33 Before 33: 10

10. Know your limitations when you’re high

I have previously explained that I consume edibles on a nightly basis to fall and stay asleep. The medicinal value is unparalleled to anything else I've tried naturally. After a few of years of trial and error I think I’ve finally figured out how to dose myself perfectly. However as long as I've relied on it I will fully admit I am a lightweight. My abilities to function even slightly normal while high are laughable. I avoid the obvious, I will never drive or operate heavy machinery, but I swear… I. Can’t. Do. Any. Thing. 


I can’t socialize

I can’t hold a conversation. I can’t verbalize a complete thought, especially one relevant to the topic at hand. I can’t comprehend what anyone is saying to me unless they repeat themselves multiple times. I am glaringly aware of how I sound and as a self-conscious auto-defense mechanism—I SHUT DOWN. I become mute, except for random laughter OR a few confessions of how high I am. I’ve learned to avoid this because my friends don’t appreciate my company in this state. I just exist, wrapped in a blanket in their presence. In result I don’t take edibles within 45 minutes of expected socializing time, because the moment I do… the clock ticks down.
 

I can’t watch tv/movies with intricate details.

I swear I need to watch the last three episodes of "Westworld" over again. The dialogue in my head sounds like the following:

Wait. What?
WAIT. WHAT?
WHAT?
UGH. I’ll just have someone explain it to me tomorrow.

"Interstellar" was been recommended to me numerous times before I finally decided to put it on. That’s probably one of the worst ideas I've had. Ever. I got lost quickly, then proceeded to keep it on because, simply… I was high.
 

I can’t write.

We can thank my low-key paranoia for this one. (Disclaimer: If this post doesn’t make any sense, you have your answer.) I’ve tried drafting posts as soon as the chocolate hits and they are almost always futile attempts. A majority of my thoughts go in circles, I can never figure out the point of why I tried to write in the first place. *SHRUGS* Although when I have a direct subject (as I do right now), somehow I manage. 
 

I shouldn’t eat snacks.

When you’re high you think calories don’t count. IT’S DUMB. I go in and out of phases of being able to control the munchies. It’s a 50/50 battle. I told you, I’m a lightweight. I will consume food simply because of the texture, sometimes I just want to taste a certain flavor. I could definitely go without this side effect.

Pro-Tip:
Try and try again. Sometimes I try to test all these preconceptions I just mentioned. Sometimes I manage—LIKE NOW. Most of the time—I don’t. At least I managed to write another post.

1 down. 9 to go.

33 Before 33: 11

11. The Story is Already Written

I like to make wishes when I catch the clock at 11:11, it happens pretty often. I honestly take a minute to think about what I want for the next year whenever I blow out my birthday candles. I like to believe that ridiculous coincidences are clear-cut signs and then I run with them—blindly. I’ve had a few good ones in my lifetime. I save fortune cookie fortunes that are exceptionally good, the last one said: “A chance meeting with a stranger will possibly change your life.” 

I force myself to go out even when I have no desire to leave the house. Part of me thinks that maybe I’ll run into the mother fucker who’s supposed to be the next love of my life. I don’t want to miss out on that story—obviously. However I doubt that scenario less and less, I don’t have the energy or patience to go out these days. But total recluses can’t find love being antisocial, can they? Thus the weekly battle I currently endure.

I fully believe I don’t have that much control over my life. Sure, I make decisions and I try to make the best choices, but ultimately—this shit is not up to me. 

I fantasize that my life is this amazing jumbled up rom-com. HEAVY on the com, light on the rom. Judd Apatow would write it, Wes Anderson would direct it. I have no idea what is happening in the story right now. We’re probably just filming random b-roll of me silently trying to keep my shit together while crying in a bathroom stall at work.

See that sounds sad, but it’s not. Despite the various bullshit I’ve had to endure through the years I know my life is actually this light-hearted story with random adventures. The script is already written, I’m just rolling with the punches on a day-to-day basis.

I guess it’s the romantic side in me that finds comfort in knowing the story is already set, because whatever happens is what is supposed to. Low-key corny… but I need low-key corny right now.

33 Before 33: 12

12. Give Thanks

I haven’t been in the best mood. I can’t string together a full post that I find satisfactory.

We’re supposed to be thankful today. I am. Here’s a random list of shit I am thankful for:

  • My teeth are straight
  • I love my job / coworkers
  • My apartment is clean
  • I have a great vagina
  • My family is awesome and healthy
  • I’m funny (at least I think so)
  • I have squads on squads on squads
  • I lost 2 lbs
  • I’m lactose tolerant
  • I never have to get a hotel room when I go to NY
  • I have no food allergies
  • The Cubs won a World Series in my lifetime
  • I have loved
  • I am loved
  • I have visited 17 countries
  • I have a great vagina (oh, I already said that)
  • I have zero commute
  • For some reason you people still read this

Something more substantial to come. I have to finish 11 of these before 2016 ends.

WISH ME LUCK!

33 Before 33: 13

13. Love is in the details

Note: I figured I needed to alternate the dangerously heart-achy objective posts with either a bit of humor or just good ol' takes on love. The mood struck, a rarity.

Last Sunday I made a food run with my dad to a Mexican restaurant. I bought him a burrito. Before we even got home he said:

“Ohh. I forgot, your mom's probably not gonna eat this, there’s pico de gallo in it.”

I always assume my mother is not hungry. She feeds herself at odd ass times of the day and only consumes the blandest forms of sustenance ever. When I purchase food or when we eat out at restaurants she usually just eats off my dad’s plate. It didn’t occur to me that she might eat some of that burrito, nor was I aware that she has a personal aversion to pico de gallo—but my dad knew.

My parents aren’t very affectionate with each other. Their preferred method of exchanging tokens of love are trading playful verbal shots at each other, with extra sarcasm (gee, I wonder where I got that from). However once I saw them hold hands while walking down the street. Once.

They don’t shower each other other with gifts. They don’t openly publicize cheesy couple stuff on social media, my dad doesn't have any accounts. My parents are low-key and they always stay in their own lane. Their love shines brightest when you catch them both laughing when one of them roasts the other good—at least I think so.

When planning a vacation my dad sources out the nearest Chinese or Japanese restaurant to their hotel. They’ve been to more countries in Europe than myself, and they’ve eaten Chinese food because my dad is fully aware that my mom doesn’t feel like she’s had a proper meal unless she consumes rice. 

I’m not so much impressed that my dad compromises on eating amazing food while traveling abroad—it’s that he’s cognizant of the fact he has to book a hotel thats within proximity to jasmine rice, almost every time. Sure, you can interpret this as a husband’s adaptations to his wife’s predispositions—but it’s more than that.

I’ve watched my mom predict my dad my whole life. I’ve seen her take mental notes of my father’s favorites, preferences and dislikes for as long as I can remember. After all these years they have a sort of silent rhythm together, this beautiful cadence that has developed over time.

It might sound mundane, boring even…. nah. No way.

Love has this odd way of making you subconsciously listen, even when the object of you affection isn’t necessarily speaking. You might watch them get ready in the morning, while they put on make-up or shave, or note that when they undress they cross their arms while they pull a shirt over their head, or maybe you've noticed that they've ordered a cobb salad 3x in your presence so they're probably partial to them. Little things. Minute pieces of information too small to admit you pay that much attention.

Yeah, love can be grand, elaborate and obvious, but it can also be in the minuscule details.

33 Before 33: 14

14. Brain vs. Heart vs. Vag/D vs. Gut

I believe there are 4 separate parts of a person that affect their individual decision making process.

  • The brain
  • The heart
  • The vagina or dick
  • The gut

Sometimes one of these decides to lead the show, maybe its 3 clashing with each other, and if you’re really fucked—its all 4 going battle royale style.

The brain

The brain is the center of all reason and the least fun. This is the part of the body that relies solely on facts. Its purpose is to compute rational decisions. The brain doesn't need a lot of time to choose for you, it's 100% objective. What is the best option on paper? The brain tells you right away, it's every other part of your body that makes you indecisive, after all... you're not a robot.

The heart

The heart is either the most selfish or selfless decision maker, I don’t think there is any middle ground. The heart is the most torturous judge, it's also easily the strongest or weakest part of you at any given point. The heart has all the feelz. All. The. Fucking. Feelz. BTW, this mother fucker has allies, it has a full squad motivated by touch. Watch out for your hands, cheeks and lips cause they’re all in cahoots with the heart.

The vagina / dick

Don’t listen to this fucker. AT. ALL. Its only objective is to experience pleasure, as inconvenient and crazy as the opportunities may be. Actually, I take that back. If you can’t settle for wack privates from the opposite sex you shouldn’t settle. So fine—let them chime in, but don’t let them run the show unless you want to be ruined completely.

The gut

I’ve never mentioned the gut. The gut can over rule all the other stake holders if it so chooses to. The gut needs zero rationale, yet it can give you the strongest motivation to sway to any particular decision. This one might surprise you, almost always.

33 Before 33: 15

15. Master the Irish Goodbye

I’m a huge sucker for peer pressure. HUGE. It is easily my biggest social weakness. I fall victim to peer pressure on a regular basis, however I’ve been in hermit mode since fall began so I’ve been less susceptible to the strong coaxing of my friends for the past 2 months.

The crazy thing is I don’t even believe in FOMO. I am always secure with my decisions of whether or not I stay home or go out. I just get weak as fuck when I have 2-5 people blowing up my phone, urging me to go to whatever event is happening.

It’s the fucking stroke of the ego that gets me. Are you aware of the validation you feel after 5 separate people are telling you to GTFO of your apt and meet them?

I’m not that cool, guys.

Wait. Yes. I am.

Anyways that’s not the point.

My point is sometimes you get stuck in social situations that go over their time limit or your patience, sometimes your buzz wears off and you’re too sober to enjoy the shit show happening in front of your eyes, and sometimes you just need to make an appearance to show face (because you’re not a complete recluse).

The answer… my friends… is the Irish Goodbye.

It only really works if you’re in a very crowded place or if the host/celebrant is too busy to keep track of you. 

Pro Tips:
1. If it’s super late and you’re a female let one other person know you’re going to dip. Choose the least drunk or most understanding person. That way if anyone asks they can vouch for you and your safety. Text them when you arrive at your destination.
2. IGNORE ALL TEXTS YOU RECEIVE AFTER LEAVING (respond in the morning), unless the person sending texts is genuinely concerned with your well-being or location. Otherwise you’re going to get: “BITCH, WHERE DID YOU GO?!?!” “YOU DIDN’T SAY BYE!!!” “YOU OWE ME A DRINK NEXT TIME!!!” Etc. Etc. Etc. Congratulations… If you receive texts like this people like you.

33 Before 33: 16

16. Patience is a virtue. Timing is a bitch. 

I don’t think I ever really get anything in life when I want it.

The universe could give a fuck about my ideal schedule. As a matter of fact it likes to add on complicated detours—just because.

Divorce? That was never in my plans, obviously.

But here I am, experiencing various delays (according to me).

I had a crush on Ex-Mr since 7th grade woodshop class. We used to exchange perverted hand-written letters to each other, you know—the kind that were folded like this. He made it known that the feelings were mutual, however I slept on him and someone else swooped him up by the end of 7th grade. TBH, I wasn’t ready to have a boyfriend anyways.

Throughout the years we always kept in touch, some better than others but the flirting never really ceased. When senior year hit we shared two classes and were in the same cotillion court, resulting in a dangerous amount of face time. BTW, he still had the same girlfriend from 7th grade. Eventually I went savage and stole him away. I guess I got tired of waiting. 

The chemistry was always there, the timing wasn’t—well… until the universe made it blatantly clear.

In 2008 I visited New York for the 3rd time. I was in a bar in Park Slope in Brooklyn experiencing a nice buzz when I looked Ex-Mr dead in the face and said:

I want to live here. 

I expressed my desire a few times after coming home. We were already engaged, I wanted to experience NY before kids, a dog and a mortgage. I wanted to go before the idea no longer sounded possible. We could’ve done it, but he didn’t have it in him.

I didn’t actually have the opportunity to move until 2013, as you know—by myself. 

In 2010 Ex-Mr and I made a bet that if the Giants won all the way I would get off birth control and we would try to conceive a child. After never winning a World Series in the city of SF they did it. 

However we never got pregnant. It wasn’t in our cards.

Since turning 33 I have felt a heavy weight on my chest. All of the sudden I feel a strong urgency to watch how much time I have left on the clock and settle down. Yeah yeah, I know—I’m still young. So I guess the same pattern emerges…

Patience is a virtue. Timing is a bitch.

I don't get the things I want in life when I want them, I get them when it’s right.

SO FINE... I’LL JUST WAIT.

33 Before 33: 17

17. Nothing lasts forever

The bad news is: nothing lasts forever.
The good news is: nothing lasts forever.

I’m an odd mixture of viewpoints. I’m objective, a realist with low expectations and yet a small part of me is a deranged romantic. I like to hold on to the last attribute as much as I can, that side doesn’t get to express its excitement as much as I would like. I also harbor a stupid amount of anxiety.

Depending on whatever it is you’re experiencing in life this perspective is a 50/50 toss up. 

It’s a fucking paradox.

Sometimes I think about the span of my lifetime and realize: this ain’t shit. Most of us have only been making adult decisions for the last third of our lives. All the struggles and highlights I’ve written about for the past 4 years—that’s just a small blip in the overall timeline.

I contemplate where I will be at double my age and what kind of heartbreak and joy I will see.

Can you imagine tho? Life at 66. Twice the life, except this time IT’S ALL ADULTHOOD and 100% unpredictable. 

Told you—I’ve probably been anxious since birth.

The day-to-day struggles I endure on the regular, the post-divorce loneliness I frequently battle are all pretty much insignificant in the long game. The tides will turn and happier times will eventually ensue, I have no doubts. However this period is likely to have a time-limit as well, it’s inevitable.

The fact is human life is precious and fleeting and it’s a fucking roller coaster… 

So I will ride out these shitty times (because I’ve been riding a shitty wave for a minute), because what goes up must come down—and vice versa.

In Defense of Love (Despite Divorce)

[My list is on pause—don't worry I'll finish it.]

I’ve been procrastinating writing the toast for my sister’s wedding for-ev-er. It’s this Saturday. Fortunately I’ve been downgraded from actual “MOH speech” to 3-minute toast. I don’t do well with public speaking. I can’t even ask a question as a member of an audience without my voice visibly shaking. However the idea of getting up and speaking in front of others is not my issue, I will have Macallan 12 in my hand to help with that. My issue is coming up with what the fuck I’m supposed to tell my sister, my new brother-in-law and their guests on love, marriage and happily ever afters.

Shit. Dude.

I kinda want to open up with the fact that 50% of marriages end in divorce and since I’m already divorced—statistically speaking, they’re good to go. (See, there goes that fucked up sense of humor again.) It’s funny tho, right? Get it? I basically took one for the team. My marriage failed so the probability of theirs succeeding has to be higher. Right?

I’m joking. BTW, *hi-five* if I got as little as a nervous laugh out of you with the paragraph above.

I think it’s funny. #laughatmypain #kevinhart

Sorry. I keep digressing. I am purposely putting off consuming edibles tonight so I can thoroughly convey what I am trying to say with a clear mind. Allow me to get back on track… 

Last year I read Aziz Ansari’s book Modern Romance. I found the initial chapters incredibly insightful. It touched upon the fact that yes, marriages do have a 50% failure rate. Since our grandparents each generation thereafter has fucked up the sanctity of marriage more and more.

Guilty.

Now this sounds like terrible news, but you have to view this statistic in the grand scope of things. You have to consider what marriage was back in the 1950’s, 1980’s and what it means today. The book explains that with previous generations marriage was more of an agreement. It was the only decision in order to benefit both parties in terms of creating offspring (help) and because marriage was the conventional standard between both sexes when you hit a certain age. During our grandparents era the courtship was short and the dating pool was small. They married their high school sweethearts or the boy next door and they stayed together despite whatever hardships because they needed each other to survive. Co-dependency was inevitable. Divorce was not an option for them, society wouldn’t allow it. Originally marriage was not heavily based on love and the idea of a soul-mate, although it was definitely a partnership—which is probably why success was the only way to go. You would be fortunate to fall in love while married, not beforehand, that wasn’t as common.

FF to our parents generation… My parents have been married for about 35 years this December. They are excellent examples of hard workers who have gone through plenty of ups and downs and a hell of a lot of love and compromise. I can’t say their peers are just as successful. With this generation society has been more accepting of divorce and women have gained independence 10-fold, in-return failure rates rise. 

SO HERE WE ARE…

Our generation has Tinder, fuckboys+girls, DM’s and distraction after distraction. The world is our oyster. What a time to be alive.

Despite the shitty statistics and every reason under the sun to forego the tradition of marriage it’s a booming industry. People are still getting hitched. Why?

Because although divorce is at an all time high so is the concept of love.

Crazy right? The idea of “the one” keeps us going. 

Love is the number one factor that drives us into marriage these days. We make the decision to attempt to spend forever with ONE person because of the apex of positive emotions they evoke in us. It’s not an arrangement, it’s not a business decision and it has nothing to with dependency (well, ideally).

Nah dude.

It’s LOVE.

Despite my views on how realistic monogamy and marriage are, my beliefs in love are at an all time high—divorcé status and all.

Love is the best high I could ever chase and I’ve chased a lot of highs. 

I’d do it again…and again…and again—even if that means I fail multiple times.

The reality is that relationships are hard fucking work. If more couples tried to preserve the love they shared on their wedding day divorce rates would dip. However people change and love shifts. I always tell everyone that the man I had to divorce was not the same man I married. I guess you could say the same for him, I was running on auto-pilot due to so many years together. 

It's depressing that our generation is so quick to throw in the towel or hastily get married in the first place without proper thought. We should probably work harder (or be less distracted, more faithful, etc. etc) on our marriages, but in some super odd and extremely romanticized sense we're just chasing love—the issue is sustaining it.

33 Before 33: 18

18. You need to look back to see how far you’ve come

It’s 6pm on a random Tuesday and I’m having dinner with Ex-Mr. He owes me, its been a month+ since my birthday and we haven’t been able to find any time to catch up.

Who still manages to dine with their ex-husband?

*raises hand and looks around* 

I do, every once in a while.

I kinda hate how he can still look at a wine list and easily choose one without my resistance. Tempranillo—done.

He still doesn’t possess the ability to call me by my first name. I don’t make anything of it, my pet name was never that “lovey” in the first place. Old habits die hard I guess. 

We discuss the fact that I moved out almost exactly 4 years ago, that 3 years ago he visited NY and was forced to announce he was expecting a child. We toast to our current status, that I’m abnormally obsessed with photos and videos of his daughter, my ability to give him objective advice when it comes to relationship hardships with his baby mama/GF (real talk, I probably side with her perspective more than his) and how far I’ve come with my career. I start telling him I probably need to try dating again soon and that I have a crush on one of my coworkers.

He has helllllaaaaa good taste in music. I hate it. I hate how he has such good fucking taste in music. He’s married tho, so… dead end. His wife introduced herself to me the other day.

He jokes: “HAHA! Why should that stop you?”

We both laugh way too hard. Between the two of us we have an even more fucked up sense of humor. Go figure. He tells me that I won’t be alone forever. I joke that I just need good sperm. He reassures me that I’ll be fine. I don’t believe anyone these days when they say that but I’ll take it.

After a few hours I tell him that we’ve almost reached his curfew and it’s time to go. We split our leftovers and call individual Ubers home.

He doesn’t bite my face when we say goodbye. That was a specific habit he couldn’t break for years, even after we split. I blame it on muscle memory. I’m glad he has a 2.5 year old to bother instead. I mean it. 200%.

We’ve come far, super fucking far.

33 Before 33: 19

19. I’m thankful for my hoe-behavior phase

Note: I said “hoe-behavior” and not “hoe” directly. There is a difference. 

I was in Vegas a couple of weekends ago. The boys went on a late breakfast run and witnessed a woman returning to our hotel on a walk of shame. “She was hurrrrtin,” they said. So we went in with our individual commentary and shared our favorite personal experiences.

Me: Damn. It’s late, even for a walk of shame. It’s 11. My ass would’ve been up at 6 trying to avoid the maximum amount of witnesses possible.
Boys: You don’t know what went down last night. You don’t know how hard or how late they partied.
Me: Gah. You’re riiiiiight. Ok true.

AND THEN I GOT HIT WITH A WAVE OF HOE-BEHAVIOR NOSTALGIA… 

My least-detected walk-of-shame involved a full day at work. I slept over at the dude’s place because he was an investment banker and our dates were always at 1 in the fucking morning. By the time we were done being consenting adults it was 3am. He didn’t care about sleep overs and he lived 5 blocks away from my job. I wasn’t about to go back to Brooklyn, plus no one saw me in that outfit because I actually changed for the date. SO I WENT TO WORK, but I hit up Duane Reed for toiletries and freshened up before anyone arrived at the office. I was asked multiple times that day if I had a date after work because of my dress. Nah, but I had one last night. *side-smirk emoji here*

Then I thought about the time my roomie caught me in heels clacking down the hallway on a Saturday morning in a full holiday-party outfit and overcoat. She caught eyes with me as I was passing the kitchen, erupted with laughter and asked: “Did you have a good night?”

Ugh. I didn’t even get D that time. But I got a good story…

I have plenty of great stories. Trust me.

After I shared with the group in Vegas I kinda sighed to myself, wondering if that part of my life was over. My SF conquests have been extremely tame in comparison. If 2 years in New York scores as an 8.5, I would give SF a 3. It’s weaaaaaak.

I receive a ton of encouragement across the board—to do my thing, to fuck around (safely), to take advantage of being single and having my own place, all of it… I think about whatever kind of silly shit I still have on my single bucket list (cause I have a bucket list for all different avenues of life) and I consider “hoe-behavior mode.”

Sleep with a hot bartender is #1 on that list.

I end up contemplating the idea for a millisecond, but it never sticks. It no longer sounds fun.

You know what sounds fun?
A fucking Farmer’s Market on a Sunday.

I don’t want a bartender. I want a boyfriend. 

But damn… *smiling to myself* if I could tell you about those 2 years in New York.