I did it all for the cookies

Lent was on the 13th.

I had a difficult time deciding what I'd give up.

I once again went for the no cussing thing.

However, knowing that I'd most likely break this promise within MINUTES of leaving the church parking lot, I decided I'd make a second "super easy" promise.

No sugar.

I thought this would be "super easy" because I've dropped sugar from my diet, for over 45 days, FOUR TIMES in the past two years.

Big mistake. BIG FREAKING MISTAKE.

I am like a pregnant woman right now. I'm craving some crazy stuff... like eclairs-- I don't like those things because they don't agree with my palate. Suddenly, I find myself contemplating the best bakery to find the tastiest eclair in the city.

Mexican sweet bread-- I LOATHE it, yet now I find myself eyeing my mother's conchita as we enjoy our late night tea time.

There are also those bastard Girl Scout Cookies.

I've NEVER had Girl Scout cookies... EVER... yet for some freak reason, a stupid scout was setting up on Sunday outside of church, slangin' her freakin' sugary meth.

AND I WAS SO TEMPTED! I have no clue what those pieces of crap taste like... yet there I was, for an hour, absolutely tortured as I debated whether or not to purchase some cookies once Mass was over.

I'm alone... I have my wallet in the car... Mom won't know... I'll just sit in the car and finish it before coming home... like some Bulimic high schooler... Oh my goodness... what the hell am I doing?!

I ALMOST ran to my car-- I'm absolutely serious right now... that's how fast I walked out of the area.

Crisis averted.

This morning, I check out Facebook... only to see Subway is GIVING AWAY free cookies.

WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! What is this garbage?! WHY NOW?!

My birthday is a little under two weeks away... NO SUGAR on my birthday? What THE FUCK was I thinking?!

I should have just given up sex and drugs again.

(Get it?)

I'm an idiot.

AnoMALIE-unfriendly Pastime

I told one of my aunts about the current predicament I'm in... the issue with that shit-talking idiot chick. She, like pretty much everyone I've spoken to, suggested I ignore the bitch.
Me: Yeah, but when I think of her fucking stupid, stuttering fucking oaf face... I get SO FUCKING ANGRY!
Aunt: Oh, you know what's great at clearing your mind? KNITTING! It is SO relaxing.

This woman tried teaching me how to knit back when I was EIGHT... eight fucking years old.
That shit held my attention for perhaps... two weeks. I wound up giving all of my needles and yarn to my aunt, once I decided knitting was NOT my thing.

Fast-forward a little under 20 years and you have me finding a knitted scarf, 2/3 of the way complete.
I felt bad throwing it away, since the quality was pretty great... and I thought of the poor soul who killed her time knitting that shit. Plus, the yarn was soft... I wasn't about to toss that.
I told my aunt about the scarf, and promised her I'd give it to her so she could finish it, since I knew it was one of her favorite pastimes.
That was about two years ago.
FInally, this weekend I finally decided to bring the yarn and needles with me to give them to her as we did our usual gathering.
But this time, she didn't care for knitting... especially after hearing me rant.
She informed me I was going to finish the scarf.
After what seemed like an eternity of angrily staring at my aunt's hands, I sort of got the hang of it:

Jesus...

I didn't say I did it SUCCESSFULLY.
I'm sure you can tell where my incompetent ass started to massacre this poor work of art.
I'm also sure you can tell how I progressively become calmer. I start off all erratic... and end up tight and somewhat even.

I'm definitely not built for knitting.
Not sure if I should be excited or sad about this.
First, I can't have cats because it turns out I'm allergic... now this, where I discover I can't knit for fucking shit.
My plans for being a stereotypical catlady have gone to fucking hell.

That's Mah Purse... I don't know you!

My apologies for any past, present, or future sentimental posts.
These weddings that took place in the last week have my feelings all fucked up.
It's like, metaphorically speaking, I dug into my luggage-sized purse in search for my car keys. I turned that motherfucker inside out and some gum wrappers/tampons/loose Tylenols turned up from the very bottom of the purse (did I just call my sentimentality a gum wrapper? A tampon? Sure did. Not because I think it's unimportant, but because I don't think very many people want to hear that part of me... since I do tend to keep it very private. Who I like, why I like them, and how I like them isn't something that will normally come up in conversation, so I tend not to write about it either... and when I do, I'm left feeling kind of stupid/vulnerable).
Sorry about that... but I'm sad to report I can't promise it won't happen again.
SO... if you don't like it... MY BAAAAD!
:)
Now I'm off to the Friday night races.
(I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be action packed with blog-worthy shit... for ONE, I might be helping Musketeer and his wife move out of their apartment. The story on how I volunteered is interesting, but I'd rather not share for fear of being considered a bad friend... which I kind of am, since I don't mind talking shit about Musketeers wife. I only hate because she hates on me first... but if I were a good person, I'd ignore her and stay quiet. But no. I don't do that)

"Te adueñaste de mis pensamientos, de mis sentimientos." See, told you.

Hobo Fridays

Fridays are a freakin' pain.
What are they called... Lenten Fridays? Something like that.
I don't normally crave meat... but like clockwork, every Lent, when it comes to Fridays, I'll spend the day eyeing steak and all that bloody mess.

However, counting today, there are officially TWO more Fridays where I have to put up with this. TWO!
It couldn't come sooner.
I've spent the last few Fridays holding my breath as I force myself to eat shrimp on Fridays (that vile garbage. PUKE!). No matter how hard I try, or how I prepare the shrimp (well, I know I can muster the courage to eat them in sushi, but they have to be done in tempura batter), the consistency of the shrimp is just too disgusting for my tongue to tolerate.

Last week, I was feeling brave.
Mom prepares amazing ceviche, from what I hear. I've never tasted it, but every single friend or family member who has tasted it has fallen in love with it. Salvadorans, Filipinos, white (what else can I call them?), they taste the ceviche and they return for THIRDS. One Filipino friend ate a freaking GALLON of it. Also, ever since Rafa was in the army, when he comes home for breaks, his one request is always ceviche... and Rafa's a goat when it comes to eating: he inhales anything. So to request ceviche... I guess it must be good... right?
So, last Friday I was like
Ok, I can handle this... if so many people make such a big deal about my mother's ceviche... I kind of have to try it. All these people can't be wrong.
I had Mom make me some ceviche Thursday night, so it could be ready for Friday lunch time.
I was actually giddy when it was time for bed.
Ce-vi-che! Ce-vi-che!
Friday afternoon, when it was finally time to eat, I pulled out the ceviche, and took my first bite.
FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
Sister: So... ?
Me: It looks like brains... and it feels like wet boogers... this is... torture.
Sister: Well fuck you too!

Sadly, I proved I will NEVER like ceviche. EVER.
I was nice and finished my little bowl Mom had so kindly prepared for me... then I declared myself an eternal enemy of ceviche.
Sorry, Mom.

So... that was a failed experiment (I even tried it after pretty much starving myself. When in those conditions, I can eat a rock and it'll taste glorious to me. NOT ceviche).

Now I limit myself to eating tuna straight out of the can on Fridays. I call it "Hobo Friday."

April 29, I'm going to gorge on filet mignon and skirt stake. Be ready!
Fuck seafood (except salmon and sushi)!
(yeah, I'm cussing... but I'm just so passionate in my hatred for that stupid food group, I can't help myself. Plus, I only have a little over a week of censoring myself. SO close!)

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!)

Oh, that means "I love you"

Older Brother and I have an awesome relationship.

I answered Older Brother via Myspace on a personal question he had about... his nasty ass toes (as usual) because, you know, since I'm a Biology major who is about to get her Bachelors on the subject, I am now qualified to answer any and all family health questions. Yes, that's how we roll in the Dos Santos-M. family. Anyway, I also added the following (because he also joked about me only having one class this semester):

P.S. It's two classes with one lab. I do go to school 3 times a week, you know.
P.P.S. Que te traes? Are you feeling ok? 'Cause your facebook behavior worries me.
:(

(I added a second comment three minutes later)

and another thing: Me corte el pelo, cabron!! Thanks for noticing. >:(

(which means "I cut my hair, fucker, thanks for noticing")

He responded with something along the lines of "What the hell are you talking about?"
And I wrote back:

"Is just a dreamer dreaming his life away."
That's what I'm talking about, fool.

You're turning emo or some shit on us.
Just checking up on you... to make sure you weren't about to slit your wrists or anything... j/k

P.S. Your visa came in today.
I'm so jealous.

His response, and reason why I love my brother:
(probably the longest comment he's ever written me on Myspace)

Emo? Emo? Me, an Emo? Are you kidding me?! I was just writing a paper the other day for my War, Law, and Ethics class and I just so happened to be listening to that song by Ozzy. It's the shit!

Besides, so what if I actually "dream" that this world can someday be more peaceful? It may never be, but at least its worth it to have hope instead of living life thinking the glass is half-empty most of the time (ahem, remind you of anyone?). Hatin-ass closet Republican! Why don't you and my dad just go and kiss Pat Buchanan's fascist ass while you listen to Rush Limbaugh! haha, j/k. But nah, I was just in a very "dreamy" mood that day, I had to get in a flow to write that damn paper that was due the day I went on Fall Break.

I have too many long-term plans to be thinking about slitting my wrists, besides, slashing the wrists almost never works (although it was you, I think, who told me how to more effectively do it, so if I ever do such a stupid thing, blame yourself when you see longitudinal cuts down my forearms). Ahhh, "longitudinal..." long time I haven't used THAT word. PEACE.
(minutes later)
And oh yeah... I dig the "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur." I like it so much, I just wanna go and bite your head and yank on your ear in my twisted way of showing affection! Damn, we're such social outcasts when it comes to that whole sibling-love shit. You know, the whole "I-show-my-love-by-just-standing-there-before-one-leaves-for-a-long-time-until-mom-forces-you-to-hug" strategy. I guess the fact that we're not all at each others throats should be enough, right?

My response?

Yeah, yeah, whatever you fucking hippie. Haaa ha.

Twisted way of showing affection? More like primitive way of showing affection. Haha. But there are times when I look in the mirror, think to myself "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur," ruffle it, and then miss the bites to the head and all the violent shit.

Anyway, have a good day... (now I'm refering to the post below me) and yes... I'm a badass... I got *Little Sister* that nice chunk of change with my remarkable writing skills (and there was no music involved while I did the writing)... holler!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my brother and I show each other affection.


Oh, and one last tidbit to end this post.
It may be off-subject and random, but whatever.

Today I learned that while I may have some artistic abilities, gift wrapping is definitely not one of them: (first two are from the right side, last 2 are from left side)