I will not be the first one to speak. And if he never calls me again, I’ll always think of him fondly. As an asshole.

I was waiting for you in the rain, and the only thing I wanted to do more than turn around and go home was see you. I don’t know what makes me more sad—the fact that you haven’t apologized, or knowing that you wouldn’t.

Thanks to Anthony for hosting dinner last night and sharing this hilarious monologue with us (four different times). The chicken enchiladas parmesan was interesting, but I enjoyed the wine and company!

Run Into Flowers:

Just received the final version of the cover of my wedding invitations. Thanks so much to the talented Mayan for designing the whole thing!! 143!

I tried to capture Chel’s vintage style while incorporating everything she wanted—layers of sheet music, lace, typewriter font, and her wedding colors, pink and brown. The invitations will be printed on cream linen cardstock. I can’t wait to see how they turn out :)

Did I mention how much I love the Winter Olympics???

WANT.

For some people, love doesn’t exist unless you acknowledge it in front of other people.

Another 3am text message from Il Postino this weekend. It’s always back and forth with us. He drunk messages me one weekend. I do it the next. He does it again, but this time he’s just trying to be funny—”trying” being the operative word here. I know he’s mocking my drunken text from the weekend before, so I tell him he’s lucky I’m awake at that unholy hour. And then I remember that I purposely ignored his messages on Valentine’s Day, so he thinks things are okay between us now that I’ve broken my silence. Every time I get off this carousel, I just get back on again, spinning around and around knowing this ride always makes me sick.

I was really dreading this past weekend, but it actually wasn’t half bad :) On Friday, Shi, Ella, Sha and I did what any other masochistic group of single girls would do on Valentine’s Day weekend—we watched Dear John (aka Sobfest 2010). Christine gave it half a thumb, but I actually liked it! I cried throughout the entire movie. It definitely didn’t touch The Notebook, but I’d recommend at least renting it when it’s released (if only to see Channing Tatum running around half naked).

I drowned my sorrows at The Local with the girls and Antonio Saturday night. Fifty dollars, six cranberry vodkas, two slices of New York pizza, and one drunken text to the ex later (yikes), I called it a night at four in the morning.

I woke up on Sunday with a hangover and a text back from Il Postino. I didn’t get back to him—he drunk messaged me three times the weekend before, so I thought I didn’t have to explain myself. The girls all texted me to make sure that I wasn’t going to throw myself off a bridge before spending the day with their significant others, and I even got a V-Day greeting from the Cake Boss (which I also ignored). Shi invited me to brunch, but I felt too sick to eat anything at that ungodly hour. I spent the majority of my day designing Chel’s wedding invitation while watching Lifetime’s Lovers Lane Movie Marathon (don’t judge me). Sitting through all 120 minutes of Flirting with Forty was worth discovering Robert Buckley. Hot damn. I don’t usually like blondes, but I’ll make an exception for this one.

Il Postino texted me after midnight—and after he had gotten home from his Valentine’s date, I’m sure—saying thanks for (not) returning the drunken text and he hoped I had a great Valentine’s Day. Number one… how dare you? And number two… don’t call me past 11pm. It was late, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to respond, so I didn’t. I like how we only talk to each other when we’re intoxicated and/or at an indecent hour. Don’t make me that girl that you only call after midnight—especially not on Valentine’s Day. And especially not when I used to be that girl you’d take roller skating on a random Tuesday before the street lights came on.

I would just like to be involved with someone who values me enough to call me at a respectable hour… someone who would maybe take me to Birch Aquarium to look at moon jellies, grab some dinner afterwards (nothing fancy), and maybe share a Churros Con Chocolate cupcake from Cups. Or even a churro from Costco would be fine by me. You know, I don’t ask for much (and I also don’t get much, either… go figure).

On Monday, Chel, Shi and I had a three hour sesh at Tap Ex. We always find time for each other. These girls are my heart. They make me realize that I’m better off without these jerkoffs I keep involving myself with. And they completely understand when I blow them off to watch meteor showers with the same jerkoffs ♥

Chel surprised me at work with these homemade strawberry nutella cupcakes. Sweet, huh? :) Thanks for making my day, babe ♥

In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with.

(image via someecards)

I came home from the gym this morning to this chocolate covered strawberry bouquet sent from my sister and her fiancé. I smell sabotage… sweet, sweet sabotage. I didn’t work out every day this week and pull three two-a-days to indulge in dessert—I did it so I could drink my sorrows away tonight with my single friends. My sister is so thoughtful, though :) She knows how much I hate this godforsaken holiday.

A food analogy if you will, it’s like a redneck preferring a sloppy joe to a fine cut of filet mignon—he’s too uncouth to appreciate you.

Radiohead – “Fake Plastic Trees”

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And it wears me out
It wears me out

(image via vivatregina)

Working with people who get my pop culture references is the only thing that helps me keep my sanity—especially on days like this when I have to finish four newsletters and three homepage banners in one week because this Monday is a holiday, and deadlines don’t care about your scheduled days off (even if they’re unpaid).

I’ve been on this crazy diet and exercise regimen for the past few weeks in preparation for Chel’s wedding. I just don’t want to be scrambling to lose three dress sizes in May to fit into my bridesmaid dress. Its pleated waistline promises to hide any indiscretions (like that wing-eating contest you entered the night before or that Mexican you didn’t know was hiding in your uterus), but I thought I’d be on the safe side and pull some two-a-days at the gym. I took kickboxing and salsa dancing today. My kickboxing instructor kept yelling, “Throw those punches! Squeeze those glutes! You gotta look good for your man on Valentine’s Day!” And I’m thinking, the only man who’s gonna see me naked on Valentine’s Day is my masseur at Chiropractique! Boo whore. At least someone’s hands will be on me that day…

I’ve had a rough day week month… Please be kind to me, 2010. I don’t think I can take 325 more days like this.

Happy birthday to my heart twin, Shi. I love you like I love walking around in my chones. And when you come over, I love you enough to put on some pants.

(image via flickflickflicker)

Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be complete without torturing yourself with bad romance movies.

Pammie, Chel, Shi, Anthony and I (the Choadorios!) hit up Pho Cali and Cups for Shi’s birthday. No matter where we are, we always end up being that table—the loudest one in the restaurant. Sorry if we’re just having more fun than you… Vietnamese noodles and cupcakes aren’t exactly fine dining, so learn to love our obnoxious infectious laughter and keep cool, my babies. My stomach hurts from all that laughing. Or maybe it was from those two cupcakes I ate. Or the breakfast burrito I had earlier… Get off me.

Someone I used to know emailed me out of the blue last week. We were just teenagers when we knew each other. He was a part of my past that I thought would never come back—sort of like the tongue ring I used to have when I knew him. And the brown chola lip liner I used to wear. Yet there was his name in lowercase letters waiting for me in my inbox. He said that he looked me up online and stumbled upon my blog. I cyberstalk google random people all the time, but I don’t think I’ve ever contacted anyone I don’t talk to anymore. I’m really horrible at keeping in touch. Before I know it, days, months, and years go by. Like January 2010, for example. I’m still in denial it ever happened. How is it February already??? Sometimes I feel like it’s too late to say anything… I’m glad people think otherwise, though. It was really nice to hear from him (and only a little bit creepy).

I was curious about what other details of my life surfaced when he looked me up online, so I googled myself. I’m quite the social networking butterfly—my Facebook, Myspace and Twitter accounts came up first. I can only handle one social network at a time, so I haven’t touched my Myspace since I joined Facebook, and my tweets are few and far between (to the dismay of @identifide—he thinks my life is far more interesting than it really is). Nothing too embarrassing or too personal came up, though… unless you count my old Xanga page—complete with a rotating icon of me, my ex, and my aforementioned tongue ring. Yikes.

(image via constantine✖belias™)

I woke up to three messages on my phone at two in the morning. Nothing good ever happens at that hour.

(image via thewordsalloverme)

I think I may have found a date for Valentine’s Day. So what if my “date” is a married man with three kids and two dogs? And who cares if by “Valentine’s Day” I really meant Chinese New Year (which just happens to fall on the same day)? Whatever.

Sam the Cooking Guy is having this contest where the prize is to have dim sum with him (plus a friend and four other couples) at Emerald that day. All you have to do to be eligible is translate this Mandarin phrase posted in his newsletter. My grandpa was Chinese, but the only Mandarin words I know are the ones you can find inside P.F. Chang’s menu. I asked every Chinese person I knew to translate this phrase for me—my co-worker’s friend in Arizona, one of my sister’s co-workers in her auditing department, my ex-boyfriend’s sister’s fiancé… They all agreed on the same translation, so I’ve submitted my entry. Wish me luck! If I don’t win, I’ll be forced to hit the bars and make some bad decisions…

I just downloaded Sade’s new album, Soldier of Love. I’m not sure which iTunes playlist to file it under—Baby Makin’ Music or Sad Times? Conundrum!

By Your Side is still my all-time favorite Sade song. I’ve known it was going to be my wedding song since the first time I heard it in 2000. Ten years later, I’m still not married I haven’t changed my mind.

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When you’re on the outside baby and you can’t get in
I will show you you’re so much better than you know
When you’re lost and you’re alone and you cant get back again
I will find you darling and I will bring you home

I’m not gonna lie—my vagina is pretty excited.

Pammie, Shi, Anthony and I went to Chel’s house last night to help her with wedding stuff. Chel asked me to design her wedding invitations, and I couldn’t be more honored :) She has 300 guests and is trying to keep the wedding costs down. It’s a good thing I work for lychee sake and tator tots.

The Cake Boss asked me to go out to some bar my friends were spinning at, McLovin’ texted me at an unholy hour, and I even had a brief exchange with Il Postino last night. When it rains, it pours I guess. There’s no where in the world I’d rather be than with these crazy bitches, though. God forbid I miss conversations like this…

Anthony: I was texting Chel about your website, and she got really annoyed because I kept calling it your “page”…
Chel: It’s called a blog. Stop calling it that.
Anthony: Whatever, I’ll call it her pagina if I want to.
Chel: Oh, is that what you were calling it? Page in spanish? All this time I thought you were texting me pagina. Like vagina with a p!

Le’sigh… Never a dull moment :)

(image via ffffound)

After a week of kickboxing, salsa dancing, and sweating my ass off (literally) everyday after work, I treated myself out to dinner at Banbu Sushi with the BFF and Ray. The wait was an hour long and the parking lot was ridiculously tiny, so I had to park down the street. Maybe I should have made reservations. And not worn high heels. I may be biased from eating nothing but Lean Cuisines all week, but the food was so, so good! I can’t believe I lived up the street from this place all last year and never tried it. It was San Diego Restaurant Week, so we got three courses for just $20. All of the specials came with edamame and your choice of soup or salad. We all chose onion soup, since none of us were planning on making out after dinner. For the appetizer, Ray and I got the Banbu Bites—shiitaki mushrooms stuffed with crab, spicy sesame ahi, and surrounded by tempura (pictured above). I can’t even explain how delicious they were. By far, the best thing I ate last night. Alicia got the Calamari Salad, which was deep fried calamari on top of baby greens and seaweed. It was good, but def not as good as our Banbu Bites! They were really busy last night, but Ray had already finished his beer before they brought out my Strawberry Mojito that I had to remind them about. The service wasn’t that great, but the food made up for it. She brought out mine and Ray’s main courses next. I got the Tangerine Shrimp with Sweet Chili Sauce and Ray got the Short Rib Ramen. Ray and I kept making these orgasmic sounds that you only make when you’re eating something really good! Haha. I wasn’t expecting such large portions, but it was a good amount of food. We were halfway done with our main courses before they brought out Alicia’s food, and all she ordered was the 10-Piece Sushi Combo. I’m not sure what took so long, since they didn’t even have to cook it! I think the waitress kept forgetting about us. The sushi was slathered in some wasabi/horseradish sauce and Alicia’s mouth was on fire. I’ve never been to a place where the sushi came with wasabi already inside of it, but Alicia ate what she could. They brought out dessert next. Ray got the Chocolate Lava Cake with Vanilla Gelato. The cake was too rich for me, but the gelato was good. Alicia chose the Mochi Ice Cream in red bean, green tea and vanilla. I didn’t try it, but I’ve had mochi before and I love it. She said the red bean was the best flavor. I got the Mango Crème Brulée with Tropical Compote. Other than forgetting to brûlez the crème, that part of the dessert was really good. I didn’t like the compote because there was ginger in it. Yuck. I hate ginger. But I love gingerbread cookies. And ginger ale. Is that weird? Anyway, I ended up paying $40 with tax, tip and mojito. So much for spending $20! The courses I picked were definitely worth it, though. I would go back just for the Banbu Bites alone.

Jesse: You’re such a dork
mayanrocks: says the guy with the cheese wax pyramid on his desk!
Jesse: Hey, that’s artistry you philistine!
Jesse: I need to buy more yellow Babybels to accent the sides
mayanrocks: …
Jesse: God, I’m such a dork

I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism.

The Cake Boss said that he pictures me living in South Park. Apparently, it’s where hipsters go to get married and have dogs. So what he’s saying is… he thinks I’m hip, he wants to marry me, and possibly raise an English bulldog together. Did anyone else get that???

This is only my second time apartment-hunting. Last year, Pammie told me, “Whatever you do, don’t sign anything.” And what did I do? First apartment I saw, I signed a lease. It was like that one time she said, “Whatever you do, don’t close the garage.” And what did I do? I walked straight to the garage, hit the garage door opener, and closed the garage on her car. It’s like I heard everything but the “don’t” part. Anyway, I was locked into a year lease with a beautiful apartment that cost entirely too much money. I knew people renting 2-bedrooms for cheaper than what I was paying for my single. There were times when I would make spaghetti and eat it for five days straight—I’m exaggerating zero percent. It was like I was in Café World and I had whipped up too many servings, except there were no café points earned from eating all that spaghetti—just carbs. I’m on Craiglist everyday, and I’ve learned that listings with the words “charming,” “section 8 approved,” and/or “drive by first and then call” are generally no bueno. Finding a nice, cheap apartment in SD is hard these days. I guess it doesn’t help that I’m partial to granite countertops, crown moulding, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Hey, I can’t help it if my modern espresso furniture refuses to coexist with wall-to-wall carpeting.

Okay so my friend just totally had a baby. She didn’t even know she was pregnant! She had back pain and went to the ER, and they told her that there was a baby inside her causing all that pain! WTF? There’s an entire show dedicated to this sort of thing on the Discovery Channel. It’s like one of those things that you think will never happen to you or anyone you know. I feel like I would just know if I was pregnant. Like how do you not know? Wouldn’t you feel it? Except this one time, I was lounging around our hotel room in Vegas, and I didn’t notice that my right boob had fallen out of my dress when I got up to get more wine. It was like a scene out of The 40-Year-Old Virgin, sans the speed dating. I was walking around and Marisa was like, “Your boob! Your boooob!” You’d think that I’d notice with the breeze and everything, but I didn’t. Hmm… Maybe I should get my babymaker checked to make sure there’s no Mexican hiding in there.

Six years have passed, but you are not forgotten ♥

I know I have you guys, but—and really, I hate myself a little for saying this—but it felt really sad not to have a man in my life who cares about me. No special guy to wish me happy birthday. No goddamn soul mate. And I don’t even know if I believe in soul mates.

Up until four years ago, I had a boyfriend to wish me happy birthday every year for nearly a decade. I’ve had dates, relationships and what have you over the past few years, but no amount of smizing, hair flips or threats could make them stick around for my birthday. Maybe it’s those crazy wish lists I come up with, I don’t know. I hate how I let this one thing I don’t have affect all the things I do have. I’m so lucky to have such great friends and relatives. I received over fifty birthday greetings via text, Facebook and phone. But the truth is, everything could be going great in my life and none of it would matter if I didn’t have anyone to share it with.

This year was no different. Il Postino knew it was my birthday. He knew. He asked his sister where she was taking me for dinner that morning. I wish she wouldn’t mention me at all around him. I’m almost certain that if we didn’t have her to keep us connected, we would’ve let each other go a long time ago. I never ask for anything. All I wanted was to be acknowledged. He couldn’t even bring himself to—at the very least—leave me a Facebook message wishing me a happy birthday in the most informal way he possibly could. His complete disregard for me stings more than the leopard print body pillow his mom gave me for Christmas.

But in spite of all that, I saw him again last night. I didn’t bring up my birthday. I didn’t bring up the fact that we haven’t spoken since the meteor shower. Disappointment is an emotion I’ve gotten used to wearing around him. He never apologizes for anything, with the exception of that one time last summer—and even that felt like it was court-ordered. I live for these sort of movie moments. That’s all I have with him. Just moments. It’s the reason why I never argue with him. Because no matter how bad it gets, I always come back. So why ruin the moment? When I see him, it’s understood that we revert to the way things used to be between us… when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, if only for one night. Or maybe I’ve misunderstood all along. Maybe these moments have been meaningless from the start.

I’ve realized that nothing will ever make him sure of me—not the fact that his family adores me, not the familiarity of my lips or the way my hand always fits perfectly in his, not the SpongeBob DVDs I gave him for Christmas that he didn’t bother to acknowledge just like my birthday, and especially not the fact that for reasons I can’t explain, I’ve always been so sure of him.