HBD, Tako

So TBH I never really understood the attachment humans have to pets. I never grew up with a pet or felt a desire to care for an animal. My mom was never into the idea of giving our family extra responsibility to make sure we could keep another living thing alive. 

Fast forward years later…

I pick up my sister’s Nintendo DS and she has Nintendogs in it and I end up caring for a Shiba Inu puppy for a few weeks until she makes me give it back to her.

That’s the seed. The dumb little seed that planted you.

That’s all it took. I liked the idea of you. 

Eventually this seed becomes part of my life’s plan. I catch live feed videos of Shiba Inu puppies every time a new litter is born. I tell Ex-Mr about my obsession and he feeds it. He feeds it on odd ways, like leaving small printed photos of Shiba Inu puppies in the pages of books I’m reading or in spots I would find a nice little surprise.

Your name was supposed to be Musubi, like Spam Musubi. You were supposed to be black and tan. You were also supposed to arrive after I had a second child who was at least 4 years old.

That was the plan.

But plans don’t always go as imagined—and that’s ok.

Instead here you are… an entire year old and ANNOYING AS FUCK. 

I say that with so much love. So much love it aches to know that your life here on Earth is much more limited than mine.

Thank you for waking me up at 7:30 am on weekends I am hung over. Thank you for ensuring there will be dog hair on me anytime I leave the apartment. Thank you for the privilege of profusely apologizing for you every single time you think it's cool to get into a fight. Thank you for being born today.

Happy birthday, Ticky Taks. I fucking love you, so so much.

PS. If anyone knows how to make a dog immortal—LMK. Asking for a friend. *WHILE UGLY CRYING OUT OF CONTROL*

Tako2.jpg

"A Fan"

I still honestly have no idea who reads this. I'm afraid to check the analytics, page visits, and all that other BS. I'd rather not know. I'd rather just write. I don't even know how people still get to this site.

But miraculously... someone is still reading it. *SHRUGS*

I was laid off my job on May 31st. The company decided marketing would be solely based out of Nashville and the SF counterpart was a more of a hinder than help. It's no big deal. I was complacent as hell and already looking for my next opportunity. The culture had evaporated and it was a sad place to work, I lost all motivation to even come in. Plus, I was compensated very well in my "transition package." All is good.

Anyways... I received Doughbies at the office a week after I was let go. Fortunately I still have friends in other departments and was informed of the surprise delivery.

SO... shout out to the person (who I assume is a dude) who thought sending me Doughbies anonymously would make my day. 

It did, and of course I had to explain myself to a group of 5 women on how I am able to receive anonymous gifts and not freak out over them.

A million thanks, anonymous stranger (or so you claim).

Doughbies.jpg

Rest in peace, Tony

I feel a lot of things today, so I’m just going to type off the dome.

I woke up at 4am, because my insomnia is back with a vengeance and ever since the divorce my sleeping pattern has never been the same. It’s amazing how your subconscious can shake you awake at the most random times. My insomnia is strongest when I come across life changes, with work, with relationships, with whatever has a major shift in my day-to-day. 

Years ago I told my doctor I ate edibles as a “homeopathic means” to reverse the struggle. He was supportive and told me he’d rather have me smoke weed to get a good night’s rest instead of prescribing me Ambien or some other nightly habit-forming sedative. But I’m up to 10mg nightly and my brain still won’t rest, consistently.

The older I get the less inclined I am to share on this blog. I get flooded with self conscious thoughts. I panic when I start to date and wonder if the next man in my life is gonna be cool with me story telling that chapter in my life.

I also think I get too real some times, in a way that makes people uncomfortable. The thing is I can preemptively break my own heart, I can’t tell if it’s an actual skill or a curse. I think it’s just a result of being partially broken in general. Fortunately I’m not a depressive person. While some people might find solace in just ending their lives—I’m the opposite, I just want to wake up to a new day and start fresh.

It was 5am when I saw the CNN tweet that Anthony Bourdain took his own life.

I normally don’t feel affected by celebrity deaths or suicides, but this one hit close to home. He was an icon, one who struggled with drug and alcohol abuse but was fortunately given the opportunity to travel the world and introduce far away culture and food to America in the convenience of their own homes.

I never thought he was a particularly joyful person, he was sarcastic, dry, and constantly made snarky comments when he was on camera—but he was good to watch, cause he was real as fuck. I have probably seen every single episode of “No Reservations,” “The Layover,” and “Parts Unknown.” I even use my parents DVR and have the recording on lock, because I don’t have CNN. I binge when I’m there and when my dad catches me watching he always asks… “Where is he now?”

I’m legit heartbroken that none of us will get to see him explore any longer. He gave us the ability to vicariously live through the lens, through his eloquence, and silently through his numerous personal struggles.

I hope the afterlife is a bigger adventure for him that this life ever was.

Rest in peace, Tony.

Nice for What

I’m in a rotten fucking mood. I’ve been in a rotten fucking mood.

I give up. Officially. I give up on men. I’m revoking all access to men interested in my vagina.

I try, you know. I stopped looking for fuckboys or assholes I could maybe “fix.” I started giving opportunities to regular ass guys, but all-in-all they fuck up just as hard.

I’ve had a man cancel on me because he was too depressed to keep our date, but still texted me at 6pm cause he changed his mind and asked if I was still down.

Uh. Nah, bruh. You just told me you were depressed and poor company—way to sell yourself.

I’ve been viewed as ideal potential Filipino/Asian GF material. It’s weird as fuck being fetishized by white men. They tell you stories and its obvious they’re trying to make you their Filipina princess no. 4. Personally I’ve never experienced cultural appropriation until a white dude tried to flex with his “sinigang making skills” or ask me if I’ve ever had balut.

No. You can’t do that. You can’t try to take my own culture and hold it over my head as if you’re an expert. I won’t allow it.

I set up a second date with a man who never cashed in, even when I already made it clear I would foot the bill. It was supposed to be breakfast, I was to bring him a donut as an appetizer, we had it all figured out. He never cared to text, until it was weeks later and he hit me up at 2am trying to ruse a conversation out of me.

Needless to say I was heated as fuck when I woke up unnecessarily at 2am by a man who went ghost yet conveniently found an opportunity to contact me when he was drunk. Also, I don’t need to remind everyone that I am an insomniac and quality sleep is precious to me.

Even when I mind my own business men come out of the woodwork and stir the pot, with conversations they don’t realize are completely disrespectful.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. And FUCK YOU.

My legs and heart are closed. Access revoked. 

On the other end of the spectrum I’d like to thank my boys, my platonic loves, who even in the smallest ways let me know I am cared for, who remind me I deserve someone who understands what the fuck they’re getting.

I’d like to especially thank the person (who I assume is a man) who anonymously sends me flowers on Valentine’s for the past 2 years. Who, despite getting any type of formal “thank you” or acknowledgement, is willing to drop $60 on a beautiful bouquet without knowing if I even receive them. The gesture always leaves my female coworkers dumbfounded. As much as the romantic sector of my life perpetually SUCKS BALLS somehow I’m managed to be reminded that I am loved… throughout all the shit I’m dragged through.

I don’t understand why I am such a magnet for shitty, unavailable, rude, and lazy men—but that era has ended. They can continue sleeping on me, meanwhile I’ll continue with my life and all my goals. Fortunately I don’t need a man for a child, just good ol’ sperm.

For the record, I still believe in love. However I figure maybe I’ll be 47 or something when it comes around again, with a good man who is secure with what he wants and is too fucking old to be acting a fool.

Until then… I’m not allowing the opposite sex to ruin my mood any longer. They don’t pay enough personal tax for that.

Nice for what?

No. Fucking. Good. Reason.

BYE.

Until the End of Time

Ever since JT performed “Until the end of time” at the Super Bowl I have been listening to it religiously. No exaggeration. I’ve probably listened to it 100x since then. It repeats roughly 4.5 times from the moment I leave my apartment until I get to the elevator at work.

IDK. Something about a man literally singing his heart out made my heart wet as fuck.

Yeah, I said that right. My heart got wet. Forget my vagina, I need to pursue honest feelings that are sustainable. The vagina is only temporarily satiated, my mind is constantly trying to figure out why shit can’t work, and in return it’s my poor heart that gets neglected. 

My heart never gets a moment to feel or decide. It’s a conscious decision, that piece of anatomy is the slowest to recover. Mine is so tired of dealing with disappointment and heartache.

So I’ve been feeding my heart with corny ass love songs, slow jam mixes, and rom coms with impossible story lines because I deserve to fucking feel like all those things can be possible for me. 

I guess I’m trying to convince myself that someday my love alone could be enough for one man, that monogamy is accomplishable, or maybe just that someone out there wants to fuck with me “forever.” 

I can’t even type forever without quotes. 

I day dream about regular things, ironically simple things—like going to a store and buying ingredients for that night’s dinner and meeting outside, cooking breakfast on a Sunday morning, or holding hands in a car with the driver. That’s the extent of my fantasies these days. That’s all they exist of. Sure, I want to do everything with the next man I love but mostly… I want to do nothing in particular at all. I’d rather experience a million lazy Sundays with someone than a lifetime of bougie highlights. 

For the record the post linked above is my most favorite post. EVER. So I figure I’ll keep pumping myself with love songs and corny lyrics until someone shows up for a lazy Sunday. 

*checks watch* *blows raspberry out of lips*

Sodium Levels: Dangerously High

Preface: You will either find this post to be depressing or real, depending on your own perception levels.

It’s 2018 and I've entered this year as salty as ever. I figured the Universe would’ve paid me back by now. It’s not like I expected a full check plus interest (that’s a debt that will be paid over way more time). I was just expecting a few emotional reparations, maybe in the form of a potential love interest or at least someone to wish me good night consistently.

It's been five years. Five years and no one has managed to wife me up again. Not even a girlfriend title. It’s not like I have a busted face… or even worse… a busted personality. 

SO WHAT THE FUCK THEN? Yeah, yeah I get it. I don't get to decide these timelines.

Instead I turn 35 this year, still single. 

I spent my Friday at work researching various things. The Google search on my work laptop screams of “desperate mid-30’s woman trying to find answers.” 

A few of my single girlfriends keep talking about freezing their eggs. Do you know how much it costs to freeze your eggs???

About $10k to harvest. $500/year to store them. And when you find your happily ever after and the man of your dreams to impregnate such eggs it costs about $5k per IVF procedure to put those fertilized puppies back into your uterus.

NAH DUDE. FUCK THAT. FUCK THAT TIMES INFINITY.

(If you do not currently hear the salt connected to each sentence I’m typing then you’re reading this post all wrong.)

TBH freezing my eggs was never my contingency plan. I’m much more comfortable seeking out a sperm donor and dealing with motherhood on my own. That way I'm in control of the greater picture. I can’t keep waiting around for someone that I don't know will even show up. Plus, I can handle this on my own. I know I can. I’m just incredibly salty that my life has resulted to strongly considering what I believe to be a very unromantic and pragmatic means of providing me one of the greatest gifts I can possibly receive.

“Hi baby, I wanted you so bad I had to pick a dad you’ll never know. I’m sorry.”

Sometimes when the subject comes up and I’m drunk and emotional I ask people their opinions: “Do you think it’s selfish I'm willing to conceive a child with the possibility of the child never having an actual father?” Everyone seems to reassure me that multiple father figures will come into play… but still… I think my unborn child deserves better than that.

BTW for those of you who are wondering it’s about $300-$500 per artificial insemination procedure. Yeah, I googled it to make sure the cost was within budget. It is.

Who fucking knows though… I might be overreacting to all this just because I turn 35 this year. I haven’t even ordered my fertility test yet. Maybe it’ll tell me I have the egg reserve and hormones of a spritely 25 year old woman. I highly doubt that, but I guess there is no use in all of this worrying until I get actual scientific results back.

In other news, I have to get back on the dating horse, again. Time to go deal with men who don’t know what the fuck they want, who like the idea of “love” but aren’t ready for it at this time in their lives, and are just generally awkward or sociopathic in general.

WISH ME LUCK.

FUCK.

PS. Wish me more luck that I get decent medical results. I give up on men anyways.

Time's Up

I’ve always been uncomfortable with unwanted male attention. Because of this I like to dress down and wear shoes that I can keep a fast pace in. I wear headphones when walking alone so I can avoid reacting to cat calls. I’ve learned to cope with the assholes on the street and to be completely fair they’re not all assholes, once in a while someone has manners and pays me a genuine compliment.

But it’s not just the dudes loitering in the Tenderloin that are the problem. The problem exists everywhere.

The problem is when I go to 1015 and it’s so crowded that me and my girls get groped by just walking down the hall to get to the bathroom.

The problem is when someone brings their annoying ass boy around who thinks he can grind his crotch into my ass because we are both enjoying the song that is playing and he put himself in close proximity to me on purpose.

The problem is when men demand we pay attention to them when my girlfriends and I are out having a good time and the moment we don’t want to talk or smile we’re immediately deemed as stuck-up bitches.

Nah. Fuck ya’ll and fuck that.

WE DON'T OWE YOU SHIT.

I will assume that my male readers have better tact than this. I figure you’re the ones whose mama’s taught you how to respect women properly (and no, not the kind of respect that memes joke about). I’m talking about understanding what the fuck “consent” really means. 

The problem is many of us ladies avoid confrontational conversations with the men that grab our asses, we don’t fully explain why its uncomfortable to feel your dick gyrating on us on a dance floor, and for some dumbass reason we have to apologize for ourselves when we tell you to politely leave us and our girlfriends alone. That’s the biggest piece of bullshit—WE apologize.  

Fuck outta here…

We don’t want to ruin our night by coming off as emotional, we don’t want to be called derogatory names, we don’t want to make a big deal and most of the time we just learn to walk away or some other submissive way of avoiding men who make unwarranted advances.

Well I’m tired of it. No more. Time’s up.

This is how I love... I will fuck you up.

If you use the search feature on my blog and enter the term “Love” you get the most hits out of any other subject. I do this whenever I need extra motivation or inspiration to write. I figured I should start off strong in 2018, so here I go…

I will never have you set as the lock screen on my phone, it’s nothing personal. No face has ever graced my iPhone like that, even when I was married. I prefer having pretty designer wallpaper that has some sort of subtle gradient instead. I just like my visuals simple. Plus, just cause you’re not on my phone doesn’t mean you’re not in my heart. *GAG* That’s was corny as fuck. 

I will always offer you the last bite of my food, even if it’s my most favorite dish. I will always lie and tell you I’m full, I’m not. The last bite of food is arguably the best, it’s the crescendo of flavor when your meal has perfectly melded together. This is my number one unspoken display of love—it is my ultimate sacrifice. You can have my heart or we can share it like the last slice—and even still, you can have the last piece.

I will roast the absolute fuck out of you every chance I get. My displays of affection are best served in the form of harmless jokes, quick wit and a sharp tongue. Don’t worry, I will never use your weaknesses against you. I won’t do it to push your buttons or air out any passive aggressive grievances. I’ll just call your ass out on anything you do that deserves a good laugh. Also, you can act fake butthurt which means I have to actively try to make it right in the form of physical means.

I will rub the back of your head even when you are two or three weeks past the need for a haircut. Please note I will probably roast you while doing so, but I’ll still stroke the back of your head as if your hair is freshly trimmed. Somehow I have the ability to do this even when I’m half asleep, as long as it comforts you. It’s an involuntary impulse as far as my muscle memory serves.

I will never call you babe/baby/honey/sweetie or any other conventional pet name, except “boo.” I can fuck with “boo.” I will give you such odd names that when spoken in public people will want clarification. I won’t lie, half of them will have embarrassing or insulting implications, but that’s what I want to call you so that’s how it’s going to work.

I will sext you. I will sext you in the middle of the day, before a big meeting, while you’re out with your boys… etc. etc. etc. I will sext you so hard that our conversations will be sexually tense until the moment we reunite.

I will fuck you up. I will leave an imprint on you even if forever doesn’t exist, even if you’re the one to destroy us. I will fuck you up and permanently leave a place in you even if that wasn’t your intention. At some point you are going to drown in feelings too deep to take lightly and—I will fuck you up... in the absolute best way possible.

The Best Part

I keep hoping the movie finally progresses.

That maybe a crush eventually blossoms into genuine mutual interest in which the story of the rest of my life unfolds and everything finally fucking makes sense.

It never works that way. My crushes are never sustainable, they have a shelf life of about a week until I’m hit with harsh reality and nothing ever develops. Ever.

The “meet-cute” wasn’t a meet-cute. You just met. End of story, nothing cute about it. It actually wasn’t anything to write home about, he’s not a character in your movie. Not even an extra.

Ok fine.

I’m tired of this bullshit though. I’m tired of this character building, this discovery phase. Whatever this is...

I have plenty of character already. 

When do we get to the best part? 

How to Date Kate - Part 1

SO I PUT MYSELF BACK OUT THERE.

My coworker recently got engaged and I would actually like to have a proper plus one to his wedding. SHIT—let’s be real, I would to have a plus one in life.

I’ve been on a couple of dates, I’m even trying to organically make something happen with a man I met IN REAL LIFE, I’m trying… to the best of my abilities. The truth is I always fucking struggle when it comes to dating (surprise, surprise). I can’t seem to find someone who both I find both interesting and attractive who EQUALLY feels the same way about me.

Here are a few pro tips:

I do not want to trade IG handles.

My account has been private since its creation. It’s private because I don’t care about random people knowing what it is I’m up to and vice versa. We kicked it one time and you wanna trade IGs? Nah. I would prefer not to. I DEFINITELY do not want to trade IG handles with a man I don’t even know if I like. Plus, you could be one of those dudes who might take one too many selfies, makes unnecessary collages, posts every single aspect of his life, or even worse—writes extremely unfunny captions. The less I know about your social media habits the better, at least until I get to know you beyond this. Men, most of the time less is more when it comes to social media. Do the least… Not the most. Well, that’s my preference.

Side note: Do not find me on Facebook or Linkedin after we went on a couple of dates and didn’t work out. This has happened twice, I never even gave these men my last name to begin with. I almost never give them my last name. That’s a residual habit I kept since NYC. We’re strangers… we’re strangers trying to see if we’re compatible. We don’t have to be friends. I have PLENTY of male platonic friends. If we’re not lovers we’re not going to be friends.
 

You must ask for my time preferably 3 days or a week in advance.

I am a creature of habit and routine. I have all my workout classes scheduled a week in advance because there are a few in particular that are extremely difficult to get into. I’m not cancelling my favorite class cause you have some last minute time. I had a man ask me for a date at 6pm on a Monday, that night. BRUH. It’s 6pm, are you serious right now? You cannot do that with me. I realize plenty of men operate on a day-to-day basis, however if you’re dealing with someone else’s schedule you’re going to have to accommodate how they operate as well. Also, I’ll be totally up front with you, I’ll warn you what my schedule is like. You can either make it work or reject the notion.

Side note: If I am excited to see you I will shift my schedule and accommodate you, I promise. I’m not a complete hard ass. I’ve moved mountains to try to get a date to work. You just have to meet me half-way. It’s difficult to prioritize a stranger, they are the lowest common denominator. I always say I think time is the most expensive thing in the world, the less notice you give me the more expensive it is.
 

You should have vast life experience.

We are going to discuss everything you are comfortable divulging within the first two dates. That spans everything from previous recreational drug usage, sexual history, longest relationship, to places traveled and everywhere you’ve resided (which hopefully includes a location where you didn’t grow up).

I could write a book on my life. I’ve been in an 11 year relationship, divorced, lived in NYC, lived with 7 men, had sex on a rooftop on the 4th of July while fireworks were going off behind me, I’ve tried acid, I’ve been to almost 20 countries, I’ve tried to get pregnant… for 34 I’d say I’ve had a decent run. I could tell you stories, on stories… on stories. Sometimes I want to start a locked section of this blog where I write about that really juicy shit. I won’t tho. I have to if I ever write a book… who honestly wants to read that.

I was really uninterested on my last date, I realized every story the man across me was sharing was super boring. There was no real apex to any of the experiences he shared, and that’s fine for him—it just did nothing for me. I mean, nothing.

I will say that the more I date the more I am ok with these men not working out, it’s almost impossible to find a needle in a haystack. You can’t be compatible with everyone you come across. BUT… Someday you’ll meet someone and figure out why no none else ever worked out.

*winking emoji here*