Lazy Sunday

I have this picture of you in my mind, you are just a figment of my imagination at this point. As far as I know you don't exist, but for my sake—I really hope you do.

I've named you Chris, John or Drew. Whatever I feel like that day, that's you. It's something easy and common, cause I have better chances that way.

You text me in the morning when you wake up, it's the first thing you do after you reach for your phone. I could be dead asleep, but I wake up, every time—just to respond. This of course is only when we're apart, otherwise you annoy the shit out of me at 7 am. Go figure—I happen to fall in love with a morning person.

I will always turn to you to muster the best "good morning" I can provide. I'm pretty good at that actually, despite my night owl tendencies. In five seconds I am in your face, obnoxious as fuck. Hey, you asked for it.

I will get ready, sans makeup, because it's Sunday (I despise putting on makeup on Sunday). I will put on workout clothes with absolutely no intention of working out that day. We'll walk to the nearest cafe to get coffee, not because I need caffeine, but because of habit and I actually like the taste. I will pick up flowers from the nearest farmers market and you'll hold them. I'm bossy. Ohh, you didn't know?

I will make whatever you want for breakfast, usually it involves bacon. We always have bacon. You share stupid facts and stories you find online while we eat. You tell me ridiculous facts, but I don't mind. I repeat them when I'm drunk, making small talk with complete strangers. It entertains them and I appear knowledgable and worldly.

A food coma will hit and if it's baseball season I will stream a Giants game on my iPad. You give zero fucks about baseball, I don't care. I listen/watch/react to the game anyway. You play video games and we do this until we fall asleep on the couch.

It starts raining outside. 

I will name five suggestions for take out, you will respond with the one I actually don't want. I just asked you to be nice. I'll still order what/where I want anyway. Luckily you've figured this out by now so you don't take offense. You've learned that when it comes to food my preferences will win 75% of the time. You just respond to humor me, every time.

I will ask you 5,000 questions (give or take) during the course of the day, because you interest me that much. Sometimes I will hit a philosophical/deep cord with you, but most of the time I just want to know what your favorite anything/everything is. I'm obnoxious, told you.

At some point we will just lie in bed and crack jokes, and even though it's still raining outside, it won't be because there's no where to go...

It's because there's no where better to be.

Problems: Winter & Men

If there are two things I complain about while living in New York City they include:

1. The cold weather
2. Dating

The year I decide to move to NY is the same time Mother Nature decides its an amazing time to have a record-breaking kind of winter. I didn't realize my eyes could involuntarily cry from single degree wind-chills and below-freezing temperatures. I've literally teared up while walking to the subway station in the morning, thinking to myself "I shouldn't have to live like this." I'm a little dramatic when it comes to intense cold weather, but hey… I was born on a set of islands and I grew up in California my entire life. I honestly don't know how/why you would want to deal with such terrible weather. Ohh, I know… this is New York City, bitch is worth it.

If you've read my earlier blogs I used to be pretty optimistic when it came to finding a man in this great city. Nah, fuck that, I give up. Completely. Swear. I have absolutely no expectations left about trying to do anything more than finding the next man worth adding to my list of bedtime experiences. HELL—I can't even get/find anyone worthy of a second date. My struggle is real. I live in a city where beautiful people can be found left and right, and men have the dating attention span of goldfish. Plus, (population-wise) women outnumber men by 150,000. WTF am I supposed to do with that statistic? Fight? Show them that the thirst is real? No. Hell no. So I give up.

I love a thousand things and more about New York City, it just so happens that these two problems affect me in more ways than which I would like to admit. However like all things NYC for me, these problems are just temporary, not permanent.

Good in Bed

I just came off a fresh FaceTime session with a few of my favorites back home. My Godsons just celebrated their birthdays last night and many of my homies stayed the night in Sacramento. If their goal was to purposely make me homesick—it worked. The boys were cooking brunch in the background while serving the ladies mimosas. Meanwhile I was here in BK, solo, drinking cold coffee while they were all enjoying each others company. Amidst the usual "when the fuck are you moving back home" interrogation, plus trying to sell me on one of their boys, I shared with them my "Good in bed" theories.

My girls are pretty much familiar and in agreement with my personal assumptions.

My two theories are as follows:

1.  I firmly believe that assholes have a greater chance at being good in bed, at least as far as my preferences go. I've previously stated this but never explained my thinking behind it. I won't go too far into it, but I have a hard time imagining Mr. Nice guy is aggressive when I need him to be. They can always prove me wrong, but they still have to get over hurdles to get there.
2. If you can dance well you are more likely to be better at sex. I'm pretty sure this a universal hypothesis. This does not mean that men who cannot dance can't be good at sex, I'm not saying that. However, once I have taken interest to you and I have confirmed you are a good dancer, well then… Hi, we can test this theory out.

After my boys heard my rationale they all basically evaluated themselves (men, I freakin' swear), each claiming "Ohh, I'm a huge asshole" and danced for the webcam. I don't know why they all needed to say it out loud, they're my boys, taken by my three best girlfriends. However its true, they all have that asshole cleverness that I appreciate and yes, they have no problem on a dance floor. ALSO—girls talk, I haven't heard a single complaint from my favorite women.

Personally my numbers game is still super low to really take these theories into account. I'm proud of this, but for the most part, I have not been proven wrong. 

For the record, I don't mind being proven wrong. Just. So. You. Know. ;-p

Upper Echelon

The upper echelon of my friendships are not measured by the number of pickle back shots I've taken with individuals, or the ridiculously stupid inside jokes created on Vegas trips, or the nights we've had to collectively piece together, or even the amount of laughs we've shared. Sure, this is a large piece of the puzzle, but its only part of the equation.

The moment I seek you out on a bad day is when we've gotten to that level, not a second before. Its an innate reaction directed to the most appropriate person for that particular situation, and if its that bad—I call in various members of the support squad.

I called Kaye while I was at the Fremont Bart station, as soon as I opened up the door to my car. I left work early because I couldn't focus and I was already crying just walking across the parking lot. I hid my marital problems from her for at least 2 months (cause I thought I could fix it), and then I exploded right there, in the middle of the day bawling my eyes out in the drivers seat. I should've told her so much sooner, but I'm stubborn as fuck. (Hi, you know this.)

Abby has dropped whatever she was currently doing and got to me as fast as she could on my darkest days. She saw me at rock-fucking-bottom. If at any point during my life in which I metaphorically flat-lined and died, she was there to witness it. She also made sure I came back to life.

I text Jen when I need comforting words, no bullshitting and no fluff. I openly tell her I feel like shit and I ask her to "tell me something good." She replies back without any false promises, just positivity and realness.

Sometimes I rapid-fire text Rob when I can't deal. He gets paragraph-long text messages of me venting. I'm talking long-fucking-winded shit. I get it off my chest, he responds accordingly and I thank him each and every time.

Joanne always offered me her couch and company on days I didn't want to be alone. Its one thing to have friends who always want to see you when you're good, its another thing to have them welcome you into their lives and homes when you feel like you're a strong candidate for an anti-depressant commercial.

There were a few times at work when I used to turn to Olivia and tell her I internally felt like absolute shit. She would just hug me and allow me to feel whatever it was until it passed. She would always check on me the next day and most of the time I was already over whatever I was feeling.

I directly went up to Jun the morning after I found out ex-Mr had gotten his new chick pregnant. He hugged me that day. Jun is my best cousin, he and I do not physically interact in any way. I repeat… He hugged me. 

I am there to return the favor for when they're at odds with their husbands / boyfriends / significant others. I'm there to play mediator when the disagreements get out of hand. I tell them they're fucking stupid when they're acting fucking stupid. Sometimes I'm just there to lend an ear. Other times I'm there to remind them that life is good, despite whatever bumps come along the road. 

Best friends aren't about seeing you at your best times, its when they're there to help you through your worst. 

I love my team.

Enough

I caught up with my favorite NY GF after work the other day. Over sangria (mine, of course) and margaritas (her's) we discussed the different facets of life that we could squeeze into two hours. About 50% of our conversation was about men and the struggle we endure to mean something to them. First of all, there shouldn't be such a struggle, but we deal—cause we settle. So while she was somewhere between describing amazing sex from the previous night and trying to figure out if she should end this "thing" she has with a man who openly told her he could never be monogamous, she said the most poignant thing:

"I just want to be enough for someone."

Fuuuuuuck. 

Cosign. Cosign. Cosign.

This is why I love her. I've been trying to articulate this to myself for months, but in each instance in which I've tried I sound as if I have the wrong intentions. I look forward to the day where any man involved with me gets even the least bit jealous, because I have someone stable in place. I thought it was about trying to make these men see my value because someone else finally got wise and snatched me up. But its not about that, well maybe it is, I'm a bit egotistical. (Hah, shut up. I see you.)

But in reality…"I just want to be enough for someone." Enough that maybe someday a mythical dude will delete his OKC/Tinder/Etc. account, enough that he swats thirsty bitches away like flies, enough that I would personally never feel jealous myself and lastly—enough to let my guard down cause its pretty fucking exhausting.

Actually, fuck that, I'll shoot for more than enough. Both ways.

Apologies & Thanks

My ability to respond to emails/messages/texts is at an all-time-low, however my personal productivity level has sky-rocketed. I'm sorry. If you have sent me any form of communication regarding this blog I would genuinely like to thank you for taking the time to do so. Some of you are anonymous, some of you actually leave your emails, most of you I actually know… I shouldn't have any excuses, but thank you.

I'm lightweight intimidated/flattered at the number of hits this blog gets on a daily basis. I didn't expect my audience to grow publicly in what was meant to be a channel for my friends back home, but like I've previously said: thank you for tagging along for the ride.

*5,000 emoticon hearts here*

Give & Take

If my NY best girlfriend was a dude trying to date me she wouldn't have gotten past the first round. She mixes up "your" vs. "you're" and I am annoyingly particular about that. However, she's one of the best people I've had the opportunity to meet out here. I'm fortunate to have met her. It's not that I judge people on that one grammatical error alone. I just figure I can use it to weed men out.

Ex-Mr is gold-standard-handsome, he has an amazing sense of style (fostered by yours truly) and he has the best sense of humor (you're welcome for these free compliments, sir, cause I'm about to explain the rest). Howeverrrrrr... He has the most volatile temperament of anyone I've ever known. If you caught him on a bad day—good luck. I've dealt with plenty of emotional baggage when it came to him. I've prevented him from getting into verbal and physical fights plenty of times. He was more than a handful, but I accepted all of the negatives because of the positives. BTW, he has more positive attributes than his appearance. I realize I just described him like a trophy husband.

So now in the world of dating I've come to figure out that there are never any real hard rules or deal breakers (unless we're talking about moral and ethical choices), cause you give and take. If you happen to find anyone you're interested enough in, you make those exceptions.

I've swiped right (that's the "heart/like" side, FYI) for guys who are smoking cigarettes in their profile pics, cause they're that attractive. I used to believe that was a definite deal breaker. I might set aside the fact that certain dudes have very questionable taste in music but I let that slide cause they manage to have pretty good conversations with me. 

I keep my standards high, but obviously I have to leave room for compromise. I'm not expecting to find a perfectly packaged dude straight out of the gate and I've been told by various men that I'm not supposed to try and take one and mold him into my ideal man either.

So fine, I'll give and take.

One thing I won't compromise on: MUST GIVE GOOD D. Just so you know I have my priorities in order… Kidding. 

NO, not kidding at all. Not even a little bit.

Catchin' Feelings

I'm super frustrated that I live in a city/world/lifetime where everyone talks about "catching feelings" like it could be the worst thing to happen to them.

Everything is supposed to be extra fucking casual these days.

I get it. We all need to protect ourselves. I'm one to talk, cause I keep men at an arms distance away from me at all times. You'll never find my heart on my sleeve, hell—it might not even be in my chest right now. Actually, its probably much closer to my brain at the moment. Yep, that's exactly where my heart is. It waits on my brain to logically evaluate all situations in which involve me "romantically." (Note: heavy emphasis on the use of quotation marks) 

So in actuality—I'm the worst. 

My closest homie at work is constantly calling me out on my conflicted ways: "I think you came to New York expecting you could just hook up with guys, but you realized you didn't enjoy it." "Your ex was a huge asshole, but you openly admit you have a thing for clever jerks." "You're afraid to catch feelings, yet you would eventually like to be in a relationship again."

I make no sense to him, and I want to throw a book at him whenever he's right.

I realize I make no sense. So here I am, complaining that everyone is fearful to catch feelings, however I am Fort Knox on lock down. Guarded as fuck.

I have a damn good reason though, I don't know about the rest of you… JUST SAYIN. =P Plus, I'll catch feelings when the right dude comes around, at the right time, with the right mentality… until then, its just not right.

Spotted Mind

Once people hear a bit of my backstory I get asked a reoccurring question as soon as they feel comfortable enough with me: "Do you still believe in love/marriage?"

The answer is always an astounding: "Hell yes, I do." With absolutely no hesitation.

I always knew I was meant to marry Ex-Mr, and vice versa. I think we both knew it was in our collective future, no question. We just didn't realize we weren't meant to be together for the long run and that our marriage would eventually have an end date.

Truth is, I can honestly say anyone would be lucky to be so sure, to fall so fucking hard and to love a person in the same way we did. Even if it was short-lived—it was all worth it.

The best compliment I ever gave him post-split was the following: "I would never 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' you. Never."

If you've never seen that movie, please educate yourself. It's a good one. The premise is simple, broken-hearted (or simply broken) people hire a service in which they erase a person/relationship from their memory. It makes sense right? You don't have to deal if you have no recollection of the love and/or pain you shared with that particular person. It's quite the concept.

However I will roll with the different camp, the super cliché "better to have loved and lost, blah blah blah."

I have loved, as corny as that sounds, and TRUST—I despise being corny. I know the emotion well. So while people may pity me for my sad story, or be completely at a loss for words when they hear my history—don't. It's perfectly ok. I'm perfectly ok. In fact I find myself fortunate to have experienced true fucking love. Some go through their entire lives not knowing what that feels like. But me?

Been there. Felt that. And I'm looking forward to some form of round two in my life… ANY. MINUTE. NOW. *tumbleweed passes by*

ONE HUNNID

Mercury is in retrograde. I don't know about the rest of you, but I pretty much feel like I've been PMSing for the entire month of February. We're stuck in retrograde until the 28th. I lightweight believe in this shit, but for the most part I just want to put blame on outside factors beyond my control. 

To counteract this bullshit, I decided to list 100 things that make me happy, cause I like to stay positive around here, in no particular order:

1. Minimal client feedback
2. Baseball season
3. Memorial day
4. White sangria
5. Red sangria
6. Finding an amazing mix tape
7. Meek Mill
8. Hearing "Bandz a Make Her Dance" on a dance floor
9. Visting home
10. Random realizations that I live in NY, you'd be surprised how often I have to remind myself of my reality. I constantly forget.
11. Breakfast for dinner
12. Reeses cups
13. Tulips
14. Smokey ass scotch
15. Biscuits & gravy
16. Shiba inus
17. Bob's Burgers
18. Catching "Crazy, Stupid, Love" on TV, even though I have the DVD
19. When the 1 train and 2 train sync up perfectly to transfer
20. An empty commute
21. Lou Seal
22. Reminiscing on Vegas trips 
23. The Buzz Lightyear ride at Disneyland
24. The ToyStory ride at California Disney
25. When people in CA tell me to move back home
26. When people in NYC tell me to not to leave
27. Dresses & sandals
28. Bonfires
29. Smores
30. Grasshopper Pie ice cream from Mitchells in SF
31. A LEGIT burrito
32. Drake lyrics/references
33. Giants games, live
34. Lazy Sundays
35. EARLY 49er games (on East Coast time)
36. PROPER rye old fashioneds (orange peel, single sugar cube, no cherry, chilled with only one large ice cube) 
37. Kicking it on the seawall of Ocean Beach
38. The annual homie Monterey trip
39. Capturing a photo lit by natural light
40. GOLDEN HOUR
41. Sunsets past 9pm
42. Blueberry muffins
43. Chicken & waffles
44. Men with a signature scent
45. Telling you "that's what she said."
46. When you understand the reference: "It works all of the time, 60% of the time."
47. Johah Hill + Michael Cera
48. Judd Apatow—anything
49. Wes Anderson—everything
50. The Pacific Ocean
51. SF, CA
52. My bed
53. Living in flannel + leggings + boots
54. Finding random money in my other bags and jacket pockets
55. Watermelon agua fresca
56. Cantaloupe agua fresca
57. Compliments
58. Free food
59. Making you laugh
60. Visitors
61. When I actually know what to write
62. Freshly done nails (mine are always real btw, I get that question pretty frequently)
63. Magnolia Bakery's banana pudding
64. Travel Plans
65. Noise-canceling headphones
66. An empty Trader Joes
67. New episodes on Hulu
68. Inside jokes
69. Face timing
70. A fully-charged phone battery for when its time to leave the house
71. Japanese pens from Kinokuniya
72. Various shades of bright pink lipstick
73. When my pants feel slightly lose
74. Going to Tahitian (dance), even though I want to skip all the time
75. Any form of sustenance after drinking
76. Completing work pre-deadline
77. Antique flea markets
78. Watching sports on my parents bed while they're chillin' in the same room
79. How men dress in the fall/60 degree weather
80. Baseball analogies
81. Nutella
82. Catching my roomies at dinner time
83. "Falling in love" with random strangers on the street/subway/bar and having the urge to post a Craigslist "missed connection"
84. When I wake up and I automatically know what to wear
85. When ALL my laundry is clean and put away (I sleep on both of these chores)
86. When I feel as though a DJ is playing shit straight from my personal playlist
87. When my bangs are on-point
88. Clever OKC messages (from men I would actually respond to)
89. Finding clothes in the men's section that actually fit me
90. Being mistaken 5-8 years younger than I am, based on my looks
91. Amazing spontaneous days/nights
92. Yama Moto Genmai-cha Green Tea 
93. Conversations with kids
94. 1-2 hour phone calls with my favorites back home
95. Beaches
96. Getting lost in day dreams
97. Stories About Prince
98. When you understand my captions on IG without explanation
99. The idea that one day I will wake up and know its time to move back home (DING x3, I bet a few of you look forward to this too). Until then—NY is exactly what I need. 
100. The idea of you

have your cake and eat it too

Sometimes I wonder if you're honestly happier than I could ever make you. I'm pretty sure I did an amazing job. Shit, you were always priority. It was always you over EVERYTHING, including myself. I didn't mind, I expected that to the death. I thought it was mutual.

False.

I guess someone came along who made you see clearer. Perhaps she was just the catalyst for you to finally set me free, which is something you couldn't accomplish on your own. I'm not quite clear on all of it, but I accept it.

I'm just confused on when the front all started. When you changed your mind and finally... When your ass gave up on me. I would've thought you might have fought a little harder, but you never did, you accepted each and every request I had to pull myself away from you. 

I moved out. I asked for a divorce. I decided to transplant my entire life to NYC.

You obliged, without a single fight. 

For the record, in the world of love and war, we always want you to fight—with guns fucking blazing. You quietly retreated, waving white flags after 11 years. 11 years. I expected the world from you, and at one point you told me I should no longer hold onto those (expectations). I became an ugly obligation at some point and you weren't having it.

And through it all, here I am… still mad sometimes, but undeservingly loyal to a friendship that should have gone up in smoke when you did.

And there you are, having your cake and eating it too. But its cake right?

That's what you're supposed to do. #coleworld

If I Do say so myself...

I pulled myself out of my funk. I just had to put my boss bitch mentality back in. It took forevssss.

All this time I've been thinking about what I am missing out on by being single—the dinners after work, the short trips to quick destinations, the steady sex life (definitely missing this, no matter what I say), the simple displays of affection, etc. etc. etc.

On the flip side, someone is missing out on this (*takes hands and motions them across body)
ALL. OF. THIS. 

So while I go through mild rejection when I don't get a text back or the messages stop coming, I had to tell myself… "I don't need to convince anyone."

I do say I'm the shit, if I do say so myself.