Goodbye NYC, hello NJ

Well, as suspected, I was devastated to be leaving New York.
We had time to fuck around in the morning, since we left the city at 2PM.
We had brunch at a cozy, yet very chic French restaurant (when aren't those motherfuckers "chic," I ask). 20 bucks to be treated like royalty... unlike in REAL France, where I doubt we'd be treated like royalty if we walked around dressed in 14k gold.
We had a slight shit time at Penn Station (or however that's spelled. It's the damn train station), where people were useless and didn't help for shit. We had to ask a poor custodian lady who spoke very little English, and SHE was the only helpful one. Sweet heart.
After an hour of shooting the shit in the train, it was finally time for Sister and my dream vacation to come to an end.
We were no longer two single girls in the city... but two very sheltered Mexican girls hanging out with Mom and Dad in college town, watching Big Bro graduate.

I tripped myself out when I noticed my change. I was still ME, me as I stepped out of the train... as I stood on the curb... and as I hugged my brother before getting in the car.
I looked in the car, saw Dad sitting passanger side, and the moment my foot entered the car, I was once again submissive, good-girl AnoMALIE.

It's not that I was wild when "alone," but I'm... me. I talk, I smile, I crack jokes, I take as much time as I want to admire my surroundings without saying a word, I listen to dirty conversation, I have a filthy mouth, I hold eye-contact with strangers, I SMILE at cute boys, I don't give a FUCK what ANYONE will think of what I just did or said... I'm AnoMALIE.
The moment I see one of my parents, it's this involuntary retraction into submission. A self-inflicted lobotomy, if that makes sense.
It's freaky. And sad.

ANYWAY! I'm at Princeton now. It's gorgeous, of course.
I get this crazy sense of pride in my brother when I see how his peers treat him. They're really fond of him. Apparently he's the jokester of the bunch. They have nothing but love for my broski.

Rafa caught me snapping a photo once he took us into campus.

I was mesmerized. My brother? Not so much.

Rafa: Why you taking a photo of that scrub-ass building?! Wait until tomorrow when I get hooded at MY building... now THAT'S a building.

We went to his Latino graduation ceremony today.

There are only... 30 Latinos graduating this semester.

A few were missing... 

Ain't that crazy? I thought so (only one guy was getting a PhD in Spanish and Portuguese languages... of course, the real title is much more elaborate than how I just said it. Three others, including my brother, were getting their masters. The rest are little Bachelor Babies).
And all of those kids had some incredible accomplishments (one boy was getting three degrees in the most random shit ever. Biological Engineering, African-American Studies, and International Relations. How fucking random is THAT? AND he minored in NEUROBIOLOGY AND PORTUGUESE! IS THIS A NEW DEGREE OF A HIGH-FUNCTIONING SAVANT? WTF? YOU CAN'T BE REAL! These fuckers leave a person feeling more than inadequate), and their speeches were so touching. I cried with three of them. The guy getting his PhDs was SO eloquent, and expressed exactly how my siblings and I feel about our parents (Rafa's excuse for being one of the few who DIDN'T give a speech), another girl dedicated her awards to her single mother who never went to school (you KNOW that story will make me cry EVERY. SINGLE. TIME), and the third was the son of a single mother who migrated from El Salvador all on her own at the age of 15, via the train-tracks through Mexico, and worked to get him through college (I was needing to take deep breaths after three seconds of his story).
Are you guys going to show me a World Vision commercial now or what? Please stop! I don't want to cry any longer!
It was a very emotional night, needless to say.

Hermanito!

Now I just need to rest... because I have some long days ahead.
I feel retarded as fuck amongst these Einsteins.

The boy whose loft we're staying in owns this mug.
I'm falling in love with him by the minute.
First this mug, then his book collection... Jesus Christ.
Interestingly enough, this also served as the DD for today.

... these FUNNY, witty... charming Einsteins.
(Pacemaker "recommended" I look for a guy in these short days. "Imagine how well off you'll be! You know those kids are smart AND filthy RICH. WIN-WIN, AnoMALIE!" Yeah... ok...)

Tiiiigers!

Rafa, my little Ruffles, officially completed his Princeton Master's Degree today.
I just... I can't find the adequate words to describe how I feel about this.
Proud? Hell of.
Excited? Extremely.
Jealous? Oh boy, and HOW!

It's a mixture of emotions, all good obviously, that I'm sure if I tried to articulate them, it's be a giant mess.
Both my parents only completed sixth grade. SIXTH GRADE (Dad failed it TWICE)!
They envisioned a better life for their kids and crossed the border, Mom being six months pregnant. A place where people did not speak their language, a place where they had no family (that quickly changed, but still, a harrowing thought for an expecting mother, if you ask me), not even a place to call their own.
Did they ever think this was going to come out of it?
Unbelievable.

Then, in two weeks, this:

(and a week before that, giving the keynote speech at Notre Dame's Poli-Sci graduation. Seriously... I find myself wondering if this is really happening)
I'm in absolute awe of my brother.
Rafa, you're on motherfucking fire!

(... and still, the resentful part in me can only think about those stupid bitches who didn't believe in him. How's that for "nothing," cunts? What are your guys doing, you know, the ones you thought were much better than my brother? Selling jeans at the swap meet and the other one living with you at your parent's house. BRAVO!)

And now, because today is Mexican Mother's Day, something that made me laugh:

TODO LO QUE SIGNIFICA LA MADRE PARA LOS MEXICANOS:
Alegría: A toda Madre
Ubicación geográfica: Donde está esa Madre?
Valor dietético: Trágate esa Madre ya!!
Escepticismo: No te creo ni Madres
Venganza: Vamos a darle en la Madre!
Acción violenta: Le rompiste toditita su Madre!!!
Animo: Ándale con esa Madre!!
Desorden: Qué desmadre te traes!!
Despectivo: Vales pa' pura Madre!
Alquimista: Todo lo que toca le da en la Madre
Juramento: Por mi Madre!
Egoísmo: No me dio ni Madres...
Sentido del gusto: Eso sabe a Madres
Como acción: Vamos a hacer esa Madre
Superlativo: A todisisisma Madre
Expresión de alegría: Está de Poca Madre!
Sorpresa: Madresss!!!
Exceso de velocidad: Va hecho la Madre
Efecto visual: No se ve ni madres!
Sentido del olfato: Huele a Madres
Especulación: Que Madres es eso??
Accidente: Se dio en la Madre
Mecánica: Y esta Madre como funciona??
Fracaso: Ya valió Madres...
Reclamo: Que poca Madre tienes...
Negativa rotunda: Ni Madres!!!
MUCHAS FELICIDADES

Find me a four-leaf clover... NOW!

God has a really jacked up "sense of humor."
I usually see this going on with other people (them having a crappy day where everything is going wrong in the most ironic ways), and I tend to be of the "laugh it off" crowd...
BUT MAN!
Today is supposed to be about luck and all that Irish bologna... well, not for me. It was the total opposite.

I wasn't going to write today, because I don't remember ever being this upset before. Well... "upset" is a little too strong. I'm... bummed.

I tried cheering up, or at least numbing the pain by killing it at the gym.
No matter how much I pushed myself... I was still heartbroken and ready to cry at the slightest provocation.
I was jump-squatting, wanting to cry from heartbreak, and not because my glutes and hamstrings were wanting to murder me.
I was pelvic-tilting telling myself to "get it together, AnoMALIE!" instead of my usual "I'm going to murder whoever invented these things!"
You're on to something, hamstrings... maybe someone SHOULD murder me!

Reason for being upset?
As many can probably guess by now, I heard back from NYU. AND Stanford. Bad news, obviously.

Stanford was first. It didn't... upset me much. Why? Because I wouldn't be getting a degree from there in the first place. They only offer a fellowship. It STILL would have been awesome... but it kiiinda seems like a slight waste of time. Kind of (I still would have given my right ovary for it).
Their rejection letter was a lot nicer than Cornell... by at least three times.

Then came the horrific NYU e-mail. This one DID mess me up. I was shaking :(
They were SO SO SO nice in the letter, referring to me by my name and all that junk... but it was still really, really sad.
What sucks is that they were supposed to contact me late-February... so the fact that they were holding out on me until MID-MARCH was freakin' heartless... giving me false hope and all that crap only a really mean, abusive boyfriend does to a girl.

I'm not gonna lie... this rejection made me cry (in the shower, but still, I CRIED. I don't CRY over schools).
What I did find solace in was the fact that VERY FEW people know about this endeavor of mine. Because hearing people pity me is THE WORST thing for me. Pity is... despicable in my book. Please, never ever pity me. Just make me laugh and forget. That's all I ask. Leave the crying and lamentations to me and the privacy of my room late at night where I can sob away without anyone hearing or seeing that pity party of ONE.

The toughest part was telling Mom.
I promised my folks that if no schools take me, I'll give up on this real love of mine and just turn into the robot they want me to be, and dedicate my life to science.
AnoMALIE + Science = Dead Inside.
Don't get me wrong, I do love science, and it entertains me... but dedicate my life to it? Blah. It makes me miserable. It's hard to love something I'm forced on to... whether it's shrimp (unless it's in sushi. ONLY exception), pineapple (NEVER an exception. NEVER. I'll punch anyone who "tricks" me into tasting it. It's the most DISGUSTING flavor in the UNIVERSE), or science (complicated relationship. That's as best as I can describe this one)... I harbor resentment for the thing and will gag at the thought.

Anyway, Mom was oddly supportive. She didn't pity me at all. She just said "Ohhhhhhh well! Forget them!"
Heck yeah, "forget them!" At least I won't spend a ridiculous amount of dough to rent a place in the city... not to mention the tuition... on a degree that... doesn't get you much, right? And then the climate out there... PUKE! But... it WOULD have been cool to represent that school. Honestly. I won't kid about that part.

So, now I just have one shot.
Rafa: So what schools did you apply to again?
Me: Stanford, NYU, Cornell, and UNLV.
Rafa: ... and UNLV is just your "safety school," right?
Me: No. It's my dream school, actually.
Rafa: You're WACK, buster!

How quickly dreams get destroyed.
It strengthens my reluctance to EVER talk to anyone about my plans, hopes, and dreams. Is it making sense now? Am I excused for punching the next jackass who asks me what I'm up to, or is that still considered a no-no?

I'm not crying anymore. I'm just really freakin' demoralized.
(AND I STILL CAN'T/HAVEN'T CUSSED! I hate how this is all working out this way! THIS GIRL NEEDS to cuss!)

Applicant? OH! You mean ME!

Goooooood morning, AnoMALIE!!

Dear Applicant,
 
Your application for admission to the Graduate School for Fall 2011 has been given careful consideration by the field of English Language and Literature.  I'm very sorry to say that we have not been able to admit you to the MFA graduate program in English at Cornell.

This was a very difficult decision.  We received hundreds of applications for a very few places in the program, and so we had to turn down a number of very talented people with very impressive records, many of whom no doubt will go on to distinguished careers. We wish you all success in yours.      
 
Sincerely,

Samantha Zacher,
Director of Graduate Studies
Associate Professor

I woke up around 10 in the morning and saw that message in my inbox.
Beautiful.
Gorgeous.
Fantastic.
Awesome!
Blah.

Suddenly, my shitty attitude makes sense.
Why must I be so psychic?
Although... it wouldn't take a psychic to figure that out.

I could be more upset about this (I'm just your normal "sort-of-bummed" that any sort of rejection inflicts on a person)... but I'm not. Remember, the New York schools were my "what-the-fuck-ever" schools. I don't dig the weather... or the cost of living out there... and I strongly believe in my mantra of "The West Coast is the BEST coast." And who the fuck wants to live in Ithaca? (now I'm just starting to sound like a bitter ex-girlfriend. I NEVER loved you! I hated your haircut! Your laugh is STUPID! AND YOUR DICK IS TINY! FUCK YOU! OH! And the word is SUPPOSEDLY, you imbecile!)

The part that makes me feel bad is the time my recommenders had to waste on their letters. Sorry guys! I'll still steal you a silver sports car when I have the chance!

So umm... yeah... I think this concludes my Friday post.

discombobulation

It's official: I REALLY want to get into UNLV.

My body is ALL discombobulated.
I've been leaving the remote control and my cell phone in random places like the vanity drawers and even the fridge.
This morning I also got in the shower while wearing my socks.
I'm doing that thing where I'm holding a conversation with someone, and then I say some random word that has nothing to do with the topic (So I was like "What the fuck" and the potato was like... Wait, where the hell did this potato come from? What potato? You just said "potato" That sort of shit).
I've been vomiting and feeling faint.
Ah... that good ol' days.

I wasn't aware I wanted this so bad... but there it is... undeniable proof. My subconscious is letting me know "Fuck this up, and I'll fuck YOU up."
Fun, really.
Funny thing? I did not vomit ONCE when looking into med schools. Not once.
Take that, med school! I never loved you! 

Letter of what?

Best Australian ever: Philip Dearest 

I want it. I want it BAD!

Anyway, right now I'm really crunching down on the final application. I get so mindfucked the moment I have to focus on something I really, really want... and in this case, it's entrance into UNLV's writing program... so... I'm... sort of retarded right now... and I can't really think clearly... much less write anything coherent.
I've been trying to write this goddamn letter of application for the longest time... to the point where I find myself frowning involuntarily. I googled how to even write a fucking "letter of application" since I've never been asked for one. Fucking UNLV... always so fucking weird when compared to the other schools. NYU and Cornell weren't this asshole-ish about their application requirements.
I was supposed to have this done by today (self-imposed deadline. This shit isn't due until February 15th), but here you have me... looking at DeviantArt and handpicking valentines-related bullshit like your typical spinster.
Oh God, I have to stop. Is this more than 100 words already? I need to go back to idling in front of my laptop as I tug at my right earlobe while sucking on my bottom lip. Hey! Don't judge me. 

Tender Heart... isn't that a Care Bear?

Something I found that made me scoff (because it turned out to be true):

MGH is more decisive and direct, but also somewhat more naive and simple (psychologically speaking) than AnoMALIE is. You two can balance one another nicely. MGH depends on A's sensitivity and gentleness to soothe, heal, and provide a sanctuary from the world of competing and achieving. A, on the other hand, admires and probably needs M's forthrightness, honesty, and willingness to act boldly.

A is more of a giver, and can be very self-denying, while M is self-absorbed, and can unintentionally take advantage of  A's generosity. M also lacks tact and subtlety sometimes, and inadvertently wounds A's tender feelings.

My "tender feelings." Aww... cute! But I'd rather call them "stupid feelings."
Ok, I'll quit being cynical.

My "tender feelings" were especially tender today. As if the weekend hadn't been SHITTY ENOUGH, I woke up to horrible news-- I won't discuss it here though.
Point is, I spent my Sunday morning/afternoon crying.
Once I stopped being "tender," I went about and submitted two more of my applications (I don't know what it is about feeling miserable, but that shit gets me to work. I get shit DONE when I'm feeling like jumping off a bridge. It's like my brain says "Ok! Before you kill yourself... could you just... do this right quick for me? Please?" and something I've been putting off for months gets completed in a couple of hours. Then I feel all accomplished and I put off killing myself for some other day). So, now I'm for sure getting at least three letters in the mail in a couple of months... whether of acceptance, or the more probable rejection, but they'll be there. Money!

I did get some good news before calling it a day. The good news came courtesy of a couple of texts from Pacemaker.
Pacemaker: Hey lady, what's your address? I'm sending you something.
Me: PEANUT BUTTER?! :)
Pacemaker: OMG. You're so weird. But ok, I'll add some in there.

Feed me peanut butter, and I will be yours forever. I'll even endure verbal abuse ::cough:: Pacemaker ::cough:: for the love of PB.
No one is aware of this secret, and I hope to keep it that way. I don't want anyone to know they can have that much power over me thanks to some smoothly blended legumes.
... And now that I think about it... there has been no peanut butter in my house for over a year... I suspect that might be largely responsible for my shit attitude. Guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow.

Distinctly unlikable

My first semester of college almost didn't happen.
I had horrible drama my senior year of high school with my very racist counselor who made me believe he sent my transcript to UNLV, but lo and behold, he hadn't. I wasn't made aware until I took my chemistry placement exam and the lady at the registrar told me there was no record of me.
I got that shit fixed (after sending my transcript a total of three times to the damn school).

That was it as far as my whole application experience went.
My parents didn't give me permission to apply anywhere else. I would just sit at home and see school after school, packet after packet try to contact me.
I don't know why you even open those things, when we all know the only school you're going to is UNLV.
Yeah... but I just... wanted to see what Notre Dame had to say.
(I still use my Princeton postcard as a bookmark)
My friends would wonder why I needed my parent's approval, but come on, they're my parents... they were the ones who would ultimately pay for my tuition, housing, etc.

Well, now it's a different story.
I'm finally experiencing the whole jittery business that is the application process.
And it's fun!!
Ok... not really. My eyes are killing me and this bizarre sense of dread is overtaking me.
Worst of all, I'm actually shooting for UNLV. Like... I really want to go there.

I'm sure the moment I tell my friends and family they'll have a cow over it... that, or think I couldn't cut it for more "prestigious" schools. Would I like to go to Stanford? Yes, yes I would... but their CW program-- while stipend-- does not give you a degree at the end of the two years. It's... eh. Plus, the program doesn't take you abroad. UNLV does.
SO... hello UNLV.

What will I do if UNLV doesn't take me? I don't quite know. I might go crazy... I'm not sure (as if I have some sort of control over that bullshit). I might just get married to the first jackass that asks and let that be the end of my story. That seems like the more plausible outcome.

ANYWAY, this whole application thing requires me to go through all my old manuscripts. Most schools are asking for 25 pages of fiction, which usually means 2 stories for me.
I have... 21 manuscripts. I'm not sure if that's the final count, or if I have seven more missing somewhere. I don't remember if I took creative writing three or four times. If it was only three times, then yeah, all my stories are there. I just know that I once made a count of how many words I wrote, and the total came out to over 90k, really close to 91. A lot of words to go though, but I must... unless I want to start from scratch and write a new one (NOT gonna happen).

Going through the stories is making me both really happy and miserable at the same time... although sadness seems to be the governing sentiment.
I re-read what the professor wrote at the end of my stories and chose from that (poor man... I made him sad). The first manuscripts I've read are the ones he commented as "This one's very touching... but, the end made me really sad." You know that shit's a winner.
Some of these stories I have no recollection of ever writing, but others... while they have yet to make me cry, I've found myself frowning on various occasions.
Jesus... I have issues! And not too many people are fond of said issues. The one time I actually had more than one person (Kelley) read my shit, I came out of it a loser. Everyone hated my stuff.
Although I remember most comments made about my stories, the comment I remember most (besides one other guy in there who pissed me off because he said "I just couldn't get into it because of how many times you would say 'Got.' It was jarring at times," This coming from an imbecile who would say "like" at least EIGHT times in one sentence, I kid you not. I'd end class wondering how a pencil hadn't found its way into my ear) is Darcy's comment:
I don't really like... stories that are... sentimental.
Oh... Ok... (internally) So you didn't even read them? Oh no.
I wasn't sure what sucked more, that comment, or the fact that the rest of the class was tearing my shit up (figuratively speaking. I complained about this to my professor and he thought the jerks were literally ripping the pages apart. Imagine that. I would have burst into sobs had that actually occurred! First to hear Darcy say he didn't like them, then see the rest of class ripping up the pages? I would have jumped out the window-- thought that often ran through my mind, since class was on the top floor of the building. It's a weird thing of mine, I can't help but wonder shit like that when I look out windows of tall buildings. So... if I jumped out right here, would I survive? What if that tree caught my fall? God, it'd be so awesome if things worked out like in Super Mario... jumping from canopy to canopy. How fun. Ew, what would by body look like after falling to the precipice? Nasty).

All this makes me freak out. If I couldn't make two of the eight (or ten. I forget) people in class to dig my shit, what makes me think anyone will. You know?
While I have a distinctive voice, it's an entirely different thing to have an appealing voice.

Goddamn, I've managed to make myself sad. I better stop now.

Some shitty number

Mom walks into my room, hands me the phone, I don't grab it.

Mom: Brother's calling.
Me: What does he want?
Mom: He wants to know your GRE scores.
Me: No.
Mom: He says if you don't want to tell, then it means you sucked.
Me: Give me that phone! Hello?
Bro: So... how'd you do?
Me: Nigga, I'm not telling you.
Bro: That means you did a shitty job.
Me: No, actually, I didn't. I kicked some nice ass.
Bro: Then what was your score?
Me: What was yours?
Bro: I did kind of shitty. I mean, my math part was alright... that was a 780. I'm embarrassed of my verbal. That was a piece of shit.
Me: (internally) Oh yeah, I got him here! (spoken) What'd you get? (I was *this* close to gloating)
Bro: It was some shitty number like... 590 or something like that. Fucking retarded.
Me: What the fuck? Are you kidding me?
Bro: What you get?
Me: Not a 780 on the math, that's for sure.
Bro: What about your verbal?
Me: Not bad... I got a... 620 (LIE)
Bro: Oh yeah? Nice. You have some pretty solid scores there. Congratulations.

Asshole. Killing my buzz (who needs rejection letters, when you have a brother attending grad school at Princeton? Dick head).

... 590 a "retarded" verbal score... fucking jerk.

Get Real, Exam!

So I used up all the allotted time for the sections on the GRE.
As expected, I had hideous writer's block for the writing portion. I had to dig deep and go way back to my AP History days... and I finally said "Fuck this shit, let's GO!" and just typed away.
The verbal and quantitive portions? I KILLED!
At the moment of getting the scores, it didn't really register. I saw the numbers and I was like "Is... that... good?" I mean, can you blame me? I had given this goddamned test my all. My brain went to mush the moment I pressed "Proceed" for the last time.
I came home, checked out my previous scores versus the ones I saw on the screen at the test center... and fuuuuck. I did fucking awesome.

I did do ONE major fuck up... and that was when it asked me about sending my scores to the UNDERGRAD school. Oooooops. Oh well. We'll see what's good.

Grad schools I finally decided on? NYU, Boston U, UNLV, and Cornell. Well, those were the ones I so arrogantly chose to receive my scores... and that's because Columbia doesn't require GRE scores. What can I say? I'm a pompous little bitch... up until reality comes on over and slaps the shit out of me to put me in check.

All in all, I'm quite hopeful UNLV will take me... they have to, damn it!

But... at least all this shit is now out of the way. I can be brain-dead all I want from now on.
Welcome to the new and not-improved AnoMALIE. Yeah, the grade-school AnoMALIE that doesn't give a shit about using large, complex words or correct grammar.
Hello, invented words and ebonics.
...
Ok... not that either.
But I really won't give that much of a shit any more. And this whole "writing something every day" deal? Pshh... it can kiss my ass (not really. I actually enjoy it. However, I won't have that same sense of urgency I've had for the last few months-- MONTHS! That's crazy).

Deuces, I'm out!

Bi-polar, I know

In 17 hours, I take my GRE.

I'M FUCKING STOKED!

I'm ready, so ready.
But uh... I still have to research schools.

Yes, I know... I take procrastination to a whole new level.

I'm really, really excited though. Is that normal?
(watch, tomorrow my entry's gonna be all WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SUCH A RETARD?! I hate myself! Oh... please no. I thought I was finally over my self-loathing stage... ok, back to being excited!!)

I wish I could write

I have a giant problem.
Back when I took my MCAT, I killed on the written portion of the exam. I knocked all three essays out of the park and scored in the top 10 percentile. The writing just came naturally to me, and that was considering I was just lounging in my chair and jotting down whatever the hell popped into my head (hence why I talked about Britney Spears and Starbucks).
I did not practice writing for the exam. At all.

This time around, with all this damn studying for the GRE-- a test I find much more mediocre than the MCAT (sorry for sounding snooty, but the level required for the math portion is a joke)-- I'm having a shit time coming up with my essays.
I mean, I'm sitting there in front of the computer screen and slipping into a coma.
Analyze what? Take... a side? Huh? OMG, was that a spider?!
For all 45 minutes. It's quite sickening.

You know, the more I think of it, the more I feel this whole "write something each day" thing to have been a bad idea.

Five days, AnoMALIE, FIVE DAYS!

ocho

October!
I decided to start it off with a bang, so I officially registered for the GRE. I gave myself 18 days to get my shit together... not that I'm totally out of control right now, I mean, I did complete a 694-page study book yesterday. I just have to quit fuckin' around-- get a little more serious.
Hopefully typing up my MasterCard digits will help a sense of responsibility sink in my head.
... not that it occurred back when I registered for the MCAT... I messed around up until the moment I drove up to the test center for that thing.

Anyway, this registration has only kicked off the excitement for this month. September has notoriously been a horrible month in my years, and since it wasn't too harsh on me this year, the optimist in me says October will only be that much better.

Here's to cooler temperatures, possible cloudy days and rainy nights, birthdays galore, and HALLOWEEN!!
God, I love this month!

First day jitters

First day of school... for everyone else!!
Bahaha!
Ok... actually, I'm super envious. I miss school... terribly.
So, in honor of this first day of college for some people, I post some gems from MY first two days of college, my freshman year, which I actually wrote about and saved (with some current comments, of course):

August 25, 2003:

"so... i got up at 6:35... those 35 extra minutes being a delicious prize for me... ahh... after 4 years of painful torture known as sleep deprivation.. and now.. waking up at that hour is glory!"

(I still don't know how the fuck I'd get up at six in the morning for high school... it seems crazy and exaggerated now that I look back. How the fuck were we expected to function at 7 in the morning? I'd always be lucky and have physics or chemistry, you know, classes that don't require much of your brain, as my first period. So mean)

"to make things better, tomorrow i wake up WHENEVER!! AHAHAHAHA! i got class at 5pm... till 9... which makes me a good candidate for a good ass mugging if you ask me.. i'm scared now..."

(I never got mugged... luckily)

"i sat in chemistry banging my head because i have already done all this crap from last year.. from the same book.. so i wanted to beat myself."

(Oh, AP Chemistry... you didn't help me FOR SHIT, but I did have some fantastic note-passing days that semester in class)

"in english... my next class... i fell in love with my professor and he didn't like me. the punk ass. he can't understand my writing. prick. and so... i sat there, shared crap about me to a bunch of pricky ass kids.. and umm.. then called my momma to come pick me up.. i felt retarded."

(Umm... it appears I was extremely fond of ellipses, still am, but goddamn, I killed it-- negative connotation)

"it's funny how in high school, the "cool kids" ignore your ass.. make fun of your ass.. and.. alienate your ass.. but all of a sudden, you see 'em in college and they're like "oh my god!! like, HI!!" while you just stand there like "umm.. ok? why are you talking to me?"

(Apparently, I was a bitter ass)

"when i got out of my chemistry class... the cool jock, the boy i had a crush on my junior year, talked to us. he was the one who talked to us and i was like "umm.. do i know you?" because i was walking down my very silent hall and he goes "HEY! HEY!" and i had to look up.. and there he was.. he goes "why, hello!!" and i stood there.. mute and sort of pissed. why is he talking to me now? and like if he knows me? in high school.. i wouldn't have gotten a word out of him unless i spoke of beer.. big boobs.. or parties. and now he's talking to me?! wow. so... i said nothing and walked off."

(I also think my keyboard had no Shift key)

"then, i saw another jock. he said "why, hello there guys!!" and with this guy i had to say hi... cuz he was in my physics class and math in my junior year and also in my calculus class last year. he helped me bend a hanger... long story. so i acted like a bimbo with him."

(Umm... I don't know how to defend this)

August 26, 2003:
(My second day, remember, my day started at 5PM and ended at 9PM)

"this is weird. i really don't like it. maybe it'll get better when i drive? and hopefully i don't get mugged today after school. if i don't write in here tonight... please, someone, anyone call the cops and alert them that a student is missing!! i don't want to be found in some dumpster or something...."

(Ah, yes, that bright little optimism that has always characterized me)

"my biology class is full of old people. they make fun of us.. 5 freshmen in the class. and umm.. this one man.. guy.. whatever.. that is so incredibly gorgeous and built (that i wonder if he's at all interested in females.... ya know.. wink wink..) is in that class and he takes my attention away from the very cool (seriously now) teacher.. i didn't get her name."

(That teacher wound up being the worst fucking cunt on the face of the planet. On her eval, I wrote "This woman made me want to slit my wrists every single day," you know, to get my point across)

"i went to calculus and the annoying bastard who is alway yelling out the wrong answers talked to me.. more like.. tried to mack on me... i don't know.. he was throwing his game at me.. and i was like 'nah... i'm only interested in school.. '"

(That kid... he was such a pain in the ass. And he was hell of rude. I'd ace the exams and he'd always peek at my test once it was returned. He'd be such a fucking asshole about my grade. "A 96%?! How the hell did YOU do that?" Umm, maybe because I get the subject, dick face. Now quit putting it on blast, I like being anonymous)

Jesus... would anyone ever believe that girl would acquire a biology degree four years later?
If anyone read all that, bless your heart... you have a strong stomach.

Another Santa

Back in my school days, I was often referred to as a teacher's pet.
I wasn't.
I've just always been well behaved, and whenever an adult has given me a command, I listen.
For that, you can thank my strict Mexican mother, quick to slap the taste out my mouth after the smallest sign of backtalk.

When it came to teachers, I was always the nice one who always did my homework and always played nice with the other kids.
I'd also get very attached to my teachers... in elementary... usually the outcome of me following their rules for so long.

Well, recently, I found my third grade teacher on Facebook. I have one friend in common with her, and it just so happened that I was on that friend's FB when I saw 3rdGradeTeacher appear on the 6 visible friends portion.
After 16 years, the lady has not changed.
I was stoked, of course, to have found her.
The lady taught me how to add. Weird, I know, considering I should have known how to do that by 3rd grade.
My dumbass 2nd grade teacher messed me up because all she would have us do in class was sleep, throw parties, and watch movies. So, come third grade, my new teacher caught on, told my mom to explain the concept of addition/subtraction to me, and hopefully I'd catch up within a couple of weeks. I caught up in the matter of two days.
With the mastering of addition/subtraction, this teacher proceeded to teach me the times-tables by singing. The woman would sing about ANYTHING.
To this day, I've been mindfucked into singing my 3s, 4s, and 5s (if you see me having a hard time multiplying anything by these numbers, let it be known that the fucking song hasn't ended in my head, hence my delay).

Anyway, I thought this lady loved me. I was always one of the 6 kids who would attend her "perfect homework" luncheons she'd throw the kids in class who turned in their homework every day for the quarter.
I even have a stupid story where I actually cried one day because I wasn't given homework.
(People don't understand I cried because everyone else had the homework sheet, and the asshole substitute teacher failed to give me mine. I went up to him at the end of class and asked him for mine. He wouldn't believe me [why the fuck would anyone lie about not getting a homework sheet?], and my bus wasn't going to wait for me. He had the extra sheet in his hand, and he would waive it around and laugh in my face as my chin would tremble and my eyes would water. He wouldn't stop his mocking and he wouldn't give me the sheet! Add to that, my bus had now left my ass at school... so I cried. I still remember that fuckface's name... Mr. Lockich [I won't protect this fuck's identity. If I ever, ever, ever bump into that man again, I swear to God I'll fucking beat the shit out of his now-probably-senile ass] aka Mister Stiffy, 'cause that sick bastard would show up to class in sweat pants... and guess what would happen to him in front of the boys...)
After this horror story (which my friend's mom corroborated when the teacher ask about it) 3rdGradeTeacher became endeared to me (Aww, AnoMALIE cried for her homework? What a sweet baby! HE WAS MOCKING ME AND I MISSED THE BUS! I WAS NINE! What's so hard to understand about that?!).

But last week, I learned this "teacherly" love was all an act.
Guess who rejected my friend request the other day... that bitch.
As if I've changed that much since 1994.

If I ever have kids, I hope they're dicks to their teachers and his/her fake interest in their well-being (not saying ALL teachers are fake asses. Oddly enough, the one k-12 teacher to be genuinely interested in my life has been my 10th grade English teacher, and I didn't even like her).

Yeah, I'm bitter... just like when I learned Santa Clause was fake. My gentle, gullible soul doesn't enjoy rude awakenings.

Banda

It's a beautiful, warm Las Vegas evening. Saturday night of Memorial Day weekend. Banda El Recodo is in town, and my sister is attending the concert with a group of twenty 22-30 year-old Mexican-Americans...
and what am I doing?
Studying. Yep. Fun stuff (seriously, if I ever use a word like "pellucid," I give you permission to punch my pretentious ass).
My bookmark can attest to this:

Yeah... definitely have ADD

L'ecole...

If I see one more "Back to School" commercial, I'm gonna cut somebody...

Ok... I only say that because....

I MISS SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I hate myself for admitting it)

8th grade all over again

I'm so screwed.

This weekend, one of my buddies since middle school is throwing a... I guess "8th grade class of 1998" reunion in conjunction with her own going away party.

This of course, originally made me ecstatic.
I haven't seen most of these people (including her) since graduating and moving on to the hell that was high school.
8th grade was amazing... and the last year I was ever "officially" ghetto. And not even that ghetto considering I was in "Algebra Club" (how fucking retarded... it was a class... not a club... I have no clue why they considered us a club, when not everyone could join the class, especially if you couldn't get a proper grasp on mathematical concepts, but whatever... "Math Club" it will forever be known as) AND orchestra [God, I loved these kids... and it's so sad to know that some of them are even dead now... like that big guy in the middle... all thanks to Iraq]
(although, my school was a prime example of all those stupid movies they make of inner-city kids having mad skills and overcoming adversity by playing the shit out of their instruments--or I guess dancing, as is the case recently-- and positioning themselves in the top spot of the city's middle school orchestra group, even beating out rich kids in their private schools with their private lessons and all that bull I never believed in... and I still scoff at whenever I notice it in movies. I can't believe I took a part in such a thing, unknowingly).

But anyway, I was stoked to see these people all over again because I love seeing how they are doing after so many years (most of the time, it's bad news I hear in regards to these kids... like the girl sitting next to me, last thing I heard about her is that she's a prostitute now... ?!?).

However, I'm no longer excited because I have the most vile thing going on right now.
I have an enormous horn growing out of the middle of my forehead. Ok, it's not "enormous" but it is freaking noticeable.
Such a tragedy, considering I'm supposed to be over this phase of my life...
Come on now, I'm 23!!
Blemishes are for angsty teenagers! Not me! Not anymore, at least.

So...
I'm going to go to this thing...
See the people...
and prove to them that I have, indeed, never changed... just like so many asked me in my year book... not even when it comes to my skin.
Ewww.

(it's a little extra humiliating since back in 8th grade I had a problem sort of similar to this, but it happened on picture day. A friend of mine from back then saw me for the first time since middle school four years ago and the first thing out of his mouth was "Wanna know how I remember you? I remember how you had that band aide across your face for so long because..." then I shut his fucking mouth up because I was a college student... no need to be reminded of that kind of shit as an "adult," really. He was saying this to me while he was sporting a bright blue Cookie Monster band aide under his left eye because a facial piercing of his went awry and fucked up his own face... yet he had the balls to remind me of my humiliating 8th grade episode. Now it's going to happen all over again... I guess I'll change it up and place a Sponge Bob band aide across my forehead this time... just for laughs)

Parrrrrrrrty!

Diplo...monadida.

OH HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ok, March, we've made peace.
:DDDDDD

Nothing lucky about it

Yesterday, in my I'm-out-of-school-jubilation, I made the mistake of posting my "status" on Myspace.

I've gotten a good amount of messages regarding my "I'm done with UNLV!" (not exactly what I said, but you get the picture) comment.

I appreciate most of the messages... you know... the nice ones.
They make me smile and help me recognize which mother fuckers I call friends are on their toes when it comes to my welfare (especially since I rarely post shit).

Anyway, point of this is to mention the fact that there's ONE message/comment I CANNOT stand.
Not one bit.

You lucky bitch.

?!?! (I've gotten it from 3 people, male and female. Those exact words)
Now... call me just a bitch, and it's still all good (especially when you're angry... dude, will I feel accomplished!).
Call me a "lucky bitch" when I mention that I fished myself some secret Juanes concert tickets from the radio/Univision news broadcast.
We're still cool then.

However... there isn't anything "lucky" about me graduating.
Fuck no, man.
It's called busting my ass and going insane.
That's what I did these last four years while a shitload of you spent it fucking around, getting shitfaced on the strip every other day (not like you were normal and got shitfaced every other week, or maybe at semester's end).
I skipped parties (or went as far as taking pocket-sized notecards with me to events like Quinceañeras and weddings), made family members angry, ignored friends, missed out on vacations, and lost a fucking ton of my hair by either stressing the fuck out and not getting enough sleep or me just physically pulling it out during those frustrating nights of studying Organic Chemistry and Biochemistry. I even ignored guys, for fucks sake!

I basically lived like a hermit. A freaking monk, dude. (well, I kind of liked the solitude, to tell you the honest truth)

There's nothing "lucky" about me graduating.

So... If I get one more of those comments, I'm going to have to choke a bitch.


Now if you don't mind... I got some shopping/eye-examining/drinking to do with the homies.

I'm done!!
Yey-Yeyyyyy!!