it only means I won't have to put up with some dumb motherfucker who irks me... demands I feed him and fuck him until I just commit suicide by jumping off some fucking cliff. Some fucking prick who feels entitled to my eternal gratitude for plucking me out of my solitude to cook and clean for him.
Awwwww, how fucking romantic! How fucking benevolent of you, sir, and how motherfucking inconsiderate and delusional of me!

To say I have too high a standard is FUCKED UP. And a lie.
I'm not asking for too much, I'm asking for what is fair.
I fucking DESERVE to have a guy I feel a magnetic attraction for. I've been a good girl, I am a great girl... and I've had some really fucking shitty stuff happen in my life... I should finally get to be with a guy I choose... IF such a man exists and wants to be with me. I should NOT ever again have to sit there and allow someone who WANTED me to TAKE ME against my will. NEVER. AGAIN. No MEANS NO.

"You'll learn to like it." "You'll learn to like me."

Uh, no, NO I won't. I don't HAVE to learn anything!