Hear yee, Arachnids

Dear Spiders:
I don't get it.
I'm nice to you... very nice. Each time I bump into one of you, whether it be in the wilderness or in my bathtub, I spare your life. I don't get all annoying and scream for someone to kill you.
I often admire you when you catch bugs in your webs... so those too are usually off-limits when I bump into them (well, sorry, I do get rid of them when they're in my house. Is that what this is all about? You're angry 'cause I wreck your home you've made inside my home?).
So, I'd like to know:
Why the fuck are you so fond of biting me?! Not only does it hurt, but it leaves scars.
I've been stupid enough to put up with the multiple bites to my arm and occasional knee bite, but now... now you've crossed the line.
Inner thigh? Really?!
Not cool. It hurts, and adds an extra paranoia I really didn't need in my life right about now.
That being said, I officially declare war.
Fuck you.
Next 8-legged creature to cross my path gets killed; daddy-long-legs, brown recluse (even if that shit is not indigenous to the area), or tarantula (applies now, since I believe I'm going to Mexico next month. Stupid, I know, but I can't help it), you're getting stomped. No mercy.

Dueces,
AnoMALIE

Dinner

(Dad walks in on my mother and I as we watch the Serbia- Ghana match)
Dad: Que vaz hacer de comer? (What are you gonna cook?)
Mom: Son las 8 de la manyana... (It's 8 in the morning...)
Dad: Dije de comer, no almorzar. En la tarde! (I said lunch--in Spanish it has a weird little, double meaning--, not breakfast. In the afternoon!)
Mom: Nigga Please! Estoy viendo el Mundial. No puedo pensar en otra cosa (Nigga please! I'm watching the World Cup. I can't think about anything else)

Glad to know she has learned a thing or two from me... I thought she was a goner after that one time I tried teaching her how to multiply negatives.

3 Ts

At first, I was proud of any high school graduate, but after 10 years of going through the motions, it's getting pretty painful.
I've gone to 4 high school graduation parties in just the last two days.
The parties are best described with the 3 Ts:
1. Tacos
2. Tequila
and
3. Talking.

The tacos are awesome... especially when that trustee Taquero Man is hired.
Then it hurts like hell after a couple of hours.
Putos taquitos de Al Pastor and Carne Asada! So good... but ahhhhh! I feel like a baby alien is ripping apart my intestines with a ninja star.

And the tequila... no lie, my mom has been drunk these last two days (such a fucking pain. She's up at the crack of dawn watching the World Cup games and once someone scores, she starts doing her gayass Mexican Mariachi scream that only sounds like someone broke in the house and is trying to slit her throat... it's fucking alarming to wake up to that shit, I tell you). I've been DD, with my shit-tastic night vision... and get this! I have been driving my mom's car, which is fine... except that motherfucker's speedometer is NONFUNCTIONAL.
The little lady better not keep this up.

And finally the talking. The talking!!
My mom will never shut her trap at these parties ("OMG, you're *Mom*'s daughter?! How are you so quiet?!" Maybe... if she ever SHUTS UP!). Mom can have a conversation with a rock! So, when there's ladies she knows at these shindigs, she forces me to sit with her and listen to their conversations. Since these conversations revolve around the old days, or upcoming weddings, I'm usually bored with nothing to do. I can people watch for only so long before I start giving people the wrong impression.
I swear to God, that bitch looks at me again, I'm gonna beat a bitch up! Tryyyy it! At least I'll be entertained.
Hey, don't move... don't move... but I think AnoMALIE's checking me out. She's been doing it all day. Babe, you're 17 (or in today's case, 42... which was... I puked in my mouth when he tried hollering. Then he kept walking back and forth past me and inching closer until he finally rubbed up against me and I looked him in the eyes and gave him my best disgusted look. That shit DOES NOT fly with me), why would I be giving you the eye? I already knew how to divide by the time you were born (or in the old man's case, he was already jacking off to photos of Sasha Montenegro, or whoever the fuck was popular back then, by the time I was born), that means NO.

Yeah, I know, I complain a lot... and it always seems like I'm doing a ton of shit I don't feel like doing, but what can I say? If I like you, you can probably get me to lick a New York sidewalk.
I care that much.

Ah, to be Mexican!

Way to make an impact!

My brother has officially beaten me to stardom.
Ok, I never aimed for stardom- I shy away from anything that resembles attention.
But anyway, my brother made it on international television today by appearing in the background of a Spanish news show syndicated in the US and numerous Latin American countries (Primer Impacto).

He's spending the summer in South Africa, interning at the US embassy, and so, he gets to do the most unbelievable shit!
While last summer he spent it in DC being one of Hillary Clinton's secretaries (at one point being responsible for divulging the news of MJ's death to news groups), this summer he lives in Durban and gets to travel to multiple World Cup matches. Lucky bastard!

Anyway, he's rocking a white US soccer team jersey... the only dude with a US jersey, actually, and he's also drinking this huge Heineken. Luckily, he's not making an ass of himself... he just looks like hes really enjoying that beer (until the very end, before it cuts off... he makes a horrible thiz face).
Being his nearly-twin sister (ok, not really, he's a year and a half older than me, but we're still pretty in synch), I can tell he's thinking "Oh my God... I'm really here!" because that's his "Oh my God... I'm really here!" face (the last frame). Here are some stills from the video: 

Anyway, I was having a relatively shitty day, and this tiny action made me giggle from 3 in the afternoon until... I'm still smiling!

I love my brother... he's so fucking awesome!

"Just an army boy," HA!

I'm sorry, sleepy time!

For the last couple of weeks, I've been trying to adjust my natural sleeping schedule.
It has been rough, and I am never happy about waking up at any time prior to 10AM.
I've managed to train my body to get up at 8 in the morning, considering I go to bed at 3 in the morning.
That was the best I could do.
Now, the day finally came, and I never made it to waking up at 6... at least, not with a smile on my face or the desire to be nice to people.

Why am I doing this?
Because the damn World Cup is in South Africa.
But I guess it could be worse, like that time it was held in Korea. Those were the most miserable times of my life.

Anyway, the games start tomorrow and my Mexican lovelies get to play the opener.
6AM.
Nice.

So, I apologize ahead of time...
for he next month is going to be a rough one for me. But, LET'S DO THIS!

 Go Mexico! Go Spain! Go Portugal! USA... well, don't be total dicks, k?

My room looks like a fucking embassy.

Ah, yes, and just for shits 'n giggles, here's my deluded bracket:

Crazy? Just a little.

Always the bridesmaid... because I'm STUPID

Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Como burra al trigo ('Like a donkey to wheat" I guess it doesn't translate so well, unless you grew up in Nebraska or something, surrounded by farms. I also think of donkeys eating corn or... grass... not really wheat, but hey, I didn't come up with the saying), I stomp on over to what hurts me:
I have agreed to bridesmaid duty... again.

I will have 14 bridesmaid dresses after this... 14! (Fuck "27 Dresses." My shit is real!)
I collect those babies like an avid wedding aficionado.
But in all reality, I'm usually quite upset by the end of the night... which eventually turns to rage when that all-knowing/probably already drunk asshole comes by and tries to cheer me up with that stupid line:

It's OK, one day... you'll find your other half.

Get the fuck out of here.
Wanna know why I'm sitting here, alone at the corner table, with this death-grip on the closest sharp object?  
-This dress. 
It's unbelievably overpriced and ill-fitting. I wouldn't wear it in a Pretty in Pink re-make. Thanks for forcing me to rock it for 14 hours.
-The music selection.
Please, just take me to the circus next time... at least I might see a monkey in a cute little outfit doing a much better job holding down a beat.
-The photos.
OMG! The photos! No, don't worry, my face only starts to hurt after 24 hours of fake-smiling. Crows-feet? Nah, they don't scare me.
-The older people giving me life advice.
Oh God! That's always nice! I'm always game to be told how to turn myself into a better catch for a dude from Hometown. Sorry I got that degree, by the way... I know it now lowers my chances of getting snagged by someone from Hometown... I mean, who the hell wants a smart girl? I'm sorry I liked science and inadvertently turned into a nerd. My bad.
Did I mention this fucking dress is retarded?!
Oh, and that line dancing.
Awesome. Keep it up. Really. I love it. Reminds me of that color-by-numbers thing we had in kindergarten, used to teach us how to color AND count... only now you're learning to "dance" and count. You guys don't look handicapped at all! Yes, that's right... keep clapping each time you get the step right. You Clap to your little heart's content! It's cool, I'll just sit here and ponder whether or not my ear canal will pose much resistance to this fork in my hand.

But... whatever. I'll let them keep thinking I'm devastated over my loneliness each time I'm forced to see the newly-wed couple slow dance to Shania Twain's "Still the One," even when it's for the fifth time that night.
I'll put up with this because-- zero sarcasm-- I sincerely love them.
Let's make some memories, people!

And two things totally off-topic:
1. "Porky Piggin' it" ?? Wow. If you do this, I want to meet you... but when you're not Porky Piggin' it. Why?! Why not just walk around completely naked? You little trickster, you.

2. I'm not usually into songs as repetitive as "The Only Exception" by Paramour... but that song is so fucking sad and relatable. I hate myself for loving it.
Guess what people are going to hear next time they see me...
"You... are... the only exception. You... Are"
And I'll try my hardest to make meaningful eye-contact the whole time... while holding a daisy near my face.
Yeah... No.

Oh, and a third: My overuse of ellipses is just reflective of the way I talk. Yes, I really do make that many... pauses... in my speech. Deal with it. I'm deep. Or just slow.

The Spaniard

Primaries are today and we're already fighting in this house.

Good ol' dad frustrates the shit out of the other four members of this household.
The lone republican.
It's not that we're all die-hard dems or anything... well, besides my brother, that guy is border-line commie... but Dad's part of the GOP because... he wants to prove he's not Mexican.

The man swears he's Spanish- not Mexican, Spanish!- aka "the classy Spanish speakers."
Sure, Dad, you're Spanish... but it was so long ago down your family line, it practically doesn't count since it was your great-grandfather who sailed to America and later shacked up with a native. I can't claim Spanish citizenship, thank you. Plus, the rest of your ancestors were Native Americans, so... slow your roll, Hernan Cortez.

He's also white... he looks "American," (I DETEST using that term for a person of the USA, while in the USA... but I won't get on my soapbox) so he turns his back on the darker Mexicans.
A misguided attempt to assimilate, if you ask me.
Love your new country, but don't hate your old one.

We fight because of the unbelievably racist shit he says when we bring up negative points of one candidate.
Me: Dad... that cunt is so uneducated, not to mention ridiculously biggoted! How the hell are you going to vote for her?
Dad: She's just doing what has to be done. Send those wetbacks back where they came from.
Me: WTF? Dad... you were a "wetback."
Dad: Correction- I walked the desert and crossed the border by TJ. I was not wet at any point. Plus, times have changed. I lucked out.

How the hell I'm related to that baseness... I do not know.