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.

In every way...

The monograms used at Monday's wedding were J and N. They were everywhere.
Their first dance was to "Unforgettable."
Dude sitting next to me was named "Darcy."
A mutual friend of ours was sitting a table away from mine.

Unforgettable, thats what you are. Unforgettable, though near or far. 
Watching the groom, the way he'd gaze into his bride's eyes... it was killing me.
Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me. 
Such sincere... adoration. There's no other way to put it.
Never before has someone been more... 

I've always been cynical saying that sort of shit is impossible... that no one is lucky enough to find someone who will look at one with such... tenderness.
Unforgettable in every way...
But Monday proved me painfully wrong.

and forever more (and forever more)

thats how you'll stay (thats how you'll stay) 

By the end of the night, I was wondering why the hell I wasn't drunk... then I'd look over at Mom and realize Oh yeah, that's why.

thats why darling its incredible

Woman took care of that for me. She was so buzzed, she attempted hooking me up with the bride's cousin... who happens to be a TWICE DIVORCED, single father of two... two separate BabyMommas... and he's only 28.

that someone so unforgettable 

Well, look at that, even Mom has given up on me... Twice divorced, single father of two, huh?... probably really IS the only thing I can find by now...

thinks that I am unforgettable too.

And I accepted this sweet little fact: the only person who can't find someone to stare at her in the same fashion I was currently witnessing... is... me.

I hope he'll... at least... occasionally... think of me...

Lifetime Moment

First and foremost:
Today is my broski's birthday.
I feel extra emotional this year, since, you know... he's going to be living in the SECOND most dangerous city in the world in a little over a month.
I'm back on that "He might die! I need to let him know how much I love him!" mode.
I missed him a lot today. Had he been anywhere in the vicinity, I would have hugged the shit out of him... possibly even bitten him a few times... 'cause we're barbaric like that.

I'm in a very... loving mood... for my siblings, that is. Overall, these last few days I've felt extremely attached to both my siblings. I just want to squeeze them... and oddly enough, I'm eager to hear their stories-- even if it's just their work complaints.
I think yesterday's wedding has a lot to do with this behavior.

This brings up part two of the post: The wedding.
Good part:
I love the family involved. The girl who got married is the girl I refer to as AnoMALIE05, since we have the same name.
She and her now-hubby are some of the funniest people I know. They're also very welcoming and... well, awesome friends. Their respective families are the same way.
These kids had been dating for... something like seven years? The love and devotion these two have for each other can warm any monster's cold heart. That includes me.

The way he looks at her makes my cynical-ass shut up.
He sincerely worships this girl.

The "Eh..." part:
This was the first occasion some of the MEN of my acquaintance saw me in... about a year?
By "MEN" I mean "Dudes I had a MAAAAAD crush on back in my teens but would only give me a head-bob as sign of acknowledgement."
A good few of them have crushes on my sister (anyone surprised? I hope not, 'cause this is a recurring theme, in case you haven't noticed).
Anyway, as far as they've been concerned, I'm pretty much a dude.
Wellll.....
I'm vindictive, right?
So... I went to this shindig in a tight--but very fucking classy, ok?!-- dress, which had a pencil-skirt thing going on, and a sweetass belt cinching my waist (love my fashion terms? "Fucking classy" "sweetass." Vogue is definitely my bible). I was rocking some five inch Santana heels (that man knows the way to my heart. His style is perfectly synced with mine)... I was six foot one for this thing.
ANYONE who knows me knows I'm conservative AS FUCK in attire... because I'm shy and probably have the soul of some re-encarnated mormon.
But for this occasion, I thought against it.
Fuck this shit. I've worked hell of hard for this body... and I want to show these motherfuckers what they missed out on when they opted for the fucking ghetto, slutty cholas instead of me ten years ago. SUCK MY BALLS, ASSHOLES!
What happened?
The majority didn't recognize me!
It was like a fucking movie, I tell you. Those corny teen movies... the Lifetime movies... those teen dramas where the fat/nerdy/loner chick changes drastically, then all the dudes suddenly start thinking she's awesome.
Ahhhh, come on, guys! How trite can you get?!
Guys were hugging me, kissing me, holding on to my waist as they spoke to me.
I, per usual, was awkward... and I'd bend as far away from them as possible when they'd hold me by the waist... sometimes staring at their hand.
Are you gonna move that or should I move it for you, buddy?
This sort of shit would probably excite a normal girl, or at least make her happy.
But not me. I'm resentful, remember?
I'd find myself getting angry. By the end of the night, when I had finally had enough of these dudes putting their fucking hands on me, I decided to just say goodbye and walk away... leaving a couple of dudes mid-sentence of their "Hey AnoMALIE! What have you been..." as I worked my way to the exit (don't get me wrong, I'd still do the courteous hug-and-kiss thing we Latinos do, I just wouldn't chit-chat and I'd most definitely wriggle out of their grasp).

... the shit I had to do in order to garner other people's acknowledgement as a human being. Marginalized for being "fat"... not up to their fucking standards of "beauty."
Shame on them.
SO yeah, that made me go "Ehhhh..." yesterday (I always thought that moment--"The Lifetime Moment," so to speak-- would be... happier, I guess. Not so rage/tear-inducing).

The bad part:
It was only bad because I allowed myself to get sad.
Seeing so much love... made me sad.
It happens to all of us single ladies.
I couldn't be happier for the married couple, they deserve all the love in the world, but it's still nearly-impossible not to feel sorry for yourself.
The way he stares at her! It's indescribable. It's beautiful. Everybody deserves that...

But don't worry... I ate a box of chocolate-covered "red velvet cupcake balls" (six "balls" per box. They were each smaller than a ping-pong ball... I would have eaten another two boxes, had they been available. WORTH. IT!), I was back to being a complacent bitch two seconds after feeling sorry for myself... because it's impossible to be pissed off after stuffing yourself with CHOCOLATE-COVERED RED VELVET CUPCAKE BALLS!

However... I did wake up with a hideous pain in my gut. I had the balls as well as the linguine to thank for that (it wasn't like I was going to turn down the fucking meal the married couple had paid for. Come on now. It's common courtesy to eat what they serve). I jump-roped like Money Mayweather trying to work that shit off as soon as I crawled out of bed.
And yeah, with that I end the "bad" section of the wedding... as well as this post.

This one dude

Two of my cousins "eloped" over the weekend. I use the term lightly, since they were already living with their respective concubines (I love that term) for years. No one was surprised.
Tomorrow, I have another wedding to attend (WHO gets married on a Monday?).

This marriage bullshit has brought about my favorite topic with my family and friends:
Hey, AnoMALIE! How's your love life?!

This question has been popping up ALL month.
MGH and Jose asked me at the start of the month.
Jose: So you're not seeing anyone?
Me: (constantly thinking about someone but) Nnnno.
MGH's other friend asked me last week.
Pedro: Are YOU in a relationship?
Me: Nope. Not at all.
Pedro: Good. Relationships are DRAMA.

The girls were all over this question during the bachelorette.
While they were happy to dance with random strangers, I'd immediately end my prancing the moment any dude would approach me.
Is your boyfriend hella possessive or something?
Mine? No. Funny thing is, I'm single as single can be. And I kind of want to keep it that way.
You DO like guys, right? 'cause we can always go to a strip club or something.
Oh, I LOVE guys. I just don't like developing feelings for anyone.
I'm sure a few of them weren't satisfied with that answer... or they're probably thoroughly convinced I'm a weirdo.

But that shit doesn't compare to the pressure from some of my family.
My dad's side is relentless. Mom only has that one sister who continuously badgers me about finding a guy, ANY guy, to settle down with and proceed to procreate.

I could tell them all my reason for not jumping at the first cat-call a dude throws my way. I could tell them why I shy away from the drunk dudes at the club who are overly aggressive and eager to shove their crotch against my lower regions.
I could tell them of the fact that I do like someone. That I've liked someone for a very long time... which tends to be my style. I meet a dude, think he's awesome, never say a word, and just let that memory last in my mind for years.
I could tell them that whenever I meet a new guy, I compare him to this one dude, and he doesn't measure up. The guy either doesn't make me laugh hard enough... or his jokes aren't as sarcastically witty... or he just doesn't like dark comedy. If the guy does make me laugh, then he's usually not as smart as this one guy, or at least not interested in the same subjects. Nothing bums me out more than when I'm the smart one in the relationship-- I love to learn and admire, always have, not the other way around.
I could tell them that when I meet a new guy, I don't feel the blood rush to my face and ears... suddenly turning deaf and only hearing "the ocean" that is the rushing blood in my ears.
The room never turns brighter when a dude walks in... it used to, with this one dude.
I don't zone off into la-la land as I stare at his smile... feel as if my own cheeks are going to burst off my face from grinning so wide as he speaks to me. This one dude had that affect on me, though, so I know it's possible.
I could tell them how there isn't a day that goes by where something doesn't brings this one dude to mind. I don't usually care for what any other guy may be thinking or doing at any given moment, but often--with this one dude-- I'll find myself doing that corny thing where I stare at the moon and wonder if he did that at any point a couple of hours earlier.
I could tell them about this one dude... who was such an awesome dude I once met, but was too shy to speak more than a few phrases to him every other day. He went about his life, never knowing how rad I thought he was, and I went about mine... focused on not fucking up in school (which I still did anyway), thinking some day down the road--once school wouldn't be murdering me-- I'd find someone just like this one dude... that Darcy. But everyone knows there's only one Darcy... I done fucked up, homie.

I could tell them all that, but I just shrug it off and change the subject.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm the weird girl whose quickly working her way to becoming the neighborhood catlady (correction: chinchilla lady, since I'm allergic to cats). Wah, wah, waaaah! Now quit worrying about my future, nosey old ladies and bitchy young girls. I'll be fine.

Attack of the baby spinach

It appears I no longer need sharp objects to cause severe damage to myself:

Happy fingers... all but that sad thumb.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was caused by baby spinach.
Well, it was the packaging of the baby spinach. I was being my usual brute self, trying to remove the plastic, my hand slipped, and next thing I know, my thumb is bleeding profusely (I took that shot after holding a napkin to the stupid finger for about two minutes).
Keep the explosives away from me, guys. God knows what kind of fucking harm I can bring about with that shit.

Great way to start my weekend.

Happy Friday.

-50

Today, I crossed a special marker.
I'd get into more detail, but that'll just have to wait for a future date... when I'm less embarrassed by it.
What I will say, is that today I passed the -50 mark since I first started with this "I don't care if I die... fuck it. I lost the will to live, so let's just fucking do this shit already" food and exercise experiment.

At first it just started as that-- losing the will to carry on, no longer caring for the joys of... anything, not just food. Only real thing I had was gym time. The endorphins released while working myself to exhaustion were really the only things that brought any sense of... enjoyment in life.

Six months later, and I can say I'm... happy with the choice. It's my new lifestyle, and I dig it... even if I sometimes bark at poor, innocent people who happen to be too slow or loud or... in the same room as I.
If we go back to May of '07, the number actually goes up to -70.

Imagine, this post was actually going to be a gripe about something from yesterday... little did I know Mr. Scale would make me a happy girl instead (but let me clarify I don't really care for numbers. What I'm really working for now is volume... as in, muscle volume... well, tone. I don't want to be a pro-lifter or anything, but I definitely want to be firm... none of that bullshit cardio-queen flimsy, soft body. That shit ain't my style. I prefer the "Don't fuck with me" look... 'cause intimidating dudes is what I do).

I'll be angry some other day.

TJ

I always complain about being the only D-Family member to NOT have met a celebrity.
Each time I'm showing the city to an out-of-towner, one of his/her first questions is always "What celebrities have you met."
None, man!!

Well, today I had the opportunity to meet a celebrity.
Personally, I don't think he's THAT much of a star, he's just the sweet/badass host of the Challenge shows on MTV. I'm talking about TJ Lavin.

I was doing my usual gym shit, early afternoon. It's my long day, where I lift for an hour, then kickbox for another hour, then finish it up with a half hour of plyos.
I'm tired as fuck by the time plyos come around. Needless to say, I'm not the nicest human by then.

The day had been going relatively smoothly, I hadn't even been hostile to anyone, and then it was time for plyos.
I was comfortably minding my own business in my corner, totally set up. The day's exercises this time around involved setting up a bench, crotch high, so I could proceed to repeatedly jump over it. Now, I'm clumsy as fuck... and jumping isn't my thing, since I've had various accidents of the painful kind when it comes to tripping and eating shit. Being required to do this exercise managed to aggravate me.
I had to do eight sets of the jumping.
As I was on set three, I noticed a chick hustle into the room, and set her shit up... as did her boyfriend.
As they hesitated to pick a spot (this is in a giant room, where there's only five other chicks doing this shit), they made me nervous, because they were standing directly behind me.
I'm like a horse: DON'T STAND BEHIND ME!
I was scared that maybe I'd end up kicking these two people... or worse, that I'd end up tripping on them and hurting myself.
So I stopped, extremely irritated, scoffed, and conveyed my feeling with my body language.
ARE YOU FUCKING GOING TO MOVE OR WHAT?!
The couple decided to set up shop to my right. The dude right next to me.

So the half hour goes by, and I'm calm by the end... because I notice the dude is being extremely nice to everyone. He's very courteous and just... kind. He had won us all over.
The entire time, I had not looked at this guy's face... since I tend to do that with people.
Once the plyos were over, and he walked over to the trainer to thank her for her time, I finally looked at him.
It was TJ.
FUCK. Me.
He then smiled at me, and held the door for me as I walked out.
The whole time, all I wanted to do was bang my head against the concrete wall.

Luckily, I apologized (via twitter... ha), and he forgave (thanks to Mooney, via twitter again).

I'm such an idiot asshole.