I don't even need drugs

I'm out of it.

So out of it.

I started the day off by getting in the shower with my sweat pants still on.
When I realized it, I kind of just sat there... and left them on.
Fuck. It.
They needed to be cleaned anyway.
I had forgotten how much I hate the feeling of wet clothes.
After I was out and the pants were in the dryer, I thought about how funny it'd be to take a picture for my blog... but once again, let me reiterate, I'm out of it.

Then, as Little Sister and I had breakfast/lunch (brunch?) at P.F. Changs, I almost gave the waitress a $25 dollar tip, confusing a 20 for one of my singles.
Little Sister caught me on that one... or else, not only would I be out of it... I'd be BROKE and out of it.
I also dropped my chopsticks under the table... I felt like a moron and had to eat my slippery, steamed vegetable dumpling with a fork, like some wanker.

We then visited Mom and Dad at the hospital (more on this later).
Supposedly we were taking Mom lunch, yet I forgot it in the car.
It was cold as shit, it didn't help that we were practically hanging out at Red Rock, but being the good daughter I am, I sent Little Sister to go get it (you didn't think I was going to get it, having a younger sibling at arm's reach, did you?).

I visited Dad from 1:30 to 6, and most of the time... I'd either say "Huh?" each time Dad said something in his groggy voice... or I'd completely ignore him.
I spaced the fuck out for most of my stay (I did accidentally harm him when he asked me to lift him up... he gave me the elbow that had been used to draw blood, how the hell was I supposed to know? I felt like a dipshit when I saw his little elbow bleeding once I put him down).

At 6:15 I left for church on the opposite side of town.
I cut off two cars... one of the times really pissing off one of the drivers who sped up to me to scream some bull... all I did was look over him and do my "What, motherfucker?!" pose (you know, you spread your arms out like a gangster and cock your head up) while mouthing those exact words, making sure to accentuate the "F" by really pressing down on my bottom lip with my incisors... and he left me alone. I guess he was expecting a nice soccer mom and not a spaced out ex-hoodrat.

At church... I don't know what I did... I was zoning out, once again... I didn't follow directions as well as I usually do... I'd remain kneeling for a long while... I'd be the last one to sit down, that kind of stuff.

Coming home I cut off another cholo... he tried catching up to me in his hooptie, but once I noticed it, I sort of feared for my life (and my bottom lip doesn't like it when I so angrily scream "motherfucker" at more than one person in one day) and gunned it until my exit came up.

However, as spaced out and retarded as I may have been, nothing beats Dad when I visited him.
For the first three hours, he was so out of it... that his morphine-induced hallucinations were cracking me up!

1) He told the nurses that he had three daughters (I'm sure Older Brother won't be too glad about that).
2) He was complaining to me about how mean the nurses were, and as he was about to tell me what one of them did to him last night, he just went blank and didn't say a word for about a minute... then he came back and completely changed the subject.
3) When his surgeon came in (this was embarrassing more than it was funny) Dad said "Can I tell you something? When I first met you, I thought you looked like a bum! But now you look so rich and professional!" (God, find me a hole I can crawl into and die!!!)
4) He made a "pee-pee" song he'd say so that Little Sister and I could leave the room while he tinkled (he did it to embarrass us out of the room... with great success). I can't remember it very well... all I know is that he somehow worked the words "changuitas" (little monkeys) and "su papi va hacer pipi" (literally: your dad is going to make pee-pee, but meaning "your dad is going to tinkle").
5) He kept talking about what's going to get people into hell.
6) He asked me about Chase out of the blue.
Dad: And Chase, does she know I'm in here?
Me: Umm... yes, Dad, I told her. ??
Dad: (nods)
Me: ...but only her... (well, in person.)
Dad: Why?
Me: Because I'm not close enough with anybody else... ??
Dad: Ah... ok... yes... it's better if only Chase knows.
Me: ???
7) Once again out of the blue, he says "Man, this stuff (the morphine) doesn't let me cry!! I want to cry!!"

After 5PM he was doing better. He hadn't taken any morphine for about 2 hours... so he wasn't acting all crazy.
He traded "crazy" for "cranky," so I left Mom at the hospital to handle him for the rest of the day.

Party at my house tonight!!!
(yeah... right... whatever. I need to study)

It has begun...

I don't eat when I'm nervous/upset.

Of course, I never really know when I'm upset/nervous.
I'll just notice the adults around me getting pissed off because I turn down everything they offer (have an eating disorder once in your life and they'll never forgive you... even after seven years)... including chocolate... and that's when the angels in heaven sing:

Hallelujah!!!
You're upset, AnoMALIE!

First. we got lost trying to get tot he hospital.
Then my sister got a phone call from Older Brother who was asking us what we wanted from Notre Dame... all the while I'm trying to get directions from Mom... and all you hear is me and Little Sister going at it.

Me: Shut the fuck up, for a motherfucking second!!
Little Sister: You shut the fuck up, bitch!!
Me: Look, you little cunt, shut the fuck up before I fucking punch the fuck out of you!
LS: Why don't you try it? Fuck, AnoMALIE, you're such a fucking bitch!!
Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I'm trying to get directions, you dumb, annoying idiot!! This is more important!
Bro: Dang... what's going on?
LS: AnoMALIE's being a fucking dumb bitch right now... let me call you later.
Me: You shut the fuck up!!

I'm so rational, aren't I?

Anyway, once we found the lobby, I sat from 1PM until 4 PM waiting for Mom to come out of Dad's room because supposedly, she was going to stay with him until they wheeled him out for surgery at 2:30.
As the time ticked away, I was ready to take drugs or some shit to make me pass out and make me stop thinking the crazy shit that was running through my mind.
Finally, Mom came out... and then the waiting game continued until 7:30 when the surgeon came out to tell us everything was cool.
Then we played the waiting game some more until 9 to see my very sedated Daddy.

Now I'm home.
Hungry-ish... kind of cranky... with a headache... and I still sort of feel like I'm having an out of body experience.

But my Pops is A-OK.... even 35 pounds lighter.

Bad Host

So Dad's getting cut tomorrow (the proper word to use here would be "going in for surgery," but I'm in no way proper).

He's been relying on me for moral support.

Dad, you sure about this? You're talking about AnoMALIE comforting you... the girl notorious for crying whenever given the "I'm so disappointed in you" speech... from anyone, really.

He seems to think a BS (in my case, it stands for BullShit) in biology means I'm already working on my residency at some hospital.
With the actual knowledge I have, the most I could probably do for him now is give him a lecture on Calmodulin and CaM kinases.
Since I've never had any sort of procedure done... hell, I haven't even broken a bone (well, the only one I broke was the pinky on my right foot--or was it my left?--, and that shit sucked, but I didn't even go to the hospital for that bad boy... I just sucked it up and had one shitty ass summer)... I really can't give him the proper support of "Don't worry, you won't even feel it! You'll be up and about in three days!"

Anyway, Dad's upcoming surgery has brought many visitors to the house.
I say hello to maybe 20 percent of the visitors.
For the most part, I stay in my sister's room and draw (I should probably be studying for finals, but eh, fuck it) or sneak out of the house to go to the gym. I've only been caught once by one of the visitors as I was sneaking out of the house in my gym clothes yesterday. I made some lame-o excuse about "Oh, I'm running late and this class is long... and I didn't want to bother you guys" then I redirected her to the Milano cookies.
What a gracious host I am, right?
I was given props, according to Mom, for giving our guests "gourmet" cookies.
Gourmet when I give you truffles, yeah? It was either that or give Tyson the cookies... and we all know dogs can't eat chocolate.

I guess this problem with pops has brought the family closer.
My jerk uncle who usually talks shit about my dad to everyone came over on Tuesday, and when I walked in the bedroom to say bye to Daddy before school, I saw my uncle had watery/puffy eyes.

Ok, relax you guys... this isn't Steel Magnolias.

And yesterday, my cousin, the husband of the girl who caught me sneaking out of the house, was caught by surprise when they told him Dad had cancer.

Oh my God, uncle! I thought you were going to have like... your appendix removed!

It was amusing to see him trying to finish the last of his Milano cookie with milk.

This has also brought over almost all of Dad's church congregation to the house.
It's pretty obnoxious... but as long as they manage to control my dad and his freak-outs, I guess I can welcome it... and I put up with the chanting/praying/screaming better than if it were under any other circumstance.
However, I can't wait until this is all over and they quit showing up at the house at all hours of the day... taking up my parking spots or preventing my successful exit from the house because they're blocking my escape routes.

The next three weeks are going to be... maddening... I just hope I don't start writing crazier shit up in here... frustrated out of my mind and all that stuff.
If I do, I won't hold it against you if you ignore me for a second, yeah?

If you like being in a hospital all day, clap your hands!!
::crickets::

I hate being a Debbie Downer.

What a way to celebrate my 200th entry, no?

I may get shot for this...

But Milano cookies are severely over-hyped.

It took 22 years for me to taste a Milano cookie... and now that I have, I'm definitely not impressed.

Also,
Milano cookie + dipped in milk = Yucccccccccck.


I'd rather bite into some garlic than do that again.

Mute

I'm shy.
Obviously.

I've never been much of a talker, ever... even when surrounded by friends, if there's one new person, I'll keep mum.

I never really noticed how others viewed my quiet persona until the last day of 7th grade.

I was sitting behind my best friend of the time, and her friends had gathered around us as we waited for the bell to ring.
Somehow, and I can't remember what the hell the subject was, I started talking.
I said something witty, and it got a crazy reaction from the people in the group.
After everyone was done laughing, the "tough" one of the group looked over at me and said
"Dude!! You're funny! And here we thought you couldn't talk!"
I looked at her with a look of "WTF?" and someone else said
"Yeah, we all thought you were a mute since you never talk in class! That's why we never really talked to you because we thought we weren't going to understand you."

It was fucking algebra class... how the hell was I going to talk in there?

I just looked over at my friend and asked her why the hell she didn't tell people I talked.
It was a funny moment for everyone in the immediate area, but deep inside, I was sort of hurt and angry.

Anyway! This brings me to what I've been doing recently.
I'm a kid at heart, big time, and I enjoy children's programming almost as frequently as regular adult programming.
I'll watch Arthur when I'm in the mood... I'll watch The Suite Life of Zach and Cody before heading out to yoga Saturday morning... and recently, I've been regularly watching Signing Time (I think that's the name?) on PBS.
I'm really hooked on the show because it teaches kids sign language. The first time I watched it, the host's voice really bugged me... but after seeing the kids they put on the show, my heart melted.
So here you have me, weekdays at 1 in the afternoon, signing along to little kid songs and trying to memorize things like the difference between "flowers" and "Spring" (and also collecting a list of favorites. So far, "Bee" has the edge over "sun").

People sometimes think I'm mute, right? I might as well fuck around with them a little and talk in ASL.
Never again will people have to listen to my aggravating, jocky-voice.

Basket case

My patience as of recently has really been waning.

In church today (man, I was reminded why I avoid mass on Sundays... it gets PACKED) some folks sitting to my right were a little too eager to get their money in the basket, and instead of waiting for the basket to come to them-- so that they could pass it on down to us-- they shoved the money in the face of the people in front. That way, the nice people in the front row could put the money in the basket for them (make any sense? I mean, visually, because logically it just means they're fucking impatient retards).

I became irritated, and signed the letters "r-e-t-a-r-d-s" to my sister.
She pushed my hand down.

Sister: Shhh... what if they understand?!
Me: They don't even know how to work a basket!

I'm mean.
Grrr.

And talking about things that go "Grrr,"
¡GOYA! ¡GOYA!
¡CACHUN, CACHUN, RA, RA!
¡CACHUN, CACHUN, RA, RA!
¡GOYA!
¡¡UNIVERSIDAD!!

¡¡Vamos Pumas!! (pardon my super Mexican-ess right now, it just runs in my blood to do this. Although... I never get this excited for UNLV. I celebrate UNLV happiness by being a little more gringa and doing things like... screaming "Yeaaaaaaaah!!" all the time)

My boys made it to the final.
Santos 4- Pumas 5
God, I really need to get into la UNAM.

¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
Si mi corazón azul es,
Y mi piel dorada,
Siempre te querré.

I don't care if they don't beat Atlante (I have a thing for them too, but my heart belongs to Pumas), I'm just glad they beat the unstoppable Santos.

And that's the end of my fútbol talk.
:D

En boca cerrada...

Me: Man... last night I had the worst nightmare...
Little Sister: What was it? (She knows that if she doesn't ask, I'll never sit through any of her dream sequences)
Me: I dreamt that this guy I have a crush on was gay... and that we were best friends and I was helping him look for a boyfriend...
Little Sister: Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Me: Fucked up, right?
Little Sister: You have a crush on someone?!?

Thank you, thank you!
Yes... I'm that good.