Clocks

On Wednesday morning I landed at SFO and I felt at ease. I’m usually programed with an internal clock that ticks down my return to NY. I try to fit in visits with something like 10 different friends. I run around the entire Bay Area like a chicken with its head cut off. I was always exhausted and aware of the amount of time I had.

The clock is now gone.

It’s all pretty surreal. My watch is still set to East Coast time, it trips me out that I have no return ticket back to NY—I live here, again.

I spent the past few days buckling down and unpacking. I ended up bringing back 10 bags and boxes back to Cali, because I’m ridiculous. Naturally I’ve only unpacked what I needed, half of my things are ready to go to the next place I call home (please Lord, let that be ASAP). 

My life is running at the slowest pace its been in the past 2 years. The only time I’ve left the house since Christmas was to go to In-n-Out and Safeway, and those are two separate occasions. I haven’t seen any of my friends yet. I turned down an invitation to go out last night so I could continue unpacking and watch “The Sandlot” in my room. “Who the fuck am I right now?” I thought. Then I remembered I am still me, just with all the time in the world.

I treated my life in New York as if it were a marathon. There was a definite clock ticking down there as well. I knew my residency was going to be short so I had bucket lists on bucket lists and different groups of people willing to cross of my “musts” with me. Unless the weather incredibly sucked or I was somehow sick, I was out running the streets of NY. I did it properly, I have no regrets.

I’m a little lost as to how to approach all this new freedom. I figure I can catch up on every TV series everyone is gushing about these days. I CAN FINALLY FINISH BREAKING BAD. I plan on spending more time in the gym. I can actually sit down and enjoy a movie. Maybe hobbies? IDK. Something... I'm actually pretty excited that life is slower here. Real talk, a 1:30 am last call sounds amazing. NY life made me fucking tired, especially those last few months.

So now I can rest—for the meantime. We all know I can’t sit still for very long. ;-)

BK Bedroom II

I was in my room sobbing super hard when Ex-Mr called to check up on me and my stupid feelings. I was two hours away from being picked up by car service to be taken to JFK. I was bawling to the point where he could barely understand me when he asked: "Would however you are feeling right now stop you from getting on that plane later?"

"No." I responded. "Absolutely not, I don’t even question that."

I still couldn’t stop my heart from breaking though. I made an amazing life for myself there in Brooklyn. That room was the first place that I felt was solely mine. I nested for a bit. For the first time I printed photographs of my homies and framed them. I bought flowers for the weekends I was actually home to appreciate them. I soaked in the natural sunlight that flooded the room on the mornings I was able to sleep in. When my workdays sucked and after lengthy vacations I knew I had my comfortable bed waiting for me. I was saying goodbye to my personal sanctuary and it hurt pretty fucking bad.

Eventually I calmed the hell down and I got off the phone with him, “See you on the other side.”

I didn’t look back when I rolled my last piece of luggage out of there and I haven’t cried since, thankfully. I was too exhausted from my lack of sleep and plane ride and too excited for my fresh start as soon as I landed.

So here I am, back in Cali… writing this one from my childhood bedroom.

Sidenote: I’m fully aware that my relationship with my Ex is difficult to understand. Unless you understood our dynamic while we were friends or together it’s pretty impossible. Last week he texted me a diagram of a circumcised vs. uncircumcised penis (I have no idea why, he didn’t state why the hell he sent it to me), I responded with: “I still haven’t seen an uncircumcised one in real life.” He applauded me for being “turtleneck free” so far. At one point during our divorce I tried to call him “bro” and he wasn’t having it. *Shrugs* I don’t really owe any one an explanation but hey… all I can say is he’s my boy, he was just a terrible husband. He's fortunate that I'm great at compartmentalizing.

I'm also bionic.

Goodbye, NY

I don’t even know where to begin with this one…

I’ve been trying to write this post in my head for the past few weeks and struggling to come up with the words during my last few days. My head and heart are both messy places right now. The good thing is I have no second thoughts. This is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing, no doubts. However, it doesn’t make it any easier.

The major feelings started last Friday. I cried after hugging Ryan. I didn’t expect that but I figured it out lightning quick. Ryan is a simple part of my everyday routine. While at work he hits me up on chat and asks me how my projects are and life in general, then around 3pm both of us take turns asking if the other wants to go grab coffee. So there I was, in the back of a bar with tears streaming down my face because I said goodbye to my everyday New York life personified.

Sometimes I never know if I’m expressing myself properly. Everyone asks: “Don’t you love New York?” HYFR is my usual response. But here’s the thing… I know for a fact that there are times when love isn’t enough. As a divorcé I could write a book on this, I’m not gonna go into that, but I’m just saying… Love is a hell of a drug, but I can walk away… I’ve done it before.

I can’t exactly explain why I know it’s time. I can throw out fluffy excuses: dating fucking sucks here (it’s the honest truth), I can’t deal with winter or that I’m over both having too many roomies and my stressful job at the same time. All I know is that my intuition is usually on point and my instincts lead me to where I need to be. They’re saying I need to start a new chapter.

So I’m listening…

Thank you, New York, but it's time for something new—yet familiar.

Homecoming

I have this fantasy that as my life progresses I have a soundtrack being curated. This plays as my plane hits the tarmac at SFO. It's MY FAVORRRITEEE Kendrick song. Bet you've never heard it, extra points if you have.

You thought I was going to say it was Drake's "Hold on, we're going home." NOPE. I can do better than that. 

Kendrick Lamar - Westside, Right On Time ft. Young Jeezy Produced by Canei Finch - Twitter.com/CaneiLive Twitter.com/KendrickLamar Facebook.com/KendrickLamarMusic TopDawgMusic.com

About

The first post I ever published on this blog was an introduction, it was written 22 months ago, just a few weeks after moving to New York.

It’s been a minute and my time here has come to a close, so let's try this again...

---

Hi, my name is Kate. I am 31 years old, although by looks alone I am constantly being mistaken for much younger. I'll accept this blessing for as long as aging remains kind to me.

I am a textbook Leo, guilty of both positive and negative attributes: loyal, generous and creative; but also proud, vain and stubborn as fuck. I require at least a small spotlight at all times—fortunately I am charming yet gracious enough to accomplish this. 

I am left-handed and whole-brained, somehow I am logically sound and still imaginative at the same time. Go figure. I believe I am an extroverted introvert, a good girl who does baaaaaaaad things (that’s up for interpretation) and a low-maintenance soul with a high-maintenance exterior upkeep.

I’ve only been in love once, it lasted an entire decade+ of my adult life. At the end of of that relationship my heart broke so badly that I believe there are pieces I will never recover. In result I am a little jaded, extremely guarded and hesitant when it comes to feelings in general. Despite my past I still believe I’ll fall in love again, with a man who has a good smile (and heart), the ability to make me laugh and who provides mind-blowing D (amongst many other things). 

I’ve come to trust that the course of events in my life have been predetermined by particular timing of which I have absolutely zero control over. So I tend to care less when small things don’t go right, when plans go all fucking wrong and when nothing is going my way. I’ll get to where I need to be—when I get there, and I’ll cross paths with who I’m supposed to—when I do. If that makes any sense… I guess that’s called faith, right? I have a shit ton (on most days). It's brought me this far.

I can’t stay still to a good beat. I require coffee on an everyday basis, regardless of what time I actually wake up. I enjoy wandering without a destination. I believe sunset is the best time of day. I can survive off a wardrobe filled with plaid, chambray and army green. I’m blind as fuck but I have an excellent eye for design. I will go deaf one day and I will blame it all on Trap music and noise-canceling headphones. I’m a sucker for a good haircut and a man who pays proper attention. I have a Drake line reserved for almost any type of occasion in life. I don’t always know what I want, but I almost always know what I don’t.

I’m still a self-proclaimed queen with a crown (that be down for whatever).

I have no idea WTF I am doing in here, but you can see my tattoos so fuckit. Photo by Chaz Cruz

All I Do

Dear Canada,

Thank you for Drake and Ryan Gosling. Also, thank you for Majid Jordan and PartyNextDoor. You're kind of my favorite right now. I. LOVE. THIS. SONG.

Good Night

I’ve been falling asleep to the memory of how he used to say good night to me.

I admitted this to myself this morning, while treating myself out to breakfast at a new restaurant. “Good night, ‘adjective-as-a-pet-name-here,’” I wrote in my moleskin notebook. I stopped myself from crying just in time, I choked on coffee but I managed. I fucking hate crying in public.

I've been having trouble falling asleep lately and this is one thing that manages to work, consistently. I guess it makes me feel less lonely, even though it's the past. I tell myself that it's not him that I miss. I miss feeling loved, that someone wanted to fall asleep alongside me and wake up with me still there—and vice versa (obviously this is a major factor).

I’ve been going to bed and waking up by myself for two years now, slightly more if we wanna be accurate. I shouldn't be keeping track as much as I do, but hey—that's me.

WELL…*heavy sigh here* This isn’t going to last forever, right?

RIGHT?

Yeah, I know. I just needed to say it out loud.

Brooklyn Bedroom

As spontaneous as I can be I am also a creature of habit and routine.

On Saturday (or Sunday) mornings I do laundry (at home, in my apartment—yeah, you can hate me for this), text everyone I need to catch up with (anywhere between 1-7 people), clean my room, write an entry for this blog, all while dancing and sipping coffee. On really productive mornings I even get a run in.

I do all these things at the same damn time, well—except for the run. My multi-tasking game is on-point.

I will miss a thousand and one things about New York. But I already miss this…

Better Than You've Ever Been

I just came back from drinks with my Accounts Director, she wanted to get some last one-on-one QT before I was gone for good. Tomorrow is my last day at work. HALLELUJAH JESUS.

I decided to drop a fun bomb on her, "So... I'm actually divorced." She had the usual "WTF KATE" face that I normally get when I share this portion of my life story. I spent about 10 minutes catching her up with my past. She had no fucking clue—cause I'm great like that.

She was in such disbelief that I told her, "I will SHOW YOU photos tomorrow." So I logged into my other Facebook account (the one with my life pre-NY) and I got caught up in the lovely photos (as this song randomly comes on during a mix, no joke).

I've had multiple women tell me that if they ever experienced what I've been through that they would die. They wouldn't survive.

I disagree. You would live too, you'd go through hell—but you'd come back alive.

Probably better than you've ever been.

P.S. Check out 25 year old me, thinking she had EVERYTHING figured out. SIIIIKE. Cheers to her though—cause she's in for a fucking ride.

FIVE

Because I am a balanced person I need to describe why I am an unattractive lady and will be forever alone. Here are my top 5 reasons:

5. I GO IN on food when I’m starving. 

If its a meal time chances are I am starving. I’ll order some stupid large sandwich or burger to eat with bites large enough that it looks like my jaw will go unhinged, then I will alternate each bite with fries or chips. I will even shovel salad into my mouth if that’s what I have to eat. I might try to talk to you during this entire process without even putting down my food. Hella sexy. It’s like those Carl’s Jr.s commercials, but I’d probably be in some sweats and a faded Spongebob t-shirt, ready to go to sleep directly after.

4. I will interrupt you.

My thought process is rapid fire sometimes. You might say something that will trigger an old topic I’ve been meaning to talk about and I will spit out whatever the hell it is when I think of it. I am constantly apologizing to people, “I’m sorry, what is that you were saying again?” Most of the time we never recover back to the previous subject and I’m a jerk. Super rude.

3. I’m a smart ass.

My dome is filled with random facts, both useful and completely pointless. I’ll call you out if I think you’re wrong. I’ll ask to bet when I know I’m right. Sometimes its just a matter of semantics and I’m being a dick on purpose. The worst is when I get into it with my sister who is my equal if not greater when it comes to this skill set.

2. Sometimes I purposefully dance EXTREMELY BAD to embarrass my friends.

During my tenure with my Ex I used to do disgustingly bad body rolls in front of him on the dance floor asking: “You like this? *off beat dance* “Yuuuppppp.” He is a difficult man to embarrass, he gives no fucks about anything, but he would walk away at the sight and ask me to immediately stop. For the record I am actually a really good dancer, however you never know when I’ll pull some of my classic moves. Also, I don’t need to be drunk. I can accomplish this completely sober.

1. I’ll emasculate you.

I’ve gone drink for drink with an alcoholic bartender, only to have him compliment me on my ability to consume such a large volume of alcohol. This sounds like a dumb thing to be proud about but I thanked him graciously. I’ll go to a baseball game and I’ll call pitches and explain the dynamics that no one ever really pays attention to. I’ll recite the first verse of Kendricks “Backseat Freestyle” effortlessly. However, I’ll still ask for help when I need to open a jar of spaghetti sauce, when I need to assemble Ikea furniture (hah, I’m hopeless) and when I need that D.

HAH. Maybe I won’t be so “unattractive” when it comes to me asking for that last part. Yep, probably.

Levels

During my recent vacation I had a conversation with Rob & Vince where they compared women to cake. Now hold on, don’t get them wrong—understand that they needed an analogy in which women are something always desired. No objectification intended, they needed a simple metaphor in order for me to understand where they were coming from.

There are two factors to this metaphor:
1. Men and their appetites and taste in “cake.”
2. The different levels of “cake” available.

They went on to explain that women are like cake in a sense that everyone wants cake. To some men it doesn’t matter how delicious the cake actually is or how frequently available it is, cake is cake. They’ll pick up an old slice from the grocery store or they’re fine with buying that extra large Costco sheet cake (Ok, I’m going to hell for this post. I’m aware.). It’s cake.

This is when I gave them the most disgusted face I could muster. I responded with: “FUCK. It’s like that? Fine. I’m some  fancy layered cake from a French bakery. I’m in a store window in New York City. That’s my level then. SHIT.”

See. Ego. Hi.

I was frustrated with the conversation because I saw the truth in it. There’s levels to cake and levels to the person seeking it. I won’t leave the display window until the right dude comes along fully aware that he’s about to have the highest level of cake. 

Save your appetite. The cake is as good as it looks. Worth it.

See. Ego. Hi. 

When I get back

I am excellent at finding music that resonates with me.

When I get back to California...

Rock group The Neighbourhood has released their new mixtape today titled "#000000 &#FFFFFF", One of the stand-out tracks from the project is titled "When I Get Back" and it features G-Eazy. Check it out now!