Gandhi said that whatever you do in life will be insignificant.
But it’s very important that you do it.
I tend to agree with the first part.
Don’t postpone what you want.
Don’t leave anything misunderstood.
Make sure the people you care about know.
Make sure they know how you really feel.
Because just like that… it could end.
As someone who relies on a Magic 8 Ball app to make my life decisions, it’s no surprise that I’m all about this wishful thinking crap.
And so today at 11:11, instead of wishing my usual wish that I won’t mention (partly because it won’t come true if I do, but mostly because it’s frowned upon), I wished for the speedy recovery of my best friend’s dad who suffered a heart attack and had quadruple bypass surgery yesterday. And for a miracle to happen for my mom’s sister who is back in the hospital and losing her battle with lung cancer.
I think you could fall in love with anyone if you saw the parts of them that no one else gets to see. Like if you followed them around invisibly for a day and you saw them crying in their bed at night or singing to themselves as they make a sandwich or even just walking along the street and even if they were really weird and had no friends at school, I think after seeing them at their most vulnerable you wouldn’t be able to help falling in love with them.
I really hope no one was following me invisibly tonight, because they would have seen me in bed watching Remember Me while sobbing uncontrollably, and then watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show while regretting everything I’ve ever eaten in life and trying to suck in that little pouch where I keep my extra cookies.
Why You Need A Man, Not A Boy | Mindy Kaling via Glamour
Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before.
OK, maybe men aren’t exactly like this. But this is what I’ve cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad. The point: Men know what they want, and that is scary.
What I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival.
Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don’t have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn 30.
So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying man. I don’t care if he takes prescription drugs for cholesterol or hair loss. (I don’t want that, but I can handle it. I’m a grown-up too.)
When I was 19, my co-worker Mike took one look at my 21-year-old boyfriend and told me that I needed to date a real man (Mike was 30 with tattoo sleeves on both arms—I’m pretty sure he was talking about himself). Fast forward 10 years, and I’m still not dating real men! Maybe I’ll consider upgrading when I turn 30… in 3 months. Yikes.
If they will do it with you, they will do it to you.
Dinner with friends turned into an emergency girl boy session at Station Tavern last night. Afterward, I polished off an entire bottle of wine by myself like I was the one hurting! Or… like it was just another Tuesday. Ha.
August was a tough month for love! Hello, September. I hope you’re amazeballs.
The universe is obvi confused about what we want, judging by the excessive amount of emergency girl sessions, tears and vino consumed this past month. So the girls and I wrote our own letters to the universe last night and lit that shit on fire.
We were enjoying some sangria afterward when the man at the neighboring fire pit offered us some brisket. Was the universe answering my letter already? Maybe I should have been more specific when I said I wanted more meat in my life!
How shitty was this past week? Let’s just say it was a “drink beer for dinner and have vodka cranberries for dessert” kind of week. And I’m saying that because that’s exactly what I did.
Yesterday was the perfect ending to my far from perfect week, though. I had lunch at Influx (where a ham & brie croissant melt #1 could turn anyone’s day around), witnessed sweaty eye candy at the Und1sputed Ones soccer game, and finished the night off at Blind Lady Ale House with pizza, beer and my girls. And some random dude who joined us at our table. And put his hand on my knee.
The fact that I even mentioned the random dude who put his hand on my knee as one of the highlights should be an indication of how shitty my week really was.
I usually avoid the Gaslamp at all costs, but I found myself there two nights in a row with Christian and his friends this past weekend. I don’t even know who I am right now, but I’ve been full of surprises lately.
I’ve read your entire blog from beginning to end and it made me laugh, cry and everything in between. When I was reading I kept thinking, you’re so honest and you’re not afraid to say what you feel. If I ever bump into you on the streets of SD I would totally give you a big hug and say, Thank you!
Holy balls! Beginning to end??? When I started this blog in 2003, all I talked about was concerts, food and my boyfriend. 8 years later, I’m still blogging about concerts, food and my (now ex) boyfriends! Some things never change…
I feel like I lead a different life on the interwebs, because IRL I’m not this candid. Here, I’m not afraid to admit that I still think about you without feeling like a total idiot… Maybe you’ll read it, but most likely you won’t. It’s easier to say these things when you think that no one is listening.
If you were able to identify with anything I’ve written these past 8 years, then I’m glad you found my blog :)
Between the two of us, Pammie and I know eighteen* girls who got knocked up last year. Eighteen*. Can we all just take a second to acknowledge how ridiculously high that number is? It’s only January, and I’ve already been invited to three baby showers. We’ve clearly been using the iPeriod app for different reasons.
Some people pass through your life and you never think about them again. Some you think about and wonder what ever happened to them. Some you wonder if they ever wonder what happened to you. And then there are some you wish you never had to think about again. But you do.
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd; the longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80′s movies? I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me. Just once I want my life to be like an 80′s movie, preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason. But no, no, John Hughes did not direct my life.
Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn’t all you thought it was. Someone walked into your life, you fell in love, or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe it was a brief moment of insanity.
The BFF told me about Il Postino’s new girlfriend today, and I felt nothing. It’s funny how I always used to find myself running back to him, for some reason, thinking it would work out differently the secondthird fourth fifth time. And now, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d ever want him back.
Call me crazy, I was born to make a mess
Would you love me still if I were to confess
That I had a little too much fun back when I was young
I’ve got these habits that I cannot break
And as I’m older there is more at stake
Go ahead and call me fake, but these are the sins
The sins of my youth
I’ve got wallowing down to a science… I spent the better half of 2006 perfecting it, after all. I’m not gonna lie, my usual method of getting over someone is by getting under someone else. But I’m realizing that happiness is an inside job. I can’t sit here waiting for another guy to come along to stop wallowing about the last one. One day, you just have to decide not to be sad anymore. And that day was today. Well, actually it was Friday, but killing a few bottles of wine with Anthony foiled that plan. And then I decided it was yesterday. But while getting drinks with friends, one of the employees came up to our table and asked if any of us were he who shall not be named, because he who shall not be named had a phone call. Coincidence or cruel joke? As I walked out wondering if it was a sign, I looked up to the sky, dramatically shook my fist at the heavens, and almost got hit by a car. And so I decided that today would be the day (again). It’s barely noon, but I’m feeling optimistic. I mean, I’m going to Phil’s for lunch… If a beefy rib tickler isn’t guaranteed happiness, I don’t know what is.
We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.
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.
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.
- Sex and The City
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.
This is MY LIFE for the next sixteen weeks (there are few things I enjoy more than organizing my Google calendar—Yes, I’m a total nerd). If you’re lucky, I’ll pencil you in somewhere between my classes, internship, regular job, possible weekend screen printing course and visits to the gym in attempts to be beach-ready for Hawaii in January. My best friend is a personal trainer and I work next door to the gym, so you’d think that I’d take advantage of that instead of taking advantage of my work’s proximity to Panera. Well… You’d think that if you didn’t know me and my love for sandwiches.
Congratulations to my dear friend on officially becoming a NAVY SEAL. I’ve never been so proud in my life. He’s been talking about becoming a seal ever since I rocked braces. He’s just one of those people who follows through with everything they say—a quality I’ve always admired, but am clearly lacking myself. It’s obvious by my extended stay at SDSU and Pammie’s ridiculous fifty-pound lead in our race to bring sexy back. I’ve been trying to get my life together, though. I’m taking an unheard of (to me, anyway) eighteen units this semester and keeping both my internship and regular job on top of school. Once this crazy semester is over, I’ll be taking a celebratory vacation in Hawaii with Pammie, Chel and Shi during winter break. And hopefully, I’ll be able to visit G on the east coast sometime before he comes back. There’s just so much I want to do, and I feel like I can do anything now. Trace and I were talking about moving up to LA together once she’s finished with cosmetology school. I’m looking forward to the possibility of living with my best friend (who just happens to be a personal fitness trainer. And a yoga instructor. And a hair stylist. Who cuts my hair for free). We’ll live in WeHo. She’ll do hair and I’ll do art. We’ll eat Pinkberry for breakfast. And maybe for lunch, too, if it’s that kinda day (and it will be). I’m not gonna lie. It’s gonna be fun times. If not LA, I’m open to moving to NYC and working for Connected Ventures. If I landed a job there after college, I would move to New York, no question.
Subtle reminders of my age have been more noticeable lately. I noticed it when I filled out a survey and realized, for the first time, I could no longer check the “18-24″ age box. I noticed it when, on a recent trip to Vegas, the highlight of my weekend was not partying at Tao and being drunk off my ass, but watching a Cirque Du Soleil show completely sober. I noticed it when I was up at two in the morning researching a good primary care provider for my HMO instead of refreshing my Myspace page for new comments. Also, a lot of people I know got married and/or reproduced this year. I guess I’m around that age when things of that nature happen. I just always thought that it would happen to me by the time I hit twenty-five.
The thought of growing up used to terrify me, but now I’m excited about the years ahead. I guess it isn’t so bad when you’ve got Hawaiian vacations and the prospect of life in a new city to look forward to. I feel fortunate to have nothing (and no one) holding me back. Unless one of Gerald’s hot Navy Seal friends wants to hold me back. Because then I’d have to reconsider this whole single life in the city thing.
Rocky would be so much happier if you bought him this dog bowldesigned by Milo Ventimiglia. It’s for a good cause… Wouldn’t you love to help provide for the well-being of animals in Southern California? Or maybe just Rocky’s well-being? I mean, look at him. Could he be any more dramatic in this picture? Anyway, I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to blog, let alone have a decent night out with my friends. I’ve been looking forward to this Vegas trip for months now. I’ve been excited about partying at Tao. I’ve been excited about singing along with the Beatles at LOVE (a Cirque du Soleil show). I’ve been excited about getting out of SD for a few days… but now that it’s just weeks away, I’m dreading the forecasted 110° weather… I’m dreading sharing a room with twenty people… and I’m especially bummed that I’ll be going to Vegas the weekend of Comic Con since Milo Ventimiglia is going to be there this year with the cast of Heroes (again), and I’m going to miss it (again).
BUT… I’ve still got my hopes up for an awesome weekend. Everything just seems to be falling into place for me. Don’t you love when that happens? I’ve been so worried lately. I had all this anxiety about my new job. I didn’t get my grant for school. I got a $400 traffic ticket. I’ve been barely getting by since I left my job at the bank to do a meagerly paid graphic design internship at SDSU last semester… and now everything is just working itself out. My new job at AAA pays well, offers benefits and works around my internship and school schedule… and they gave me the weekend off for Vegas. My traffic ticket was dismissed after I contested it in court. I’m no longer swimming in a sea of debt now that I’ve had extra money to pay off my credit cards. Sure, I work two jobs that hardly allow any time for me to do much else… and sure, I have to take calls sometimes from pervs who need a tow home from Spearmint Rhino. Whatever. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. With all this good fortune, I half expect a Pinkberry to pop up in the valley.