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.