After the storm

He was visiting for a conference, I took him to Berry Park in Williamsburg. While drinking whiskey on a rooftop he paused for a second and said: “I have to tell you something.” Next thing you know he had tears in his eyes.

“You’re expecting.”

I just guessed. He nodded and internally I broke again. “You couldn’t fucking prevent that? Even just for a little longer?” I responded as softly as I could while staring at the Manhattan skyline, crying.

For God sakes, our divorce wasn’t even final yet. I was doing so well and I got hit with another curve ball. 

So I picked myself up again, alone. 

But I quickly healed. I dealt with the celebration of her arrival, her birth and her presence from afar. 

I met this little life a couple of weeks ago. I gave her a squeeze, made her laugh and all was well. All the shit I’ve been through, all the hurt I’ve ever felt, all the bullshit I’ve been dragged through was water under the bridge, because her father and I are exactly where we are supposed to be—divorced, and living our own lives.

When we first separated people told us we were brave, for seeing where our lives would take us individually. I hated this commentary. Fuck you, this shit hurts like hell. Don’t call me brave—I’m just trying to survive.

But I begun a life I would have never had the opportunity to experience had I stayed, had we tried to salvage a sinking ship. I saw amazing places, I met beautiful people, I made lifelong relationships—I thrived.

The storm is finally fucking over. Skies are clear. I navigated through it just fine. Better than fine, I killed this shit.

Who lives like this?

Melissa is on my ass for not getting knives for my apartment yet. I finally have a mattress + bed frame, dresser and TV stand. I've also purchased a tower fan/heater. STILL NO KNIVES THO. However, I’ve gotten a $30 donation to obtain some. AHEM*COUGH. Hi, guys. Venmo. Apparently my requests for knives and wine are working.

I just purchased 800 count thread sheets. I wanted to go for rack count but I figured I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I spent a bill+ on fucking sheets. I also wanted to spend another bill on down pillows but I settled for down alternative. I also wouldn’t have been able to carry 4 individual pillows on a bus. I didn’t want to get an Uber, even though I was willing to buy expensive pillows.

I restocked on paper towels and toilet paper at my parents while visiting on Mother’s Day. I can spend $$$ on my bed, however I’ll steal necessities from my parent’s house. I asked them. They said I could. They even gave me extras.

One day I listened to YG’s “Who Do You Love” about a dozen times in attempts to learn Aubrey’s verse. A moment will come in my life where this will come in handy and I will drop an imaginary mic on the spot. I’m waiting for this moment. Until then I will play this song repeadtedly until I have it memorized like a prayer. I have odd goals.

Work is super slow, I’ve been looking at food blogs for most of the day. I hate recipes. They take too long. I don’t enjoy following instructions, as structured as I am. This is the creative side of me rebelling. I enjoy going to restaurants and copying the dish at home. I’m pretty good at this. I have friends to cook for again. I just feed myself. I’ll cook for you though… after I buy knives. 

I’m in sports mode and hood rat clothes shopping mode again. While witnessing D.Rose shoot a 3-point buzzer beater and after Casey McGehee hit a grand slam I’m trying to decide whether a particular dress shows enough leg for an upcoming trip to Vegas. Nah. It doesn't. Now let me text 5 people to see if they just saw the same shit I did on TV.

Who lives like this? *Shrugs* 

I do.

Trust Issues

I’ve been trying to convert myself into a robot for a significant amount of time. I can’t tell if it’s actually working or if I am damaged beyond repair. Let’s face it, I’m human. My heart will continue to feel, despite what I believe is now a bionic organ.

I think I’m far less emotional than your average female. I don’t take shit personally. I’m objective on all subjects. I don’t cry as often as I should. After everything I’ve been though I should go to therapy or be on anxiety meds, maybe. I never resulted to either.

Should I reconsider those?

I’m fine tho. I promise.

Except… I am damaged. I believe anyone can change their mind about me at any given moment. That’s my takeaway from my divorce, my lovely souvenir. At some point he changed his mind. The next one will change his mind too. They’ll all change their mind, eventually. My “sure thing” screwed me over. I wasn’t prepared for that.

I’m terrified of what comes next. What if a unicorn actually shows up? What the hell happens when I finally enter a relationship?

FUCK.

Why does it sound so scary? 

Cues Aubrey…. *”Trust Issues” plays* Right on time…

Note: Zero tears were shed while writing this post. I want to write a funny anecdote because that's my coping mechanism. GAH. Somebody love me already. Half joking. Almost serious.

zZZ zZz ZZZ

Prior to 2012 I had no idea what the fuck insomnia was.

I could sleep through a heard of stampeding elephants. That blissful ignorance has been gone for quite some time now. I guess shit happens in your life and you just change. 

Sometimes I have to take preemptive measures to sleep through the night. My mind runs… and runs… and runs…

  1. The closer to midnight it is—the better. If I fall asleep before 10, I will wake up. Guaranteed. I’ll wake up anywhere between 2-4 am. If I pick up my phone when this happens—I’m fucked. If I pick up my laptop when this happens—I’m super fucked. I’ll be up unnecessarily for hours and dragging the next day. IN THIS CASE—HI. This is my current situation. My work day will be unpleasant for sure.
  2. Edibles. Pros: The sleep is amazing. Cons: I can’t write on these nights. I’m absolutely sure I lose 50% of my vocabulary and have a difficult time piecing complete sentences together. I also want to eat everything in sight.
  3. DO NOT DISTURB. My phone is on DND for 75% of the time. I invented DND before DND was a thing. It’s rare that my phone is audible, because when that one text goes through and I check it… See point no. 1.
  4. AN ORGASM. No joke. No lies. Real talk. I invested in an “aid” for this a long time ago. Think Lelo, not Rabbit. I’m just saying. Still a designer over here…=p

Posted @ 3:30 AM. Shit.

05 02 2015

It’s May. Have we all realized that? Has it sunk in yet? It’s fucking May. This year is flying. I’m exhausted. My life, age and activity level is all catching up with me. Kinda. I still have more energy than the average person.

I have decided that I enjoy living alone. I’ve gotten used to the reality that no one is going to debrief me about my day as soon as I get home. I guess that’s what group texts are for, thanks technology. I stayed in last night. I opened a bottle of wine, watched “Community” for 4 hours and purchased much-necessary furniture online. I’ve been living on an airbed for 1.5 months. I literally have to start this apartment from scratch, fortunately I’ve had 75% of what I call a kitchen for the past 2 weeks. A girls gotta eat. Priorities yo.

I still don’t have a full set of knives though. *AHEM* Why is no one taking the hint? I also need a toaster. Just sayin’.

This place feels like home and it doesn’t. Naturally my mind is comparing it to Brooklyn. It’s a tough act to follow. That’s unfair, give me a second, self. I don’t even have furniture yet. This place is completely lacking personality. That will be remedied soon. Real soon. 

Exciting. Zero sarcasm too.

Comedown

I have no idea who this kid is, but he wrote the longest Aubrey article I’ve read in a minute and I instantly became a fan of his writing. I’d love to narrate something along those lines with a ton of details describing multiple days. The specifics usually get lost in my brain and I leave you with something on a quick digestible level.

Next time I’ll take notes. I bet this kid takes notes, not just mental notes, but notes. That would mean I’d be typing on my phone while I’m in your presence. If you can excuse me as this happens I’d probably document the events in my life much more vividly.

Also, part of me wishes I could write without holding back. I’d say you get 40%, less than half. That’s all I give you. I’m hoarding the other 60%, because that’s MY business. So that’s my balance, I’ll keep most of my life to myself, however I still want to entertain you. I’ve gotten suggestions to blog anonymously before, I’m tempted. Real talk. I’ll never tell you if that happens, thus the anonymity. 

That’s a tease right? Telling you there’s a possibility I could be out there spilling 110%. Someday. It’s on my list of things to do. No joke.

Anyways, read this… if you disagree we can no longer be friends. If you can’t relate, I hope your life changes just to experience one of these nights.

There are at least 3 of you out there who will happily cosign this with me, probably more. The night where we wouldn’t go to sleep in NYC and I specifically told you I wanted to stay out until the sun comes up. The vacation to the Bahamas where we lost all sense of reality and hit the 24hr buffet 4x in a single night. The day trip to Monterey which turned into an overnighter which turned into lunch the next day when the crew simply refused to separate. The nights no one ever wants to go home… The nights you never want to end.

Cosign. Cosign. Cosign.

Do Better

I realize it’s difficult enough being a single man, growing the balls to approach a woman, trying to impress her, attempting to keep a conversation going, blah blah blah… etc etc etc. But gentlemen, please do your best.

I gave my number to this dude with absolutely no intention of being in touch with him. As I have previously stated, this happens frequently. I don’t know how to turn them down when they seem like nice guys, and I don’t want to pull out the lie: “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.”

It’s a little misleading, by receiving my phone number you’ve just passed my first line of defense. You might think you have a chance when in reality I’ve already decided to never text you back.

I’m sorry. Slightly.

You should still follow protocol. There’s a possibility I could change my mind. What’s protocol? 

  • Text me the following morning or afternoon… don’t wait a few days.
  • Remind me of your name and where we met.
  • Mention a funny detail from our conversation. I promise you, even if I’m not that into you if I gave you my number—we must have had somewhat of an engaging conversation. 
  • PULL… Pull whatever it is the fuck you think I’d like. The song I was spitting out lyrics to, the drink in my hand, ANYTHING… This is your chance to impress me. Do. Your. Best.

Not this, cause it's weaaaaak. So weak I texted it to a friend.

On my list

I wanted to do everything life had to offer with one person. 

We got pretty far, given the time that we had: visit Paris, witness the first SF Giants World Series victory, get a tattoo, make out in Disneyland, have sex on a balcony, stay up all night to catch the sun rise, eat breakfast at that new restaurant, fall in love, etc. etc. etc.

That was just a brief inventory of what we accomplished together. In reality it’s a fraction of what I expected from us, so when we split I was a lost soul. I had so many plans, so much left on my long ass bucket-list-of-life.

It took me a tremendous amount of time to accept people taking his place. At first I was blind and stubborn to a thousand suggestions and offers, “I can go with you,” “We can go, you can still do it,” they all said. Everyone was so supportive, however I wasn’t ready to replace his presence just yet.

When my attitude started turning I still had a difficult time. I had accepted that his role in my life had drastically diminished, but I envisioned a significant other to swoop in and finally save the day.

Eventually I woke up and gave up on that too.

Thank God. Shit. Do you know me? I have lists on lists on lists of a dozen times a dozen things to do, places to visit or food to consume. It’s excessive.

I’d like to thank you all for your patience, for your love and for wanting to accomplish even the most minuscule things with me. We've done everything from discuss the possibility of getting Taco Bell breakfast to actually going to King of Diamonds.

So... Which one of you mofos wants to go get a "cruffin" with me? I also wanna go to the Maldives, that involves sex (must pass a heavy screening process first). 

P or V?

I have to write something before I get called out in person again. “YOU HAVEN’T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN FOREVER…” 

Geez. I’m sorry.

Also, it has come to my attention that more men read this blog than I realize. Out of nowhere someone will quote me when I am least expecting it. Thanks for making me self-conscious on the spot, boys. How many times do I have to tell you that I freak the fuck out when you mention my words to my face?

A million times, but I'm still flattered.

I hope you realize that my viewpoints are specific to myself. I don’t think other women enjoy being insulted and then directly complimented as much as I do. That’s just a fair warning.

Out of complete curiosity I would appreciate if everyone answered the following poll. It’s anonymous, just tell me if you have a penis or a vagina. Thanks.

I have a:
Penis
Vagina

Intention

The other weekend I had a conversation with Olivia about dating. I shared with her my current sentiments, that I am still not ready—but trying to prepare myself for it. I've had this conversation 5x with everyone, including the countless mentions on this blog. 

Can I get a Xanax prescription for dating? That would probably help significantly. Half-joking. Almost serious though.

Anyways she sends me something called a "dating manifesto." It basically states that I should date with intention and state my purpose. Here's my synopsis: don't participate in hook-up culture if you are seeking more, don't just hope you can change anyone's mind over time, and state what you want as early as you know it. 

I know what I want.

I want to give up that primetime Saturday night slot—just to see how long he's willing to bleed into Sunday with me. I don't expect this to happen immediately, we would have to convince each other for a little bit. But eventually... The sex will turn into a sleep over, the sleep over will include breakfast, breakfast will turn into a walk through the farmers market and then simple ass domesticated bliss will occur—inevitably, no rush. 

I want to wake up on Sunday with my coffee just right, prepared by a handsome thoughtful man. I will grunt "15 more minutes" every 15 minutes in bed, then I'll cook us bacon and eggs. 

That's my intention and this remains my ideal. I still want to do everything and nothing at the same damn time.

I will probably scare off plenty of men by being honest, but fuckit... Someone will make the cut, RIGHT? I'm sure future BAE just wants a day in this life too.

Wine Opener > Knives

“Is it bad that I bought a wine opener before I got knives???”

I need knives, but I have wine and a bottle opener. *Shrugs* I have a set of wine glasses too. Sometimes my priorities are all mixed up.

There’s baseball blasting from my TV, the commercials are local. I’m back in the proper time zone to appreciate West Coast sports again. It’s odd for me, maybe it’s different because I’m watching solo. It’s familiar, yet it’s completely brand new to me.

I’m trying to figure out if I enjoy living alone. Pro: I live in my underwear. I walk to the bathroom in my underwear. I eat dinner at my new kitchen table, in my underwear. Con: No one asks me about my day. I wouldn’t mind wearing pants if it means someone asks me about my day. Best Scenario: Having someone ask me about my day while just in underwear (or less). Winner, obviously.

It still hasn’t hit me that I moved into my own spot in the city. After experiencing a few major moves I’ve realized that it won’t hit me until I come up with a good routine and then begin to break it. All I want is to establish a good rhythm then when that’s set—purposely disrupt it. The doses of spontaneity is what makes me feel at home. If you understand that statement—you know me very well.

P.S. I’m accepting housewarming gifts, aka knives or wine… I’ll happily take wine. Wait no, I need knives. Wine too.