Boo Stats

Allow me to preface myself by saying I realize I have absolutely no reason to be in a relationship right now and I am no where near that kind of point in my love life. I am fully ok with being all by myself at the moment, although ask me when I'm PMSing—and I'll tell you the complete opposite. HOWEVER, there are quite a few things that I miss about having a man to call my own and vice versa. (Sidenote: If the right man swept me off my feet tomorrow, I would NOT refuse him. I'm just speaking out loud so we're all clear here. Hah. I'm still a human being in search of love. Shit…)

There are moments in my everyday life where I happen to find the funniest thing EVER, and I have no one to text it to. I realize I could send these insanely funny texts to a friend, but really? No. I'm a master at this… I still send stupid shit to my boys constantly, but its not the same. I used to send stupid texts/emails/links all the time, but without that one person to send it to… it feels as if it serves no real purpose. Its a sad realization because every time I want to send something, its a quick reminder that I am man-less. Wamp. Wamp… and then the tiniest violin plays for me…

Because as much as I want someone around to make me laugh, I want to be that person for someone else. For the longgggest time I was the girl who made the guy who made everyone else laugh—laugh—if that makes any sense. Real talk, I will boost my own ego and fully admit that I believe I am funnier than plenty of girls. I'm no stand-up comic, but I am hilarious in my very own rite. On the most casual and comfortable circumstances I am disgustingly goofy. Disgustingly. Goofy.

I miss having someone to accompany me on random and not-so-random activities / events / adventures. Singledom is a constant solo mission and its getting kind of old. I am always 3rd or 5th wheelin', which isn't that bad cause my homies aren't PDA whores, still—I'm always the solo chick. I stopped paying attention to movie releases cause I have no one to go with. I stopped being in love with the idea of having a +1 on my Dirty 30 trip to Jamaica with the homies. I can't even get a guy to ask me on a legit date around here, and when I say legit date I mean ask me for my time a few days in advance and take me out to dinner before you try to liquor me up. I'm not tryin' to find Ride or Die over here… I just want a dude to catch Hangover 3 with or watch my Giants at the sports bar.

Lastly, cause there is nothing better than being in "sweatpants, hair tie, chillin' with no makeup on" because "it's not who you want to spend Friday night with, it's who you want to spend all day Saturday with…"

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Life Lesson No. 682

Always take a mother fuckin' solo. 

Every time I want to post a #TBT picture I have about 30% of my normal photo library to choose from. I can't post photos from dope places and times in my life because there is another face in them. I'm not sayin' I wish I didn't take them or that I need to delete them off my hard drive, I'm sayin' I wish I had the wisdom to be alone in a few of the pictures. 

Regardless of whatever kind of relationships I get into the future—I'm going to be taking a mother fuckin' solo shot from here on out.

ALWAYS.

 

World Series Attitude, 2010 trophy

World Series Attitude, 2010 trophy

Ego Trip

At the end of 8th grade my Language Arts teacher awarded me with a best writer certificate. I had no clue why I deserved such a thing. I shrugged it off, I disliked her teaching style so much (now I realize she taught middle school like a college professor, she was all over the place), so I never took the accolade seriously.

Fast forward to college, during a mentor-sesh with my graphic design department director she tells me I could totally become a copywriter. I had no idea what that meant either. She really wanted to emphasize to me that I had the ability to write. My response was somewhat of a simple: "Ok. Thanks."

The other week I got a random email from my former boss telling me she loved my blog and that I "have something." I still haven't responded to her (ahem* Thanks Tia). 

My cousin, Abby (here's your official S/O, haha), is one of my biggest fans as far as this blog goes. In her words I'm like her pinay Carrie Bradshaw. Haha, what an honor.

Prior to my move I also had plenty of girls back home encouraging me to go back to blogging routinely. Due to a general lack of motivation and unforeseen ridiculous life changes in 2012 I completely fell off my previous blog. 

So ok, I hear you now. Thank you for the compliments, and thank you for supporting my narration of the beautiful mess that is my life (more beautiful than a mess).

I appreciate it whole-heartedly. 

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I See You, Single Girl.

…in your "walkable" heels getting off at the 2nd Ave stop, ready for a night out in the L.E.S. You're on a mission, just like me on some nights. Tryin' to catch the biggest fish she can, with bait dripping head to toe. I never catch anything though, personally. Haha, I don't like the fish most of the time, so I throw 'em back.

…constantly updating your social media feed, showin' off where you are, who you're with and what you're doin'. Cause that's me on certain days too. As if I'm trying to show the world: "I'm alright—I got a life. Boys, this is where I am. RIGHT NOW." 

…laughing like you're having the time of your life, trying to catch his eye, or his, or his… Cheeks hurting because you have a perpetual smile going on, and turn—make sure you're always facing the right way. Working the room while staying in one place. Yeah, I play that game as well.

I see you, because I know all about you now.

That's me too.

Cyber-Crushin'

I've always been prone to cyber-crush on my fellow females. I seem to be intrigued by ladies with similar interests, swag and style. Since I came up / fell into / chose singledom I have been getting lost on Instagram and somewhere between 2–3 degrees of separation—I have found a few dudes to cyber-crush on.

I am SO predictable.

They are all brown-skinned men (not necessarily Filipino, HEY, I'm tryin' to expand my horizons over here), tall and relatively thin, with cleanly executed tattoos, style for days and good haircuts. The extra muthafuckin' plus is… they're all creative types. As if the first five descriptions weren't enough to get my attention—they are GOOD at what they do. Here they are, already disgustingly attractive to me and to make matters worse they're fucking talented. 

"Hi. My name is Kate, I want to buy YOU a drink."

Trust—beyond all the physical and shallow attributes I seek in a man, talent and ambition is on a whole 'notha level. They can go ahead and tell me about how their camera shutter locked up during an engagement shoot, ridiculous project deadline or client meeting from hell and I will EAT IT UP while removing my clothes at the same damn time.

I promise you, I am not attempting to find a carbon copy of ex-Mr. I just have always been attracted to the same guy, time after time. Blame this on the fact that I like familiarity and that I am most likely a lazy dater. I seek out men with similar cultural backgrounds because it makes me feel comfortable. Or maybe its the fact that I can already respect these dudes based on the work they share and we've never even met. I've only had the slightest glimpse of their personalities, yet—they already appear SEXY. AS. FUCK.

Obviously I'm only crushing, and its not even in a real-live-sense-fashion, I'm crushing via Instagram. Its highly unlikely that I will actually meet any of these fantasy dudes of mine, but as I mentioned before we only have a few degrees of separation, so… its not impossible. But I'm not one to move from cyber-crushing to cyber-stalking, so I will just daydream, for now.

​*winking emoticon here*

GUILTY-AF No.01

  • My watches are still not set to daylight savings time, but—I wear them EVERY DAY. #expensivebracelets
  • ​I have never consumed so much coffee in my life. I drink two full cups before 10:30 am.
  • I have never consumed so much alcohol in my life. I'm pretty sure I fall under "binge drinker" under any standard questionnaire.​
  • If there is a bottle of SmartWater at my desk its because I was drinking the night before.​ Almost always that is the case...
  • I listen to MIXTAPES ALL DAY. The specific genre of music depends on my mood, the weather or what I have to get done that day. 
  • Some days all I listen to is TRAP. Some days all I listen to are slow jams. 
  • ​I eat breakfast and lunch at my desk. I take hours to finish both. My breakfast bleeds into lunch and I finish lunch at about 3pm. That means instead of sitting down and really eating I am taking bites of food between 9am–3pm. By 6pm I'm freaking starving.
  • ​I Seamless at least one dinner a week. Hey, I'm solo and I don't want to cook/wash dishes. I can be lazy-AF, order and pay from my phone, only spend $10 and have dinner delivered straight to my door.
  • I am TERRIBLE at learning peoples names. I will genuinely smile and shake your hand and tell you how nice it is to meet you, but give me a minute and I have no idea what your name is. Unless I find you attractive, male or female, then I manage to remember... I wasn't always like this. 
  • I was just on LinkedIn for a full hour looking up all my new co-workers and trying to figure out how old they are by checking when they graduated college.​
  • I just took an Alcohol Use Questionnaire​. I just scored 11, that's freakin' unhealthy.
  • I listen too closely to Hip Hop lyrics that I'm somewhat obsessed with trying things or visiting places songs mention. Do you know what Ace of Spades or King of Diamonds are? I do.
  • I visit RapGenius at least 5x a week. At least. 
  • I have a bad habit of buying shit I already have in a slightly varied form. For example I have four "different" shades of bright pink MAC lipstick which I cannot discern from one another after I put it on. I have a dozen+ pairs of boots. I have three ​army green jackets. When something works for me, I run with it, apparently.
  • I like to shop in the men's section. I will probably steal shirts from any man I am with. ​#fact

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The Beautiful (NON) Struggle

Yesterday I hit my two-month "anniversary" of living in the concrete jungle known as New York City. I've been collecting each week under my belt like a successful benchmark. Every time someone asks me how long I've lived here I describe its age like an infant, ___ weeks.

Now I can finally say "two months."

You know what I discovered during these past two months?

New York City fucking LOVES ME.

I can't tell you about my beautiful struggle, cause my experience here has been everything but a struggle. I'm not even trying to paint you pictures of fluffy clouds or a perfect life, or bullshit in general.

I'm just telling you. New York City loves me.

Trust me, if it didn't… I would tell you straight up. I would complain, bitch and moan about what a battle the Beast Coast has been. But its been anything but beastly to me. 

Call me fortunate, because the universe & God are finally trying to point my life in the right direction again. My life was completely ripped apart last year, and I'm finally seeing the pieces falling back into place.

To recap:

I moved into the first place I saw. I went on vacation. I chilled. I booked another vacation for the end of this month. I chilled. I took my sweet ass time working on my portfolio/resume. I got a job as a freelancer as soon as my website was completed. I did not interview. I worked 1.5 weeks before I was offered a full-time Sr. designer position. I'm started my full-time position yesterday, on my two-month mark.

Now, if I could only meet a GOOD MAN... Damn.

​

​

Fuck you. Thank you. You're Welcome.

Fuck you.

  • First and foremost… for not choosing me over everything. I would've dropped anything and moved to Mongolia if thats what it took back then.
  • For never complimenting me like a grown ass woman. 
  • For making me guarded. Good luck to any man trying to get close to me, who isn't blood-related or an established homie of at least 5 years. Real talk. 
  • For giving me extreme trust issues (queue Drake). I no longer believe half of anything the opposite sex tells me (apart from the exceptions mentioned above).
  • For the whole process of changing my last name, and then having to change it back—especially when I complained so heavily about it in the first place. Fuck you 2x for this one. Hah.

​
​Thank you.

  • For teaching me how to hustle and helping me find my back bone. You always believed in my talent and capability, it took a long time for me to recognize it internally.
  • For teaching me how to stand up for myself. I'm still a pacifist that avoids unnecessary confrontation, but I will never be walked over.
  • For helping me grow a thick skin and my "I ain't never scared" attitude. Shit ain't shit sometimes. 
  • For my LOVE of baseball. I can call a double play or infield pop fly while the crowd is still cheering like its a home run. I bleed, hard, thanks to you. 
  • For teaching me how to drink like a dude. Whiskey over everything. Period.
  • For constantly pushing me to see my own potential in myself in all avenues of life.

​
​You're welcome.

  • For the thirst to see the world. 
  • For that foodie mentality.
  • For 11 years of patience to your high-maintenance self. 
  • For being the positivity to your negativity.
  • For all the super cool shit I've introduced to you throughout the years.
  • For the fact that I am STILL your friend despite everything.

You're welcome on 100-thousand-trillion for that one...

​

SO, Last week...

In chronological order:​

Monday

  • Sent my resume & online portfolio directly to a creative director of an agency, lucky me, I have an inside connect. We discuss skills and pay rates throughout the day. Our conversation ends on a good note, she asks when I can start, I say Wednesday.


​​Tuesday

  • I hear nada, but I make plans with my girl to get stupid. Tuesday EOD, I get a call from my connect (i.e. cousin) that I have work the next day.
  • I go BALLS OUT celebrating at two bars and two clubs, the last one being the MOST CRACKIN' club I've been to during my entire NY life. Crackin', its Tuesday.
  • I get four hours of sleep.


​​Wednesday

  • Lucky me, I wake up sans-hangover.
  • Survived work due to a mixture of trap music, coffee and adrenaline.
  • My connect (i.e. cousin) takes me out to celebrate my first day by buying me Old Fashions at his favorite after-work spot. #swank
  • Went to a dinner party in Willamsburg. I drank some more, wine.


Thursday

  • Was FULLY introduced to agency life. I had project and account managers approaching me every hour based on their EOD deadlines.
  • Had plans to get stupid again. Went out to a bar. Had to stop a fight between my girl and some drunkard. Went to a club. Had to get in between my girl and another girl from getting into a fight. 
  • I was completely sober. 
  • I got four hours of sleep, again. It was NOT WORTH IT this time.


​Friday

  • Coffee is my best friend. Somehow I make it through the day...
  • I go home, eat something super unhealthy, watch HULU and KTFO before 11pm. THANK GOD.


​​Saturday

  • I hibernate until the very last minute I have to get up and get ready for my cousin's birthday.
  • We hit up St. Marks for korean fried chicken, soju and karaoke.
  • Instead of going home at 2am like a sane person I decide to go to a club with girls who were extending their night. I end up dancing with a cute dude for 15 good minutes before I realized he has the same name as ex-MR. Haha. #AUTOFAIL
  • I get home at 4:30, just another Saturday in NY. Fuck. Its killing me. SLOWLY.


​​Sunday

  • Jesus is back.​
  • I feast. 2 donuts. Unlimited sangria brunch. 2 cookies. Good company and church.

I was TIRED from the week and I started this week TIRED from the weekend. My liver is slowly dying. I am slowly killing myself with late nights, alcohol and an obscene amount of coffee to try to counteract everything I am putting my body through.​

I am only seven weeks in. ​I love my life.

​

humming, PMS & Self-Realization

This past weekend I found myself humming. I hum subconsciously. Most of the time its a tune I make up randomly in my head. I hum as if I am a five-year-old-child coloring contently, no exaggeration. Usually I am doing menial tasks, like folding laundry or cooking. I don't remember the last time I hummed. Its been a long time.

Next thing you know…

I'M. FUCKING. CRYING.

I only hummed in front of ex-Mr, whenever I forgot he was around, when I'm lost in my own world. He would never fail to mention it, "ohh, that's a nice song." 

Then for a split second, I always got a little embarrassed—at the fact another human being was seeing me in a raw and exposed state. I always thought: "shit, he just caught me." Most of the time, he truly meant whatever compliment he paid me. He always appreciated seeing me child-like and I was always some form of entertainment, even when I didn't realize it.

I started crying cause for one thing… I'm PMSing like a mother fucker, and second—because who knows when I'll feel that comfortable around someone ever again. WHO KNOOWWSSS?

It hit me hard, so I was waterworks for a good 10 minutes, and to be completely honest I'm not big on crying—only when the damn breaks, literally.

So fuck you, PMS, and fuck you, self-realizations—you are a bitch.

Clarity

​I saw this kid spin at an EDM party (read: RAVE) back in December. I had no idea who he was and how dope he is. He's only 23 years old.

If my life had a soundtrack this would have played sometime during last year's events. This, along with the XX's "Coexist" album, in its muthafuckin' entirety. Its the saddest album I've ever heard in my life, yet its in my Top Five for sure.

Anyways, I digress. The strings though... The strings...​

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