There's No place like home

Confession: I am enjoying being 3,000 miles away from everyone I love.

Yeah, yeah, before ya'll get asshurt, allow me to clarify.

Distance makes the heart grow soooo fond. I've already visited home twice during my 6 month NY residency. I already have plans to come back to visit in another 3 months. I admit, I rarely get homesick, and I try to hold out on coming home for as long as I can, but home is where the heart is and my heart has a permanent fixture in the Bay.

So why the hell do I enjoy being on the opposite coast so much?

I have experienced amazing love, support and attention by being extremely physically distant.

There is nothing like coming home to a group of people who have missed you as much as you've missed them. There is nothing like having your calendar filled up because your presence is requested as soon as you announce you're coming home. It warms me down to my bones to know that people clear their schedules and drive inconvenient miles to see me.

I FEEL SPECIAL AS FUCK. ALL CAPS. EXTRA EMPHASIS. REAL TALK. 100.

Hahaha, as crude and full of myself as that sounds it is the absolute truth. 

I love living in NY, but don't ever think it can compete with home. Cause when I'm visiting the Bay and the clock is ticking down for me to return and I get a stupid email reminding me to check into my flight—my anxiety hits extra hard. 

Reality is, deep down in my heart… I wouldn't mind if I missed my flight and never left again.

4 = 1

I've been walking around lately feeling like there is no man in my life. I thought again and I counted, instead of zero—I found four.

HOLD UP. 

No. I'm not going hoe-rogue on you. Let me explain. 

There are currently four men that entertain my current requirements as a single lady. Instead of one all-encompassing super-awesome man, these four serve very different roles. Allow me to attempt to clarify by keeping their identities unknown (as best as I can) while preventing myself from sounding like a "hoe fasho" at the same time.

1. Mr. Omitted ------ (haha, you know what this means). 
    
2. Mr. New New hangs onto every word I say. Its terrible because I can't say that I remembered many details about him after our initial meeting. However, I did find him attractive enough to give up my number, and here we are, officially past date one. We'll see if he asks for date two.
    
3. Mr. Bad-News-Bear should be nowhere on my radar. I have red flags tagged all over his ass but he makes me feel like one sexy fucking lady. He showers me with compliments anywhere from my physical appearance to my intellect and personality. He has no business telling me these things because his attention should be focused elsewhere, BUT I EAT IT UP, because I've been hungry for a while now. I didn't think this one would still have my attention, but it turns out he makes me laugh, didn't expect that.
    
4. Mr. History is obvious, you already know. He finishes my sentences and vice versa. He starts reciting a lyric from a song and I jump in. He orders me my favorite drink at the bar without even asking. He tells me that my favorite should be made with Rye and not Bourbon. I taste it, damn him, he's right. He sends me music, links, news, etc. etc. etc. all relevant to the interests I've adapted from him. He knows me, inside and out, he is my history still trying to figure out his place in my present.

Currently these four separate men only fill a single role on the surface. They provide attention, positive feedback and good times. There is no deep love or affection involved, there is no one to call crying to when I have a bad day (luckily I don't have those often), but I'll take what I can get, cause this is just what I need right now anyway.

August 9th

Last year I experienced one of my worst birthdays in what I feel is the most beautiful place on Earth (Kauai, HI). I woke up expecting a birthday shout from ex-Mr via FB & IG, it was minimal, not quite up to par with the levels I truly expressed my love for him, but I have always been much better with words.

I waited a bit longer… then I finally asked him for my gift(s).

He had nothing for me. Not even a simple card.

He couldn't even provide the smallest gesture during our darkest times. Our marriage was in turmoil and he was grasping at straws trying to keep himself together. He was too focused on his internal struggles to swing by Walgreens and pick up a $.99 card. You should've seen my face, it fell and my heart broke yet again. I'm not a material person when it comes to receiving gifts, I would've been happy with Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and a handwritten note. I just wanted "thoughtful," I didn't expect "thoughtless." 

That's when I should've known he was done with me.

Not in November when I asked for the all-out divorce. Not in September when I moved out after living with him for nine collective years. But on my birthday—the day where everyone you love is supposed to acknowledge the miracle of your birth, the fact you've been blessed to live "X" amount of years—I should've known it was our end.

He failed to provide one tangible symbol of love or affection, only excuse after excuse.

These days I am more excited than ever to celebrate my birthday, albeit now solo (temporarily—I hope). I cannot wait to put last year behind me. I look forward to another chance to celebrate the life I've been given, and I know I'm going to KILL MY 30's.

On Hiatus

I apologize for the short break I'm about to take. I've been busy pre-celebrating my upcoming 30th birthday and I'll be home in the Bay for a short visit, sans laptop and blogging mentality. 

To hold you off for a little, I suggest my most-favorite healthy thought-provoking website:
 The Thought Catalog

The following article is my absolute favorite:
 8 Beautiful Things About Losing Control

Check it out, if you enjoy my writing then you seriously need it in your life. It is the absolute truth. It is bible. I would place my left hand on it, then cross my right over my heart and pledge my allegiance to its words.

"8. And at the end of the day: you aren’t always right. Most often we look back on things and are grateful that control was seized from us. Accept the journey even if you aren’t sure of the destination."

Amazing.

Bitter vs. Better

"I don't get bitter, I just get better." 

That Bar in Park Slope...

In the fall of 2008 I visited NY for the third time. I was hanging out in a bar in Park Slope, Brooklyn, with ex-Mr and four friends that had transplanted (one pair for a temporary stint and the other made a permanent move).

While drinking a rum & diet coke (yeah, I didn't know how to consume liquor properly yet, and this was my default) a song came on and I "Shazzamed" it. It was Empire of the Sun's "Walking on a Dream." At that exact moment, with that slight buzz and particular song playing an imaginary soundtrack—I knew: "I want to live here."

We seriously toyed with the idea for a minute. An apartment was opening up in my cousin's building and it was about the same rent that we were paying in SF. We could do it. Sure, we didn't have secure jobs yet, but we could do it. I told ex-Mr, "if we're going to do this, lets go NOW."

Obviously we never did.

Which is cool, our careers were stable in the Bay, eventually we moved to a dope apartment in a neighborhood across Golden Gate Park. It was a comfortable life. We had our shit figured out. I accepted the fact that we would probably never live anywhere except NorCal. I still fantasized about the idea from time to time though, and I admired the hell out of anyone who picked themselves up to live in a brand new city / state / country.

I guess the feeling never left me, because this past September, when I couldn't take what was going on with my marriage anymore I booked a one-way ticket. "FUCK. THIS. SHIT. I'm leaving."

So while many folks saw this as me "running away" (ok, yeah, it looks that way), I saw this point in my life as an opportunity to do what I wanted years ago. Live somewhere else while I'm young, cause when the hell would I ever be able to do this?

Now every time I hear "Walking on a Dream" I am reminded of that bar in Park Slope and my initial desire to make the huge move, and I pat myself on the back, cause I fucking did it.

How I Got Over

There is no clear or concise formula to get yourself through heartbreak or divorce, you just figure it out as you go along. Hopefully you're one strong individual, and if you aren't in the beginning—you're definitely one in the end. I like to think I had an advantage, cause being one stubborn ass chick (read: hard-headed), I've always considered myself strong. I just didn't know how strong I was until my world got turned upside down.

There were days when my only goal was to put one foot in front of the other and get food into my stomach. Literally. Days where all I wanted to do was pop a sleeping pill and put myself into a self-induced comatose state. During the worst I felt as though I was caught in a endless storm of which I could not navigate myself out of. I went through fucking hell. Somehow I managed.

So how did I do it and within such a short amount of time? I'll give credit to an odd combination of things: my homies, Las Vegas, Trap Music and God.

My homies

My friends are my family, no question. For the entire duration that I moved out of SF up until I got to NY (roughly 5 months), I was never alone. There was always someone to eat dinner with, a couch to crash on, or people to kick it with on the weekend. I was rarely home at my parents, rarely. Everyone seems to think they have the best friends—but no, I REALLY DO. My crew is my fucking heart. I had my boys cooking up meals for me, ladies playing wing-woman and everyone behind me as my personal cheer leading squad. There was always someone a text / phone call / visit away. ALWAYS. I am eternally grateful for the support they've given me.

Las Vegas

I have always believed that "you are only as attractive as the hottest person to hit on you." After YEARS of ignoring guys I needed reassurance—and I got it. I continually play myself short when it comes to the opposite sex. I turned a blind eye to any kind of advances anyone tried to make towards me for the longest time. My heart was fucking broken, so what did I do? I went to Las Vegas, I bought tight dresses and I put myself out there for the first time in over a decade. It was a completely reaffirming experience. Hey girl hey, you're badder than you ever were.

Trap Music

I need music to survive, plain and simple. A day without headphones and/or music is torture for me. From November of last year up until around Valentines Day of this year I was listening to NOTHING BUT TRAP MUSIC. No exaggeration. Why? Cause Trap doesn't say SHIT about love. Its all beats, money, clothes, cars & hoes. It did not trigger a single soft emotion. I had no ties to any of the music, it allowed me to focus (especially at work) and was exactly what I needed. 

God

I am not a super religious person. I have faith and I believe in more of my own philosophical theories than what they teach in church or the bible. I go to (Catholic) church, but only to reflect and give thanks—never to listen. It sounds a bit self-serving, but thats what I need religion to be for me. During the worst of the worst I never asked for a perfect-ending or to continue my happily-ever-after, nope. I figured if God was putting me through the worst fucking struggle I've ever endured then there must be some reason—some light at the end of the tunnel. So I trusted whatever the fuck I was going through, and I prayed for strength, continually. It worked. I came out stronger than a mother fucker. I'm still figuring out why my marriage went to shit, so now I'm praying for patience in getting the answer. Someday it will all be made clear to me, I trust in that.

Real talk… I hope the answer to all this is that one GOOD tall / handsome / funny man (who gives good D… BWHAHAHA, sorry I had to add that last part) is out there, waiting to spit the most perfect Drake line at me.

Thank You

I already told you that I'm terrible at receiving compliments, but if there is one thing that makes me feel wonderful its when I hear the simple statement:

"I read your blog."

Sometimes its my die-hard homies who simply refer back to something I wrote, other times its someone I know mainly via social media, and in a few rare cases I get contacted by someone who has never met me—yet is following me on my current journey.

Thank you, really.

I'm enamored that you take time out of your day just to read my words. 

A million thanks. <3

Pre-Packaged

I have been trained, suited to fit the one man who asked me to spend forever with him. Mother fucker lied and changed his mind though, so I changed mine too.

In result, here I am, pre-packaged:

• Ready to discuss last night's Giants game. How a call from the ump cost us our last out when we had two men in scoring position just when our clean-up man was at-bat. What a waste… SMH. 
• Ready to NGAF while you play NBA2k13 for hourrrrrs… cause my ass will be on the other side of the couch online shopping or blogging anyway. Save a few minutes for me to cupcake during breaks though.
• Ready to send you mixtapes everyday and tell you when the DJ came in the hardest, cause he somehow managed to mix Black Hippy shit with the original samples and it blew my mind.
• Ready to meet you after work for an Old Fashioned or straight scotch on the rocks. All brown everything, only. Drink like a man, act like a lady.
• Ready to cook EXTRA fried rice and green curry, cause your ass eats a double dinner portion. Then pack you left-overs for lunch the next day.
• Ready to choose blasting music over turning on the tv, any day of the week. However, when we're in Netflix-marathon-mode I promise not to skip episodes ahead of you so we're on the same page.

The next man in my life might not find any of this relevant. However, I'd be surprised he got that far with me if none of the above mattered. Ex-Mr has shaped my tastes and interests and I thank him for that, now its just time to look for someone else who will appreciate it and won't fuck up. I'm sayin.

Real Talk, 100

This past weekend I discovered I was in love.

The familiar euphoria was overwhelming. I was in love again. With who, you ask?

No one.

I'm in love with my life.

Its official. I have moved on to brighter days. Sure—I may have been under the influence of alcohol in Sin City and sitting in a VIP area while amazing music was playing when I realized this. BUT STILL. It hit me like a mothafuckin' truck.

I. LOVE. MY. LIFE.

Everything in my life up until this point has happened for a reason. I've been reiterating this constantly. Lately I've finally been able to reap the benefits of the roads the universe has been leading me to. I have made friends with amazing people in the past year, I have strengthened bonds with those who held me up when I was down, I've taken risks I would have never taken, I've left my comfort zone and I have finally put myself first above anything or anyone.

The past weekend was a completely unexpected unfolding of amazing events, spent with two ladies I would have never met had I not moved to the East Coast, had we not all had one single mutual friend to bring us together (ahem*thanks Iris). I took it as a heavy sign that everything is ok, this is where I was supposed to be, having the time of my life with two women who are beautiful inside and out. It may have been a chemical or alcohol-induced moment of clarity, but it was clear as daylight and its still clear—even now that I am exhausted and completely sober.

I'm good. I'm happy. My life is amazing.

Who Do We think we are

I'm so late to the game with this one, which is shameful. Amongst all subjects I try to stay on top of music the most. I have no idea whats going on with television, movies or even what plays on the radio. I have to keep myself educated on music via blogs and my boys. 

This song had my heart at first listen. Its anthem status for those beautiful nights when everything just falls into place perfectly. 

FWMYKIGI

Every now and then I test myself with triggers. I listen to certain songs, particular albums or look at sentimental photos and I marinate. The heart is a muscle, so I train the hell out of it.

I look at pictures of him and his new chick and think about the two of them cooking dinner in our old apartment and I sit on that for a minute. I think about him doing everything with her that he promised me—the moment I took on his last name.

Why? Who does that?

Me. I want to be immune. IDWTGAF. I don't want it affecting me, because its reality. I have to accept it. This is a process. I'm not going to act like its not happening. I accept it. Whatever the fuck it is.

I accept it.

I don't want any sugar-coating. I'll take it as real as it gets. I'm titanium at this point. I'll admit, it still stings a little. Hell—I'm not fully immune, but I can take it. Problem is… I can't tell if I'm super-human-strong at this point or just getting more and more damaged for the next man in my life. Haha, that's another blog in its entirety though.

#FuckWithMeYouKnowIGotIt