At one point in my life I wrote over 400 Yelp reviews. Looking back I have no idea why I fucking did that. I was a student/unemployed for most of those, either way... most of them are still funny. Tonight I signed into my account to make a restaurant reservation and then I got lost in my old reviews.
This was a good one. Note the 16 funny notes.
Unicorns do exist.
Well… I think I went out with one last night. I’m still unsure, I have further research to do. That’s what second dates are for.
He’s 29, Filipino, from Jersey and standing 5’10” with a thin athletic build.
He drank whiskey neat and had no-show socks on with his collared shirt, shorts and boat shoes. He held an umbrella in one hand and my hand in the other. I unashamedly told him I love Drake. I told him I that I avidly follow sports. He put two and two together and asked me if I heard that Drake got the Raptors fined 25k for a comment about Kevin Durant looking good in a Raptors jersey. I should’ve known that, but I’ve been busy at work and I’m behind on my Smoking Section feed. I read about it today. Damn, he impressed me with that one. I continually stole side glances at him because I thought he was that attractive. I let him kiss me, scratch that… I allowed him to make out with me in the dimly lit bar. I’m normally not into PDAs but fuckit, there are exceptions to my endless rules. I liked him that much that I confirmed a second date before the evening ended. When I parted from him I reeked of his cologne. I texted him as soon as I got home to confirm I enjoyed myself (that is the obvious indicator of my interest, no question).
HE TEXTED ME DRAKE LYRICS THIS AFTERNOON, and this is where I hand him my panties.
#unicornsighting
Side note: If at any moment this guy manages to add me on IG within the next few weeks I am deleting this post ASAP. I know for a fact IG is how you all get to this site, unless you have my URL in your browser cache or have it saved as a bookmark (and yeah, its easy to memorize). I’m not trying to scare anyone off by referring to them as a mythical creature. Real talk tho… He just might be. Also, this whole side note could be me getting ahead of myself, my interest in men and their interest in me is never on the same wavelength, but we’ll see.
I turned 31 in front of an ice cream shop in the East Village. Britt wanted to make sure she was with me past midnight, Jun was there funding my entire evening and Ryan lifted my ass up (literally) like I had just made the go-ahead home run when the clock struck 12. So I took it all in, the greetings from random strangers, the beautiful evening and the fact that I was celebrating in NYC. No Instagram photo will ever capture that kind of moment.
My favorite group text includes Mark, Rob and Abby. They are my bullies who haze me, my worst influences and team peer pressure. If I’m walking down the street and check my phone with a stupid grin on my face its because of them. We have plans for a party cruise in November, NYE plans in Vegas and we’re also Coachella ticket holders. I cannot wait to move back home, particularly to be reunited with them, all the time. It’s going to be a fucking disaster and I look forward to it. Ohh. The part about me moving home? Blog to come… wait for it.
Ex-Mr sends me photos and videos of his baby girl while chatting. He sends more and more, cause I request them. I always smile because she looks like him and he does dumb shit like put her in cardboard boxes. “You would though. You really would.” I am genuinely happy for him, no malice. He always tells me how proud he is of me. How I “fuckin’ did it” and how I made it in New York City. And when I doubt my solo time will never end he tells me someone will come along, someone better than he ever was to me. “Just be patient and just keep doing you, he’ll come around when its time.” Friends with my ex? That's an understatement. You don't have to understand it, as long as we do.
I went away for two weeks only to return to hear how much I was missed. All around. God, you make a girl feel amazing. I was honestly super depressed at the fact that no one (as in single entity) was waiting at home for me. Turns out… everyone was waiting. *Heart emoticons x infinity*
My life is a little bumpy at times. Occasionally I experience a perfect storm in which PMS, transitional changes, slight heartache and homesickness all coincide and I can’t think of a single thing to look forward to. I’m always a hot mess at least 2 days out of every month, but I bounce back. I'm not one dwell on negativity too long and the people in my life are constant reminders that I am fortunate as fuck, despite my crazy story.
Thank you for the love.
Today I turn Thirty-one. Thirty-fun. Thirty-young.
Apparently I have a reputation for celebrating too much and too long, because my dad asked me why I wasn't having some sort of party and someone else asked me why I was only celebrating one weekend (in shock). Hah. What? I like to celebrate life, not just particularly mine, yours too. But I wasn't really looking forward to this one.
I'm afraid the novelty of being 30(+) has worn off. Truth is, singledom and aging gives me so much anxiety. I guess that's given. I want life with the man, kids and a dog and it takes time to put that setup into place. “Time is tickin’,” I'm always sayin’…
And then I saw this yesterday, through my usual random IG lurking and it couldn't have been any more appropriate.
I'm always forgetting. Always freaking the fuck out, but I needed the reminder, because everything seems to be working out so far.
This is what it looks like... Chaos.
I’d like to tell you I have a handful of individual stories while I was gone for two weeks, in two countries and visiting five cities—but I honestly can’t.
At best... I can share the fact that I saw beautiful landscapes, experienced a shitload of amazing adventures and ate extremely well. I did some soul searching and I pushed my own personal limits while away.
I propelled up a 100 meter tree in the Amazon rainforest. I have no idea what that equates to and I’m too lazy to check. All I know is that I was ridiculously high off the ground, with nothing but a harness and ropes. I’m not comfortable with heights, but fuckit.
I swam up to a waterfall that looked like anything but safe. I almost didn’t and I’m pretty comfortable with my swimming abilities. I got over it and I went under the falls. Shit was no joke.
I ate jaguar at an indigenous Amazon tribe’s village. It tasted like barbecue, it was still on the fire. They had the skin hanging outside the hut, the tail was still attached. “Shit. That’s the cat we just ate.”
I witnessed the best fucking golden hour of my life at Pao de Azucar. I collect golden hours. That wins. I was there an hour and a half early to make sure I didn’t miss the sunset. I checked the weather forecast, we only had two days of sunshine in Rio. IDGAF if it rained the rest of the time. I prioritized that sunset and I permanently have it now.
I swam in a blue lagoon and took in everything at that exact scene, all the other tourists, the warmth of the water and I contemplated how the fuck I got there.
I traveled a stupid number of hours to get from Rio to Machu Picchu. My spanish went to work the moment we left Rio. Then we woke up at 4am to see the splendor that is Machu Picchu. Trust anyone when they tell you that your ass should be in line for the bus at 5am, you need to beat the crowds.
I ate guinea pig, cause you cannot go to Peru and not try cuy. When in Rome, yo. When in Rome. We almost tried Alpaca too, but my sister and I were too cheap to take the risk of it being gamey and offending the person preparing it for us.
I sand boarded down 200 foot sand dunes with the help of three shots of pisco on an empty stomach. I had no problem volunteering to go first. I’d always end up at the bottom of the dune, laughing my ass off, like an insane child having too much fun. Thanks alcohol, I have balls, but you make them bigger.
I jumped of a cliff. I fucking jumped off a cliff and paraglided. I will have that moment stuck in my brain forever, the second my legs left the ground and the parachute took effect. I didn’t care about anything else, gliding over cliffs and the Pacific Ocean… picking up height… it didn’t matter, I just remember that split second where my legs didn’t have a purpose and I jumped off a fucking cliff.
Ohh. I guess I do have stories.
For the record I have around 16 or so posts waiting to be finessed or finished. My mind is going miles a minute these days, but I can't articulate shit.
Well, at least the level in which I would like to...
I'm about to embark on a two week vacation to South America with my Kid Sister. It has always been on my bucket list to take some sort of "trip of a lifetime" with her. The only trip we've shared just between us was an extended weekend in Chicago during the Fall of 2012. I was a fucking wreck of a person back then, so I was terrible company. And she was only replacing Ex-Mr as my travel companion cause homeboy dipped out on out plans for obvious reasons. Still—I'm happy she was willing to accompany me.
So I will be MIA until the beginning of August. I wish I could post while abroad because I write ridiculous amounts while traveling, but I'll stay analog and fill the rest of you on what I've figured out on my continued journey and adventures when I return. My mind is still in absolute cluster-fuck-mode and I need to clean house, the timing for this trip couldn't be any better.
My Instagram game will stay on-point as long as WiFi connections are maintainable. I have no doubts.
P.S. Everyone is concerned for our safety. I'm not that worried, I'm anxious about venturing into the Amazon Rainforest and encountering fucking toucans and macaws. CAUSE I WILL DIE THIS WAY. That is exactly how I will die, by coming across large exotic birds in their natural habitat.
You think I'm joking? No. It will be the end of me.
Keep me in your prayers. BRB.
When the time comes I won’t care if he can’t throw a football. BUT SERIOUSLY, why the hell can’t he throw a football? I can throw a football. Maybe I’ll just avoid watching him partake in athletic activities in general if that's the case. Cause stuff like that makes panties dry (yeah, I just LOL’d to myself right there).
I will try to ignore the fact that he’s not wearing “no show socks.” Why doesn’t he know that those exist though? I MEAN… I guess I can pick some up for him, eventually. Maybe he’s not aware that if you’re going to wear shorts your ankles should be exposed or you just look odd. Fashion choices don’t come easy for everyone, I suppose.
Maybe I won’t give a fuck that he has no idea who Childish Gambino is. Maybe he knows who Donald Glover is and that is basically the same thing. Ideally I’d like him to text me “Shadows” lyrics, but I guess that’s a lot to ask for, right? Gah. I guess so. Shit.
I get plenty of feedback on how quick I am to reject men. Plenty.
BUT FOR EVERYONE’S INFORMATION… AHEM*COUGH*AHEM… I am pretty sure I know when to make exceptions. I have found myself honestly attracted / interested in a handful of men but it has never lead to anything.
I am not completely impossible.
But if God is like Santa Claus I want to put my request in, just in case. I still want a tall, good looking man, who regularly gets haircuts, with an up-to-date and properly fitting wardrobe, who makes me laugh, gives amazing D, does thoughtful gestures, wants to see the world and texts me Drake lyrics.
HOW DIFFICULT IS THIS, YOU GUYS? How many times do I need to describe this unicorn? I mean—really?
If we have that base down then I will probably be able to ignore the fact he has absolutely no desire in consuming sweets at all (*gasp* yo…), that he has ugly tattoos on his forearm from when he turned 18 years old, that he snores in bed or as I’ve stated before… that he’s a Dodger fan. That's us having different religions, I'm telling you.
I will make the exceptions for the ones that are noteworthy, until then… they’re random guys who I have very little in common with and can’t continue to waste my time on, its already limited as it is. I'm a busy lady, I have no time to consider and express my feelings about coconut rum, cause that's an honest joke to me. #realtalk #100 #dropsmic
I’m not quite sure who reads this or why. I’m still dumbfounded that I get likes on these posts. I have an immature sense of humor and I cuss a lot. I could probably be a better writer if I didn’t use unnecessary profanity, but that’s me and I’m ridiculous on all sorts of levels.
Thanks for always coming back.
Since I’m unsure of my audience I feel I owe most of you a backstory, a history. I’m not writing this one because I’m depressed or upset. I’m actually pretty happy to share this, it was an amazing time in my life and I feel no sadness sharing the story of my wedding day.
He proposed the summer after we graduated college. It was 2007 and he did it in front of about 20 of our closest friends and family at his parents house. I hated it. I can say this now, but I never said this to him. I hated it. I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t express my emotions properly, everyone was watching me and the entire proposal was being filmed. So I was self-conscious and instead of a beautiful and tearful “yes” I ended up yelling, asking him if he was fucking joking, repeatedly. I still cried though, a little bit.
I was only 23 when he asked, he was 24. So naturally we had a long engagement. (Note: We had been dating since we were both 18.)
We got married in Hawaii, on Oahu. It was a Tuesday, July 7, 2009. 90 people flew out for our wedding. Do you realize how much of a feat this is? 90 heads for a destination wedding. We had to avoid a wedding at home cause we would’ve had a lack-luster event trying to accommodate 300 or so pseudo-relative Filipinos. Instead we said “Fuckit, let’s do this shit in Hawaii. If they wanna witness us get married, they’ll come.” 90 heads still made it. We were everyone’s favorite, no exaggeration.
No one forced us to get married in a church, so we booked this gorgeous outdoor venue and had a 30 minute ceremony. Thank God, it was fucking hot that day. I walked down the aisle to a a live acoustic interpretation of “Pure Imagination” (you know, from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) in a custom short dress, birdcage veil while holding a bouquet full of white tulips (only). Both of my parents accompanied me down the aisle. He was crying the entire time, when I realized this I yelled for him to stop. No lie. My mom ended up pinching my arm and told me to be quiet. When I got passed off to him he was still crying. I’m vain, I suppressed my tears, I didn’t want to ruin my makeup, so I continually teased him to stop.
We wrote our own vows. I don’t remember his (HAH, guess this doesn’t matter now. BURN), they were much longer than mine, and his ass somehow memorized them. The only thing I can recall from my vows was that I stated I would be his "partner in life and partner for all crimes he commits. Ride or die." We walked back down the aisle together to a live acoustic version of “Everlong.” It’s not an original idea at all, I stole this from “Friends.”
The rest of the night went off without a hitch. We had amazing local Hawaiian food, an open bar and our personal DJ incorporated everything we wanted into a pre-recorded mix. When Weezy’s “Every Girl” dropped (at exactly 25 minutes) the entire dance floor went crazy. The money dance left us with $500 extra to spend on our honeymoon in Kauai. How the hell do you get $500 for dancing for 30 minutes with 90 guests? Someone pinned a hundred to me. Heyyyyyyyy, money dances are fucking genius.
Eventually the night had to end, we tried to bribe all the involved parties to allow us to extend the reception for another half hour, but we failed in vain. We packed most of the bridal party into our condo and ended up smoking trees on the balcony and shooting the shit until 3 am.
It was amazing. I'm not biased at all to say no wedding has ever compared to mine, to this day. We got compliments on compliments on compliments on our wedding for years to come.
Out of all the photos we took (and we have some legit professional photos), the following is my favorite, cause it embodies us at our peak, completely. I realize you can’t read his expression, but just know it matches mine. BTW that’s a thizz face, I’m from the Bay and I don’t do duck faces.
We only celebrated our wedding anniversary for 3 years. By the 3rd year we were already deep into a struggle that we weren't able to overcome. I would have never predicted that we would only last that long, but that's ok.
I'd never take it back and someday... I have a second chance at doing this all over again.
Truth is—I believe this isn’t supposed to be easy.
As much as complain and express my frustration, its not meant to be cake cause its purpose is to be special.
I don’t want no mediocre. I want exceptional.
So I have to sift through the draft of available dudes on Tinder. I have conversations with the men that hit on me while I’m out on the weekends cause maybe… just maybe… I find someone worth skipping my gym time for, worth gaining 5 pounds of love weight for, worth staying in all weekend watching Netflix on the couch for
Until I meet that dude worth all of that I am being dragged through dating adventures.
So fine, I'll tell my friends back home about the guy who took me on a cheap ass date through Central Park. The one who stopped to try and pet some ducks. BTW I have a legit fear of birds. If there was any indicator I needed of "this shit ain't gonna work out" that was it.
I'll tell my ex about the one who legitimately asked me "How do you feel about coconut rum?" Yes. I tell Ex-Mr about my dating, and yes, he thought that a grown man asking me about coconut rum was hilarious as fuck. I have a good sense of humor, but homeboy was not joking. My thoughts on coconut rum are as follows: It's ok in the right context. As in... Are we on a beach in the Caribbean? Are we at an all-inclusive resort?" I didn’t process his question at first, I let it slide, but the next day I found it way too emasculating and I had to tell him I couldn’t see him anymore. Trust me, I have other reasons too.
Then there’s the one I told all my girls about. The one I was honestly nervous and excited to meet. The one I texted for weeks before I actually went on a date with him. The one they’re actually on a first-name basis with. The one who made my face light up by a text alone. But that one never rescheduled our to-be second date. Ohh well. It was fun being interested in someone new for a while. Guess it was just a taste.
So I’ll keep this shit up, I’ll bitch and complain and I’ll tire myself out until he shows up. The one worth all this bullshit, and I’ll ask him where the fuck he was when a dude tried to pet ducks in front of me, asked me about coconut rum or never texted me back.
Hurry up. Shit. ;-)
The beginning of July is a particularly difficult time for me—history wise. I’m out here trying to make significant dates less significant, cause they no longer have any meaning.
Every so often someone asks: “Do you miss him?”
It would be completely naive of me to say “no.” The correct answer is that I miss love, as corny as that fucking sounds. And we all know… I hate that.
The kind of love that makes it hard as fuck to get out of bed while the other one is still cozy in the covers. The kind of love where you could walk out the door, lock it, but turn around and come back for one last dumbass kiss.
The kind of love that makes you disgusting, in which you must prevent yourself from posting 1,000 images of him on IG with captions that convey both sickening affection and annoyance that this individual exists in your life.
The kind of love that makes bad days better and good days euphoric.
The kind of love that makes you smile in the middle of nowhere while doing absolutely nothing.
The kind of love where you sacrifice: bedspace, food, time, clothes (yes, I will steal yours. BET), patience, etc. etc. etc. I’ll put in work, as long as he does.
Note: I started crying while writing this post, then I put on a Trap mix and proceeded to dance alone in my room cause a Meek Mill song came on and remembered that love is for suckers. If you know me personally this is not hard to picture. Guilty as fuck.
But I stopped dancing and need to admit: I still want stupid love tho. Just so we’re all clear.
I'm fucking trying over here. I'm trying.
Trying to get over most of my turn offs and deal breakers, the superficial ones—at least. Trying to talk and go on dates with men I normally wouldn't be interested in. Trying to give the guy a chance, give him the benefit of the doubt and see what he's all about.
It's not working very well. I still like what I like and I still love the familiar.
I don't want to explain what Trap music is and why I enjoy it so much. I'd rather have you send me a Flosstradamus mix and we'll call it a day.
I don't want to hear you order a vodka soda or make a face while we do a shot of Jameson. Man the fuck up. I can drink the smokiest scotch NEAT. Laphroaig / Lagavulin / Caol Ila
I don't want to make hip hop references and leave you lost. Motherfuckers never loved us. #WORST
I don't want to be the only one with (good) tattoos. Why does that fascinate you so much? It has come up on every single one of my first dates. I get it. It gives you a reason to touch my skin. HAH. I see you…
Most of the time its obvious that the only thing we have in common is that we both swiped right. You can’t create chemistry on attraction alone, and I’m not out here exhausting myself dating just for hook-ups.
Every so often someone reassures me: “He exists,” they say. “The dude for you. He exists.”
Maybe he’s just not on Tinder… Probably not, right? IDK, we'll see. I'm still trying.
Then again, maybe I'm not supposed to try.