Wednesday, June 30, 2010

I Forgive ME

(Started 4/16 goddamn lol, finished today)

Forget, or forgive.

No, that's NOT a typo up there. Nor is it a question, it's a statement.

For years I've heard the saying "Forgive and forget," or some variation of it. And for years, I never quite understood or agreed. I know that if you harbor bitterness and resentment in your heart, that happiness will dock elsewhere but fuck that - send my good karma to a hangar 'cuz I rather fly anyway.

I suppose it all depends on your definition of what "forgive" is to begin with. According to, it's a verb that 1. grants pardon for or remission of (an offense, debt, etc.), 2. gives up all claim on account of; remit (a debt, obligation, etc.), and/or 3. grants pardon to (a person).

In which case, I'm sorry but it ain't happening. Call me petty, call me immature, call me naive, but there are just some things I will never be able to "pardon" another for just as there are going to be things others won't be able to forgive me for. And that is perfectly fine with me.

Because she will never forgive her boyfriend for fooling around with their mutual friend at a party she JUST left 10 minutes ago. He will never forgive her for saying she wanted to work things out when at the same time she was planning a trip to Miami with a guy she said she wasn't dating. She will never forgive him for leading her on. He will never forgive her for breaking his trust. And if someone were to ever physically hurt my mother in a gunshot at point blank kinda way - I'm sorry but I'll burn in hell for it 'cuz there's no way in heaven I'm forgiving your ass.

Because sometimes, no matter how many "I'm sorry's" you throw out, it will never take away the pain that was caused. And the hurt can never be undone. But what it can be is forgotten. Or at least be effortlessly pushed way in the back of someone's memory bank to the point where it's only remembered when brought up.

Many people agree that forgiving someone is the only way to let go of the pain they've caused and move on in life. This is true. But I can honestly say that I live the life I love, and love the life I live without having done so. Up 'till this very day I haven't forgiven my mom for blurting out the words, "I should've had an abortion," during one of our many fights when we still lived together. But I love her to death, and we're closer than ever. Even though she never apologized to me for it, I know she didn't mean it, and is genuinely sorry for saying it. And that's all that matters.

'Cuz when it comes down to it, the only person you really need to forgive - is YOURSELF.

If you can't forgive yourself for doing someone dirty, it wont matter if they forgive you. The guilt won't magically be lifted off of your chest if you yourself are still clinging onto it. And while it's the grown up thing to "forgive those who have trespassed against us," it just doesn't have the safe effect if the tresspasser lies within you. So before forgiving someone for doing you wrong, make sure to forgive yourself first. Forgive yourself for thinking you deserved it. For wrongfully blaming yourself for it. For any ill-feeling you placed on your own heart.

'Cuz just as powerful as saying "I love you," and just as humbling as saying, "I'm sorry," is saying, "I FORGIVE ME."

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Monday, June 28, 2010

AVA DOMINA is looking for an Intern!

My friends over at Ava Domina are looking for an intern!

-If you upkeep your own blog or have a substantial online presence
-If you are fashion conscious and are aware of the current femalemarket
-If you are knowledgeable of the various social networks:(i.e. Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, etc.)
-If you have adequate writing ability

Then we want you! As the face of the brand, you will be responsible for blogging at least five times a week and devoting 5-10 hours a week towards the company, at times assisting the chief of operations in side projects when needed. In return, you will receive college credit, free clothing, exposure, and most importantly – experience in the fashion industry.

For serious prospects only, please fill out the application below and email along with your name, age, blog url (if applicable), location (local a plus!), and number to contact you at.

Thank you for your interest in Ava Domina and good luck!

Please visit to view entire message.


Remember when you couldn't see yourself with anybody but her? Those nights you slept on the couch because that empty space on the left side of your bed pierced through your heart the way she stared at you during your last fight. You knew it then, you were hanging on by a thread. Remember when she told you to put yourself first, to not make her your world and instead just a part of it? But at the time it was so hard because she was the sun, she was the moon, and she was the stars - she was your EVERYTHING. Remember when she said she couldn't take it anymore? After the 9th time - I guess she wasn't kidding.

And you just. couldn't. understand.

Why is she doing this to me? How could she not think we were meant for each other? How dare she say I'll be able to love again! I even thought about marrying her, hasn't she thought the same? WTF is she talking about we can't be friends? Why not? She's not doing this for me, she's doing this to hurt me!!! "Do anything for her, why would she wanna break up?"

I hate to say it, but I TOLD YOU SO.

Remember when you closed your eyes and all you could see was him? Walking down the street, in the passenger seat of your car, across from the dinner table, sitting next to you on BART, laying on the right side of your bed? Everytime you had a conversation, whether it be on the phone, via text, or through AIM - you'd kill for ways to make them last longer? You knew it then, you were hanging by a thread. Remember when you would right his wrongs? And make excuses for him to justify the blood splatter caused by the gunshot to your heart? And after every lie, and every let-down, in your eyes he still could do no wrong - until he did.

But it just. didn't. make any sense.

Why is he doing this to me? Oh, that's right because you asked for it. It's all your fault! You'll never find another man who'll love you the way he did. Now who's going to look at you like your his world? You're so stupid. SO FUCKING STUPID. But now we're even. We're MORE than even. Why won't he just say NO? Why won't he just let me walk away? How could he lead me on? He couldn't be that cruel right? ... right? You're never going to be happy. You don't deserve to be happy.

I hate to say it, but I TOLD YOU SO.

She told you so.
He told you so.
They all told you so.
Your mom told you so.
I BEEN told you so.
But you also BEEN knowing so.

You knew you'd get over her. You knew you'd love again after him. You knew you'd move on. You knew you'd be happy again. You know you're a good person. You knew everything would be amazing. You knew the rain wouldn't last forever. You know you could swim. You know it's not your fault. You know you're so much stronger than you think. You know it's only up from here. You know you're beautiful. You knew it all. And I hate to say I told you so, but I TOLD YOU SO.

*Written 6/20, but DAMN I'm good*

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Thursday, June 24, 2010


Fuck yah. Less clothes to pack lol. Have a good weekend everyone!

The Green Dress

Yesterday was Kae's birthday. I forgot to greet her. I remember when she celebrated her 30th at Circulo and we went. We went to dinner first because the menu got the best of me. It always does. I wore that green dress. The same green dress I bought on Haight St. with Em when you said, "I'll take you places where you can wear your pretty dresses," the same green dress I wore in Hawaii to Lotus when you thought Jay was flirting with me (gross) and I cried, the same green dress I wore to Wet on a Thursday and indulged in the VIP treatment and threw up on my new shoes, the same green dress I wore to Boss and popped champagne for Sheila's birthday ... the same green dress I wore the first night you ever slept over and you said it was the weed and alcohol. LOL. I didn't believe you but I didn't care.

And I haven't worn that dress since.

Not 'cuz the mere sight of it makes me wanna crawl up and die in fetal position or anything. It actually doesn't even remind me of you. I just. I dunno. Haven't worn it again. Yall don't like that answer do you? Seems too simple huh? Well if it makes you feel any better, I've bought at least 8 dresses since - 1 of which still has the tag on it. But the green dress? The green dress has always been one of my favorites. The color is so pretty and it hugs my body so well. Plus, it has pockets. I love pockets. And I can't wait to wear it again. Matter fact, I think I will. If not this weekend, maybe next. And if not next, maybe in Vegas. And if not in Vegas, maybe in L.A. And if not in L.A., maybe in Hawaii. Or maybe, I'll wear it to Circulo again. But this time, I won't wear a belt over it 'cuz I already know it won't fit anymore by the time I'm done with dessert (you made fun of me for that btw).

Either way, the green dress is coming off the hanger sooner than later. Sooner than later I'll get around to calling Kae. And sooner than later (if not right now) today will just be the day after Kae's birthday instead of "A few years ago today ..." Cuz it's not always about you, you know. Sometimes it's just about my favorite green dress.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

I'm On It.

Must learn how to freestyle and tread. SOON. Very soon.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Closed Mouths Don't Get Fed

It's hot as shit outside. And I'm here, inside. A gym. A moist one. That stank like must that's been marinating in last weeks homelessness. Whatever, I'll live. I've been through worse.

I look over at at Jess hoping she's ok and doesn't have a bored, "I am never kicking it with this broad ever again," look on her face although I had warned her ahead of time we're here strictly to support. 'Cuz the entire city of San Francisco is steadily running out of cute guys, so the chances of one being here are slim to, "GTFOH".

And then he walks in. And as if we're the newest members of the Jabbawockeez, we all do a synchronized head turn. My eyes get big. She smirks. And she can't even look at me. Actually, I think she's about to die. I nonchalantly look over. HE JUST DROPPED HIS PANTS. OMG can he not?! I look around for a mop. OK, no. I'm kidding, it's not that serious. Just a little serious.

"Remember, you met his brother at my birthday party?" she says. (Who cares I think to myself. His other brother is in front of me putting on his shorts like it's nobody's business. Well, it really isn't.)

"Oh yaaaaah," I say. (Why wasn't Viva la Sexy there though? I think).

OK. I'm done. Handsome mos def, but he's totally more of Jess's type. I concentrate back to the game. Whattaya know. There's hope yet. So I'm ecstatic, asides from the fact that I look like shit and didn't even bother to look decent that day. 'Cuz who the fuck looks good for a game anyway?

And then he walks in. And it's like a fucking John Woo movie. You know, like that scene from Face Off where Nicholas Cage (or was it John Travolta?) is walking out of the fire in slow motion as doves fly everywhere behind him. FUCK WHERE IS THAT MOP? Now I want to die. I grab my phone and text her so fast I swear smoke is rising from my fingertips: "Guess who's my husband? Just fucking guess!"

I put my phone back in my purse just as he drops his duffel bag on the floor right next to me. I contemplate crawling inside so that he can bring me home with him but I don't wanna feel claustraphobic. I can't stop smiling inside. But I refuse to let it show outside. I end up looking constipated I'm sure. "God? Are you there? Can you make sure this guy is single, and happens to like petite Filipina girls?" I summon the courage to peek in his direction. Head band. Light skin. Well-groomed facial hair. 5'9" maybe even 5'10" (swoooon). Tatted sleeve. Oh for the love of Ron Jeremy. STOP IT. Just fucking stop it. You're acting like ... like ... YOU AGAIN.

I do stop. Momentarily. Just enough to throw in a "Come on D-up!" in the mix. I want to leave now. They're losing. Oh snap, little dude got handles. Oh snap, little dude just shot a 3. Oh snap, they're tied. "Wanna stay till the end of this game?" she asks. "Sure."

Just then he sits down in front of me. Even the back of his neck is sexy. He's so beautiful. It almost hurts. I want to take a picture of him and then remember that a restraining order is not a good look. I pretend he doesn't exist intead. I think I'm trying too hard to pretend he doesn't exist. I'm not doing it on purpose though. Whenever he's even in my peripherals I want to run for the hills. But I don't. I pretend I'm busy DJ-ing lmao. What? Don't judge me! I change the song. I pretend I'm really, really into finding the next one. The games done. We fucking lost. I know why, it's because he didn't propose to me during half-time. I LMAO in my head and vow to flush my crazy-pills down the toilet when I get home.

Everyone's leaving now. Except for him ... and him ... and HIM. Fuck, go home arleady I have to hand him this banner. He's right there. Talking to him. And now they're not, but he's in the same area. Alone. Packing up that duffel bag I had moments ago wanted to climb in. I could totally go over there. Give this to him. And then throw in a comment 'bout his performance today. But he kinda sucked? Ummm ... "Nice under armour?" WTF are you retarded? Ummm ... "Good hustle?" No, too generic. I could just go, hand him the banner, and then smile at him as I walk away. That wouldn't hurt right? Hmmm ...

So what do I end up doing? Walking to the (completely) empty bleachers opposite of him and sit there by myself like a loner. And I wait. I wait like a 7 year old girl waiting for her mommy to pick her up from basketball practice until he finishes talking to him and walks out of the gym. I bet. He doesn't even know I'm alive.

Is this you?
"Daaaamn, if you was my girl,
I'd NEVER pull out!"~D.D.

You're a fucking fool for that one. LMAO.
Best, worst pick-up line EVER.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Summertime in the SFC

Nothing quite compares to a San Francisco summer, I promise.

And not because our pool parties are better than those in Vegas. Not because the beaches are more beautiful than Culebra's or the sunsets are more radiant than Kailua's. The days aren't as festive as L.A.'s nor are the nights as caliente as Miami's. And don't tell anyone I said this but - the last summer I fell in love? I was at the South St. Seaport.

But still. Ain't no summer like a SF summer, 'cuz a SF summer don't stop. Sometimes, it barely even starts. With all the bi-polar weather San Francisco is infamous for, it's no surprise to us when it's drizzling during the 4th of July fireworks show or 78º in the middle of November. And that's exactly why nothing compares to a San Francisco summer.

Because although 78º to me ain't hot enough, it's hot enough to jog up and down the Great Highway and collect sand dollars at Ocean Beach. It's the perfect weather to lay in Queen Wilhemina's Tulip Garden and wonder if there's anyone inside the Dutch Windmill. In my opinion, you haven't watched a Giants game at AT&T park unless you can see the sun setting behind a homerun. And since you're already in the neighborhood, you might as well fall in love at Cupid's Span ... 'cuz we can't let the South St. Seaport have all the fun now can we?

Although it's never too cold for ice-cream, 78º is the perfect weather for some Bi-Rite. (Just make sure you eat some spicy shrimp and cheesy grits on the front porch of Front Porch first.) Because a sunny San Francisco day is perfect for playing ball with the boys, and shopping in summer dresses with the girls before getting buzzed off of a pitcher or 2 of sangria from Cha Cha Cha's. Concerts inside Stern Grove and having a picnic in Golden Gate Park. And just about every festival you could think of (North Beach, Cherry Blossom, Filmore, Union St., Haight St., etc. etc. etc.) Fuck yah summer! Backyard barbecues smelling of charcoal, and oysters, and Corona's - oh my! Smashing down 280 with the top down and volume up driving to my moms. Guacamole, Orangina, and watermelon slices by the pool.

And just being with the people you love. In one of the most beautiful cities in the world. On one of the most beautiful days of the summer. I may huff and puff about those misty mornings, but if it weren't for that thick blanket of fog that covered the city last week, I probably wouldn't fully appreciate those sun-rays burning the back of my shoulders this week. In San Francisco, a summer day is almost like finding gold. And we'll give ourselves any reason to go out and celebrate. I tweeted it earlier, but I'll say it again: Cheers to the first day of what I can already tell is going to be an EPIC summer! (I promise ;)

Regardless of where you live, what are your favorite things to do or places to go during the summer?

Because Weekends Were Made for Fun

Bratwurst w/ sauteed onions FTFW.
Willie Mays plaza at night.
They say a picture paints a thousand words,
but this one leaves me speechless.Zae muggin on Sean's grad bbq.
Buzzin before watching Buzz (and Woody).
Poppin my papalote's cherry with an adobo burrito.
And finishing off Fat Sunday w/ creme fraiche
and brown sugar w/ ginger swirl ice cream from Bi-Rite.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Happy Father's Day

Anyone can have a baby, but it takes a real man to be a father. Being called "dad," is a PRIVILEGE - not a right.

So to the men who work two jobs just to make sure their family has a roof over their heads. To the men who work that extra shift so their daughter can attend ballet class. To the men who refuse to miss their sons baseball games. To the men who wake up in the middle of the night to tell their kids the boogey-man doesn't exist and it's ok to go back to sleep. To the men who struggle to put their daughters hair in pigtails and risk fucking up their own car to teach their son how to drive a stick. To the men who treat women with respect because they would kill the man who disrespects their daughter. To the men who play the role of both mommy and daddy - today is FOR YOU.

It might seem like mother's always get the obvious appreciation, but we see YOU. And we love YOU, more than any tacky tie or home-made macaroni card could ever say. Happy father's day.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Happiness Loves Company

A while ago I read a book on positive thinking per the suggestion of my boss. All my life, I've managed to think and stay positive for everyone except for myself. So of course, I was naturally reluctant to pick up the book. It screamed, "Cheesy, spiritual hippie bullshit." And not that I have anything against spiritual shit, hippies, or even cheese - I just thought I was so far gone and too much of a pessimist to be helped. See what I'm sayin? LOL.

But because my boss is good folks, and because I enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing, and because I figured that it wouldn't kill me, I began page 1 of Mike Robbins' Focus on the Good Stuff: The Power of Appreciation. The title already made me apprehensive but I managed to read the book in a day ... kicking myself in the ass every chapter.

Now. This book didn't change my life or solve my problems. Hell, I'm even still negative in regards to certain things, but it was a good book. It was good because through it, I was able to learn a lot about myself. Before, I was so negative that I didn't even realize it. I didn't think twice before saying something negative or putting myself down, it was just automatic. And while I wouldn't say that the glass is always half full nowadays, I can definitely say it ain't half empty either.

There were a few chapters in this book that I found interesting, one of which explored the concept of how unhappy people make fun of those who are. It reminded me of another blog I occasionally visit for her makeup tutorials: Kandee the Make-Up Artist. Her tagline reads: "The happiest place on the internet," which alone, is enough to make a pessimist wanna step on and crush someone's rose-colored glasses. But her website and the negative comments I've read about her are a perfect example of that specific chapter in Robbins' book.

It questions how people question the happiness of others. And then I remembered the very first time I stumbled upon her blog and thought to myself, "How can she always be so fucking sun-shiny, rainbows, and roses, cup-cakes and fairy-dust HAPPY?" I know, I know - FOR SHAME. As ridiculous as I thought she was for being so "positive," I was even more ridiculous for being irritated by it. 'Cuz really, what on Earth is wrong with being POSITIVE?

Absolutely nothing.

So one day I tried it. Yah, I felt silly. But it only got easier from there. And even if I'm just tricking myself into thinking things are good, it's way better than when I was convincing myself things were all bad. Now, the mornings are worth getting up for, and the nights are more serene. Sometimes, I'll tweet or fb something positive and motivational and even get a little sick of myself lol. But it's true that negativity only breeds more negativity, and by doing so you don't even give yourself a chance to be happy. And why wouldn't YOU want YOU to be happy?

Friday, June 18, 2010

SHINE @ Minna 06.19.10

Freshly charged digicam? CHECK.
Comfy shoes? CHECK.
Swag? CHECK.
New liver? CHECK.
Size "husky" cheetan print tantaruns? CHECK.

(click on image to enlarge)

For guestlist info or any other inquiries, email

How I Met Your (Other) Favorite Blogger


According to Raaachem ...

"Is Abi your best friend?" "Are you guys roomates?" "How'd you guys meet?"

These are just a few questions Abi and I seem to always get about each other. Frankly, I'm fucking tired of answering them seperately so here's our story. The story of two Hayatis. The story of how I met your other favorite blogger.

Dildos all up in MySpace.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...... when Myspace was the rage and I still had straight hair I kept seeing this girl all over my friend's Myspace pages. She was a friend of a friend who was also a friend's roomate. Her name? Hot. Sauce. I kept thinking, "Who the fuck calls themselves Hot.Sauce? She BETTER be hot."

After a few clicks I finally decided to see who in the fuck she was. Lo and behold, she WAS hot. Ok, can't hate. And hey, she looks familiar? I THINK i may have seen Jodeci with her a few years back? After perusing her page I decided to click on the blogs she'd written and instantly, and i mean INSTANTLY, I wanted to send her my panties. Damn she was hot AND beasted her words? I found the "Add to Friends" button and waited.

Since she was also a Myspace whore, we were friends within the hour. A couple picture/blog comments later, and we were chattin' it up on AIM like we weren't strangers 5 minutes ago.
After daily conversations about life, love, and the pursuit of penis I started thinking maybe Abi and I could really be friends. You know what friends do? Give each other non-sense gifts. You know what I gave Abi? Her very own, brand-spanking-shiny-new vibrator.

Yup, we were DEFINITELY friends now.

Peep my version of this story on and don't forget to check out Pt. 2 next week!

Thursday, June 17, 2010

I Didn't Know CBreezy Played Ball?

I am a basketball fan (most exciting sport to watch in my opinion). But I am not a Laker fan. I am not exactly a Celtics fan either. But for about 4 seconds, I was a Shannon Brown fan.

Oh, I knows what you can do FOR ME.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

My (girls, girls, girls, girls) Girls I Do Adore

You've heard my Hayati say it a hundred times, but I'll say it a thousand more: My girls are AMAZING. Fucking amazing. They're beautiful, talented, funny, intelligent, adventurous, and definitely not your average.

They're the girls you want to befriend and be seen in pictures with. The girls whose private Facebook pages you click on everyday in hopes that one day you'll hit the jackpot and it'll be public. The girls who look like they're always smiling and laughing and having fun ... 'cuz in each others presence, they are always smiling and laughing and having fun. They can steal your man faster than a cocaine heartbeat but won't - 'cuz they know they deserve more than some douchebag who thinks he's a pimp. And really, nobody gets stolen unless they want to be. But I digress.

My girls? They can probably kick your girls' ass ... in Taboo, at the bar, on the free throw line, in a Man vs. Food contest, in a KY jelly wrestling match, and probably even toe to toe - but they too grown for that shit and got too much pretty-face to put at risk. Oh yes. My girls cook the best dinners, bake the best cupcakes, design the flyest fliers, tell the funniest jokes, got the sexiest moves, and have more steez in they're pinky toe than you at your own birthday party.

Oh hell. My girls just SHIT on yours ok?! There. I fucking said it. Don't shoot the messenger though. 'Cuz the thing is, is YOUR girls are probably saying the same things about yours and talkin the same shit about mine.

'Cuz in a circle of girl friends, there's always that girl you can count on to pick you up from your boyfriends house at 2am after getting into a really bad fight. There's always that girl who will front you your plane ticket until your next paycheck just 'cuz they couldn't imagine tanning on the beaches of Barbados without you. There's always that girl who will sleep over your house for however many days you wish so that you don't feel (too) alone after the lost of a loved one. There's always that girl who will stay at the slot machines half an hour longer so that you can fuck that guy you just met at Surrender for 30 minutes more. There's always that girl whose taking off her earrings the minute she sees another chick give you the side eye (calm down gangster).

There's always that girl who will send you a text message that makes you smile, buy you a "for nothing gift," tell you your getting fat, tell you your getting too skinny, make you change your outfit, pack you lunch, pick you up from the airport, let you know you're annoying her, send you a package on Valentine's Day, and not say a single word as you cry on her shoulder.

'Cuz every girl thinks the world of her girls. Hate bitches but you love yours right? I totally understand. 'Cuz every girl thinks her girls are the best. And if they're anything like mine, they probably are. Just remember, mine are better LOL.

*disclaimer time!* I received a really good Formspring comment this morning and although I haven't answered it yet, it prompted me to address it here. And normally, I wouldn't take the time out to explain myself but because this posts involves other people (my girls) I will. The point nor truth of this blog wasn't to say my girls are better than yours. Although I say that in the last sentence if you really comprehend the entire last paragraph you'll see it was put there for comical purposes whether you think it's funny or not.

The point of this blog is to showcase the fact that every girl thinks their girls are the BEST. And to them, they are the best. And really, that's all that really matters. There could be prettier, funnier, richer girls that are nice and sweet and caring, but I STILL wouldn't trade mine for the world. And I hope the rest of yall wouldn't either. I place mine on a pedestal just like the next girl does. And honestly, come on, if my girls challenged the women's wrestling team to a KY jelly match - I hate to say this, but we'd probably lose lol.

So sorry if this post offends anyone. If you got awesome girls and a crude sense of humor like me, you'll totally understand this piece ... most likely 'cuz you think your girls shit on mine lol.
I'm Sorry.

California Love

"In the event of my Demise when my heart can beat no more
I Hope I Die For A Principle
or A Belief that I had Lived 4
I will die Before My Time
Because I feel the shadow's Depth
so much I wanted 2 accomplish
before I reached my Death
I have come 2 grips with the possibility
and wiped the last tear from My eyes
I Loved All who were Positive
In the event of my Demise"
Happy 39th Pac.


You know that feeling you get when he smiles and all of a sudden you kinda wanna die a little? That kinda feeling. The kind where even the most composed woman can't help but fall apart at the slighest sound of his voice. Giddy like the 5th grade 'cuz you just received a text from him that started "Hey beautiful," and ended ":)". Yah, that kinda feeling.

So he pinches your love handles. You playfully slap his hand. He calls you fat. And you tell him he's ugly. (Both knowing damn well yall couldn't be farther from the truth). You think up compelling questions to ask, and witty answers to reply. But when the time comes he beats you to the punch and then you have about as much personality as a tree stump'CUZ YOU ARE STUMPED AND DON'T KNOW WTF TO DO WITH YOURSELF. I know you know that feeling.

That feeling where you doodle his name + yours with a heart around it on your notes. Or you day dream about your first date - where you're of course wearing an outfit you don't even own, have bigger tits, a perkier ass, and can sing so good you make a dude wonder how Alicia Keys even got a record deal. And fuck. Why your voice gotta be so deep and sound so smooth and make me feel things I shouldn't be feeling before 11am kinda feelings?! It's a crazy but good kinda feeling.

And now even your friends can feel what you're feeling. 'Cuz even if you didn't ramble on and on about the conversation you had with him in the parking lot, even if you didn't get googly eyes when he walks in your direction, even if your knees didn't buckle whenever he hugged you, and even if you didn't just link them a picture of him that you insist is gorgeous even though you can only see one arm and the left side of his face in it - they can still tell what you're feeling.

'Cuz its got you feeling so far from low that your fingertips are grazing the sky. Bitch don't run away, 'cuz you fucking deserve this feeling. Feeling like you could really like this guy. Like it's been a long ass fucking time since you've felt this way kinda feeling. Holy shit could you really be feeling this feeling? I know this feeling. Sometimes I live for this feeling. It's the BEST kinda feeling. It's that NEW feeling feeling.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

What Your Man Gotta Do With Me?

During lunch yesterday (6/10) I was supposed to buy a watch for my baby cousins grad gift. I say supposed to because I got interrupted by a dude who didn't care whether or not I had a (pretend) boyfriend. As I made my way to the G-Shock counter, I saw that 2 guys were already there checking out the merchandise. They saw me and politely spread like the Red Sea so I could take a look but I could already tell what was gonna happen next:

Him: Hey beautiful, what's your name?
Me: Gail

Him: Nice to me you, my name is Marcus
Me: Nice to meet you Marcus *tries to look really, really interested in a teal G-Shock*
Him: You married?
Me: No *laughs*
Him: You got a boyfriend?
Me: Yes, I'm seeing someone (LIES)
Him: We can be friends though
Me: Yah we can (LIES)
Him: So can I get your number?
Me: My boyfriend probably wouldn't want me giving that out
Him: Why not?
Me: Well, I wouldn't want him giving out his number?
Him: Then how are we gonna be friends?
Me: I'll see you around (LIES). My lunch is over (MORE LIES) it was nice meeting you (he was nice so that part was true)

I walked away wondering 3 things: 1) Shit, now when am I gonna cop that watch? 2) Since when did dudes start asking about marriage? and 3) "What the fuck ever happened to the significance of having a significant other?"

The first 2 were easy: 1) Friday after work and before the game and 2) Since everyone started getting married. But when I got to #3, I felt kinda stumped. Sure, just a few years ago the Dream put on blast how much he loved your girl. But it just seems like men (and I know females is just as skank but I'm only writing from personal experience) care less and less about that "In a relationship" status on Facebook.

Maybe I'm just old fashioned. Or maybe, the title of boyfriend/girlfriend has diminished because the people who hold the title don't value what it means either. Although nothing new, nowadays more than ever, if you ain't married - YOU SINGLE. I guess ... to each their own right? But I figure, why even bother having a girlfriend or boyfriend then? 'Cuz I don't know wth I'll do if I hear, "Naw I'm probably gonna marry her but until then ..." one more time.

I ain't knockin yall, I just watched Get Him to the Greek last night and throughout most of the movie Aldous Snow reiterated how humans weren't meant to be monogomous. But I like the idea of being someone's "girlfriend," (and only his) and that someone being my "boyfriend" (and only mine). I'll always value that relationship, whether the label's there or not, and I hope there's still people out there that feel me on this.

Method Man once said "you don't need no ring to be my wife," so all you Positive K fans please believe that even though he didn't put a ring on it (yet lol) when I say "I got a man," that while he may have nothing to do with you, he got everything to do with why I'm not giving you my number.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Queen With a Crown That Be Down for WUTEVA.

I can't believe it took me an entire week to post this very special birthday shoutout - FOR SHAME ON ME. But like they say, better late than never (especially since she's already been buttered up with a massage lol).

Part of this past weekends festivities included a trip to Santana Row for a surprise visit to Burke Williams spa. I felt like it was my birthday too with the way they pampered everyone there. It was my first time at a spa so I felt like straight "Pretty Woman," status. I didn't know where to go, what to do, what I was allowed to touch. "Oh. You mean I can have this? And I can drink that for FREE?" Lord help me. And he did. And so did the Dalai Lama when I saw visions of them during my massage.

Happy birthday to my fob-sista from another mista, my cuddle buddy, my QUINNY. Bros before hoez bia!

All eyez on Q

Officially a fan.

In the vanity room ... texting each other lol. Tiramisu, Cheesecake, and Raspberry macaroon.

Like an episode of SATC ... on E.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

"I gotta feel alive, even if it kills me"~D.R.A.K.E.

O'Neills.Vodka and Stella.Giants win.AT&T Park fair.Fitteds & Ties.Pete's Tavern.Hef.Burke Williams Spa.Santana Row.5'10".Ocean Beach Run.Grad Party.Boogie Ballin.

Love my life. I can sleep when I'm dead.

See yall Monday.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Remember Me

I've unfortunately had to attend a few viewings and funerals in my life, and during them there always came the part where we would vocally express what we remembered about the person whose life we were celebrating that day. It made me wonder what kind of legacy I would be leaving behind. How would people remember me? More importantly, how would I want people to remember me?

When I graduated high school, I was voted "Most creative" at our senior banquet. And in my AAS 355 class my freshman year of college, I was usually on the boys' infamous "Top 5" list (i was too scared to ever ask Top 5 for WHAT though lol). My mom would definitely say I'm stubborn, exes might say I'm a selfish bitch, and my girls know me for being an overly paranoid hypochondriac. But I don't want my mark here on Earth to be a "creative" or "fuckable" or "stubborn" or "selfish" one. And I definitely don't want my epitaph to read: Death by worrying over a disease she never really had.

And as much as I feel blessed to have this writing thing, I still don't want to be remembered for that either. Because as many readers as I've touched, and inspired, I've also made them cry. Whether they were happy tears or sad tears, or simple tears of realization. I don't want to be remembered that way.

So I dug deep. And thought about the last time I felt really beautiful. And not that MAC counter limited edition Viva Glam IX, night on the town beautiful. Or that "This chick is my girlfriend, I have to thinks she's beautiful" beautiful either. I'm talking the kind of beautiful that's a direct reflection of how ur soul looks and feels. And although I can't remember the exact date, or time, I do know it was more than likely the last time (or everytime) I made someone that I cared about laugh.

Yesterday I got the best phone call ever (well, next to one saying I just won $1,000,000 or the one saying "We received your application and want you to start tomorrow," ... oh and the one from Lance Moore saying, "Where you been all my life?"). It was my boy D, the same one from yesterdays post laughing uncontrollably on the other line about the post. He was laughing so hard that he could barely finish his sentences and I could barely understand him. He was laughing so hard that I started laughing too and had to tell him to STFU because I didn't want to get in trouble for being so loud.

Now lemme paint you an ugly picture right quick. Yesterday, I had on jeans, Js, and a v-neck. I couldn't wear any makeup even though I had a pimple by my chin 'cuz my foundation no longer matches my face. And because I never brush my hair, it was piled on top of my head in a messy pony-tail not really pony-tail. But at that very moment as I heard my friend gasping for air in between guffaws - I felt like Natalie fuckin Portman. Adriana fucking Lima. I felt beautiful. And it's been a while. A long while.

So even if I've pissed you off (or OUT as hayati likes to say), or made you cry. Even if I've annoyed you or you felt like strangling me at one point in time - if I've ever made you laugh from the soul - then thank you anyway. Thank you for making me feel more like ... well, ME again. And for reminding me that "it's never too late to be the person you want to be." Or be the way you want to be remembered.

The World Better Prepare

Aite, except for that cheesy no homo back to back studio portrait pose at the very end of this video - I LURVE. And honestly, while I wouldn't mind - fuck a billion. I wouldn't even know what to do with that kinda money. I just want to be able to take care of my family for the rest of their lives, donate to a few charities, and do something nice for my friends.

P.S. Travie, I love you.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Eat My Vagina Ho!

Last year I did a post on having penis envy and that concept was somewhat revisited yesterday during a conversation I had with my bakla D (and no he's not gay, just my pet name for him since he calls me bruha). We were on the subject of the difference between the way guys and girls talk shit to each other in times of friendly competition. And from there, I unleashed the holy wrath of, "Maaaaan it's not fair that guys get to do/say this and we can't!" I know, I know, petty shit, but funny shit as well. So if you're in the mood for a useless but entertaining rant of the things men do that women just can't get away with even if we tried, then read on ..
  • Pulling the "mom" card: I noticed, especially when dudes play video games, that they just looooove their friends mothers. You can tell in the way they charismatically say, "Alright tell Mrs. [insert boys last name here] to keep my dinner warm, I'll be home late." Now, as I'm kickin your ass in let's say ... Madden, I can't be all, "Whatever, that's not what your daddy said last night." 'Cuz well. That's just gross. Your dads old. And he's like, married to your mother. And most likely hairy, and wrinkly, and not my type at all. I don't even want to pretend that I'm going to see him in bed later klsjdfklsjdlkfsdf. Heeby jeebies just thinking about it. (This however does not apply if your father is Brad Pitt.)
  • The reverse "no homo": Another popular weapon of choice for men is to refer to their privates during competition. Ah yes, the delicate art of the "Suck my dick bitch," after dunking in their opponents face. I believe it makes their dick bigger if they say it. But could you just imagine me and my girls playing shirts vs. skins (haaah) and after a good play one of us saying to the other team, "EAT MY VAGINA HO!" Um no. Why would I say that? Why would I want you to do that? And if I'm playing against a dude, shit, he MIGHT JUST DO IT. So I pass. Our shit talks would sound like this, "Yah that's why you got ugly shoes trick." Totally doesn't have the same pizzazz. Womp womp.
  • Indecent Exposure: Speaking of shirts vs. skins, I've stared in envy at men who get hot and walk around without their shirts. Fuck, I just came back from the Philippines! But asides from that, yall also get to scratch your balls, adjust them, and at times even take one out of the pee pee hole of your boxers to flash your friends (which I think is REALLY odd but whatever, I'd probably do it if I had a pair too). Ladies, I don't know about you but every now and then my tits itch. And no, it unfortunately doesn't mean it's growing 'cuz I am still a 9B. As in 9 year old Boy. When it does itch, and it's not too inappropriate, I just stick my hand in my shirt and into my bra and scratch that sucker. But oh how I'd love to just walk into the kitchen with an itchy tit, and say, "Yo, what's for breakfast?" as I proceed to take it out and scratch it thoroughly.

And since I'm being super petty today, I'm just gonna go ahead and throw in ...

  • The "chest-bump": 'Cuz it just looks so damn cool when executed properly. Have you tried attempting one of these as a woman? If I do it with a dude, I get knocked the fuck back to the future. If I do it with a chick, it's clash of the titties. Or in my case, chest bones. Either way, that shit HURTS. *le sigh* I guess I'll just have to find a female equivalent. Now if yall have anything else to add, feel free to do so!

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Speak No Evil

Written 4/7 and I have no idea why it's been sitting in my drafts box ever since lol.

Hi. If you didn't know by now, I'm a writer.

I write, write, write my little heart away everytime I feel even the slightest tinge of motivation because it keeps me sane, it keeps me happy, it's one of the few things I can do effortlessly, and on a really, really good day, I'd like to think I'm pretty damn awesome at it.

However, the problem with this is as much shit as I have to write, I have that much shit to say. And sometimes, ok, most of the time, it's just unecessary for me to say it. But I'm a female, and females tend to react on emotion. Not that dudes don't do the same - hello Chris Brown, but women especially, and especially women named Abigail have a hard time calming the fuck down and rationalizing shit before sending that angry text message or writing that dramatic email or punching someone in the face.

The funniest part, which is also the worst part is after the fact - I almost always realize I didn't mean to say half the shit I said the way I said it. That I could've said it differently, MORE EFFECTIVELY. That sometimes I didn't even mean it. That most of the time I yelled or said something hurtful, it wasn't because I was in fact angry but because I felt hurt myself. But by that time, it's too late, the damage has been done.

See? This is why I'm a writer lol. 'Cuz it gives me time to think about shit. But as a rehabilitated irrationalist (is that even a word? probably not), this is also why I've come to realize that sometimes? No matter how juicy the gossip we hear is, no matter how much we wanna put a fucker on blast, no matter how much a bitch needs to be put in her place, no matter how bad we feel the need to get something off of our chest - usually, the best thing to say is nothing at all.

It sounds like a croc of shit but trust me, it's a lot easier to say something later when you know you really mean it, than to take something back that you didn't mean at all.

Club Tugadi

Because I'm stupid today and can't for the life of me finish any of the 1,783 drafts I have, here's some pics from Club Tugadi aka Piggy & Erwins crackin ass wedding. Congratulations again, and have an amazing time in St. Lucia! See you in March for your baby shower *wink*wink*.

"Hurry, let's take a picture before we get drunk and sweaty"

"Ebony, and Ivory, go together in perfect harmony..."

From SFSU to KMR to Club Tugadi!

BTJ bending ova to the flo' and touchin her toes!
"Everywhere I go it's a party yall, we go'n get it crackin like it's Mardi Gras!" Good. Fucking. Times indeed.

Monday, June 7, 2010

There's No "X" in F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

I've had Bambu's "The Queen is Dead," on repeat for approximately 13 hours now, and one of the first things I noticed about it was the beat. It got one of those "I just had a stressful day at work so lemme sit on the couch, puff on an L right quick, close my eyes, and bob my head" vibes to it. So that's exactly what I did when I listened ... well minus the couch (it was my bed) and minus the weed (I stuck with a glass of Moscato) lol.

Had it been a few years ago, I would've called one of my best friends and let him listen to it. 'Cuz I don't know too many people that appreciate music like he does. But since the time is NOW, I shared it on Facebook and my blog instead. Because, this "best friend" just so happened to be my boyfriend at one point in time, and now we took off the "boy" took off the "best" and well, took off the "friend" part as well. No reason. Just 'cuz. And while it makes me *smh* in a "Darn, that's too bad," kinda way, it is what it is and I've accepted it.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with my homie the other day. We went back and forth about staying friends with exes. He thought, "What for?" and I figured, "Why not?"

Personally, I believe there are only 2 reasons why exes shouldn't be friends: 1) When one or both blatantly, and intentionally fucked the other one over, and 2) When one of them is still in love with the other and the feelings aren't mutual. Otherwise, as long as there's still some sort of mutual respect amongst the two - again, Why not?

And when I say "friends," notice the words "with benefits" are nowhere to be found. Naw, it ain't even that kinda party. But I also don't mean we gotta hang out, be God parents to each others children, or exchange Christmas gifts 'cuz it ain't that kinda party either. It would just be nice if we could be well, you know - cool.

If I could give you a homie hug when we randomly bump into each other at the grocery store without your girlfriends internal crazy-clock going off ('cuz sweety, I'm his past and YOU'RE his future), and ask you if you're still pursuing that passion of yours, and if not what you're up to now ('cuz I genuinely care). Instead of walking by each other with that "I used to know him/her" face down pat as if we didn't used to tell each other everything, even the unnecessary like "Hey, I just took the best shit of my life." I correct myself, always the unnecessary.

But alas that's just wishful thinking and me being not only naive, but apparently unrealistic. Even with the above clarification, I've come to realize that maybe yall are right. Remaining friends with an ex is useless. Additionally, I could be talking out my ass since I've never been the new girl. Always THE ex-girl. So I guess I'd never know how I'd feel about my today ... reuniting with yesterday ... regardless of the fact that I'm his tomorrow, until I'm actually in that position. So in that sense, fine. Yall win. Happy now?

I concluded with my boy that it goes back to an even earlier conversation we had about how females can have a gang of male friends, but unless a dude is tryna holler at the chick, he really ain't tryna have too many (if any) "homegirls." Again he said, "What for?" and again I said "Why not?" But that's an entirely new blog.

So for now, I'll stick with him jokingly calling me, "The only homegirl he'll ever need."And instead of wondering, "Why not?" I'll just lay here. Take a sip of my wine. Close me eyes. And bob my head ... "boom bye bye I head the was Queen is dead, I heard the Queen was dead ..."

The Queen is Dead

"I know these playaz out here will say I'm blockin that cock
Thing is I'm man enough to step up and the rest of yall not
Some of yall got daughters and all of yall got moms
You be treatin other women like yall hate your mom"

Bambu - The Queen is Dead from Oishi Media on Vimeo.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Oh You Fancy Huh?

"My SF girls, lemme see your hands,
Wave 'em at them bitches hatin on you with they friends.
Girl you got it, let 'em know that everything big,
Nails done, hair done, everything did."
"Go Cinderella ... Go Cinderella ..."

Friday, June 4, 2010


Today someone made a Little Lucca run, so of course I got me a crab with garlic spread. It's amazing how many "That's what she said"'s a sammich this big can get. Here's a few of them:

"Damn, that thing is HUGE!"
"Dude, the meat keeps poking out the end"
"I don't remember it being this big the first first time?"
"It's all over my chin!"
"It (the crab filling) keeps slipping out" Followed by a :(
"I don't even think I can fit my mouth around that" (From my boss on the phone when I told her I was finishing mine, she hasn't even seen it yet)
"Aw man, I should've measured it before I ate it"

This pic does NO justice, I promise. Just think of a big football ... or a baby torpedo lol. Anyway, have a good weekend everyone!

What You Need Me to Be

"When shit hits the fan," "when we get lost in the woods," "when we're drowning in 2 feet of water," "when we're walking through hell," crying on the bathroom floor, throwing things and punching the walls, wishing we would never wake up, emotionally suicide, etc. etc. etc. Basically, when we're all FUCKED UP, we each have our own ways of dealing with it.

Some shut themselves off. Some run in circles. Some fuck the pain away. Some gain weight. Some lose weight. Some turn into alcoholics. Some lose sleep. Some cry, and cry, and cry until they run out of tears and their eyes begin to burn. Some panic. Some hold it all in. Some are emotional cutters. Some start going to the gym. Some can't shut the fuck up. Some find Jesus. Some find yoga. Some dig themselves a deeper hole and find a comfortable nook in it to live in. Some ask for help. Some refuse it. Yet some, do absolutely nothing because one wrong turn, or one sudden movement may shatter what's left of their heart to pieces.

And when the people that love you see you like this, sometimes we freak the fuck out because we want to be perfect for you. But we don't know how to show that we care without making you feel like you need to be cared for. Because we don't think we're good enough right now to make you happy. Because we were JUST in that dark place so who the fuck are we to shed some light on the subject? Because some of us are still there. Because you don't need our help. Because you are stronger than we could even dream to be. Because we're tired of you taking out on us, the pain they caused you. Because we don't want to say the wrong thing but we don't want you to think we forgot just because we don't say anything at all.

So tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it. Tell me who you need me to be and I'll be her. Tell me where you want me to go and I'll be there. Better yet, can I pick the destination and can you come too? Because all I want is to be there for you like you were there for me.

Inspired by this and this aaand a convo I had with my GBFF

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Don't Waste the Handsome

The book He's Just Not That Into You coined the phrase, "Don't Waste the Pretty," and I've fell in love with it ever since. Usually, the most profound quotes are the most simple ones. And I mean really, what girl hasn't wasted the pretty at least once in their life? Show me a gorgeous girl whose never cried over an asshole and I'll show you a flying donkey. And I know you know at least one chick who you original deemed a 9 that got demoted down to a 6 'cuz of their personality ... or rather lack thereof.

But as of lately, I've been noticing that females are not the only ones guilty of being wasteful. Fellas is wasteful too go 'head shrug them shoulders off. I met this guy (dear God please don't ever let him read this post) and he's not a bad dude, trust. Nice guy I swear. Just not the guy for me. I've said this before and I'll say it again. I can usually tell within the first 5 minutes of meeting someone if he has potential or not. People say you never know unless you try, so depsite not having an immediate attraction to this obviously handsome man (he even made my gay "wet" lmao) I considered hanging out with him at least once ... that was until he ruined it for himself.

To say that he wasted the handsome is an understatement. I just don't know how he ruined it for himself THAT FAST. It was as if someone handed him pussy on a platter and his hungry ass just tossed it in the garbage. So to save some of yall from starving, I wanted to share the following with you. Ladies if you have more to add, feel free to do so. Fellas, 75% of the time yall are some slick talkin, panty-dropping mufuckas so please don't get offended. If you get offended, that means you do this shit. Which means, you ain't gettin no play and need to get the fuck off my blog and get laid instead. Now ...

5 ways to get fired before even getting hired

1. Bad text ettiquette: There should be a book or even a class somewhere that states that "What kind of panties do you wear?" is NOT an appropriate question to ask someone you haven't had sex with - what more kissed - what more someone you just met - what more in one of the first 5 texts you've sent them!!! If your cheesy ass had even the slightest chance at "hanging out" with me, that text right there just ruined it for you. That shit makes me not even wanna talk to you on the phone what more see you in person.!

2. Being too aggressive: Speaking of "hanging out," that same book or class should have a section called First Hang-Outs 101. Maybe I'm just old fashioned but when I think of first (non)dates, I think brunch? Dinner? Baseball/Basketball game? Fair? Shit, even Great America! All I know is, I don't want to "chill at your place or mine and watch a movie." Isn't that what movie theaters are for? And isn't "chill at your place or mine" cheeseball for "I'm gonna try and get into those panties that I asked about earlier." Real talk, I rather have you just say THAT.

3. Insinuate: Correct me if I'm wrong but usually, dudes in the process of getting to know a female are either in it to win it or just to hit it and quit it. But regardless of your m.o., you gotta get yourself in the position to even have that option to begin with. And one sure way to walk backwards is to insinuate to your friends that somethings going on with us simply for bragging rights and daps, when we ain't even kicked it yet.

4. Double Dip: Now this isn't a guaranteed deal breaker, however, if you holler at me and my friend at the same function it immediately sends off a red flag. I def ain't mad at ya, 'cuz if 2 fine dudes asked for my number at the same place, best believe they'd both get it. It just makes you look like a ... well kinda ... GAH I cannot find the words (for once lol) ladies can you help me out here? It just makes me give you the side eye and not really take you seriously, that's all.

5. No funny, No honey: So you're a cute dude. You got a good job. Your own spot. You are the man ... on paper. But if you can't make me laugh, you can throw that resume in the basura. Period. Point. Blank. If there's ONE thing you wanna say I'm picky about, then let it be humor. At least I can laugh about it later.

5.5 No go on the Go-Go: I guess this is a personal one, but the concept can apply to others. I used to go-go dance. I don't talk about it unless I'm asked, but if that's ALL you can talk about, you might as well wear a sign that says, "I just want to fuck an ex go-go dancer." I can't blame you for wanting to ('cuz you're probably under the assumption that I'm some easy slut-whore) but try to be a little subtle Captain Obvious.

Fuck a Wish

"Allright lets pretend Abigail never picked up a pen
lets pretend things would have been no different
pretend she procrastinated had no motivation
pretend she just made excuses that were so paper thin

they could blow away with the wind ..."~MM

Didn't care for this song until Scott put me up on game to the remix feat. Eminem, and it was the PERFECT motivation that I needed this morning. See? You truly can find inspiration anywhere. So from now on, the only airplane I'll be talking about is the one I'm flying in if everything goes according to plan ...

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


I ain't bias or anything, but a lot of the emails/comments/questions/repost I get are from folks reppin Van-City so I just had to do this. Not sure how this happened, but I'm gonna go out on a whim and say Pat has something to do with it. Either way thanks for all your support. As long as yall keep reading, I'll keep writing. Must make a trip back up there soon, aye.

You Betta WORK

::Editor's Note:: I do make a reference to Sex and the City 2 in this post. I personally don't think it's detrimental to the plotline buuut just in case, don't say I didn't warn ya!

I've always thought that as long as you have trust, respect, love, and laughter in a relationship, that it's virtually impossible to NOT get along. That things are only as hard as you make it. I was once in a relationship for 4 1/2 years where we only fought once and even then, we still managed to diffuse the situation before bed. But just because "it could all be so simple," it doesn't mean we won't make it hard anyway. And just because two people have a solid relationship, it doesn't mean you ain't gotta put in work.

Over the weekend I, along with the rest of the female population watched Sex and the City 2. In the movie, after Carrie sought writer's block refuge at her old apartment for 2 days, Big introduced the idea of making it a routine. Two days a week off from each other to do anything BUT cheat. In layman's terms: have some quality time to "DO ME." And anyone's who's been suffocated in a relationship, was put under a magnifying glass by their partner, lost sight of themselves, or simply just needed a quick breather knows exactly what I mean by this.

However, the idea was met with both smiles and disapproval on screen ... as well as off. Even I was torn. On one hand, I understood the need to have a place of your own. To do what you want, and take a well deserved break from everyone. But on the other hand, I felt that imposing a schedule of some sort made it generic, almost forced. Either way, I wasn't really feelin it.

Charlotte, the happily married and "traditional" character in SATC challenged Carrie and Big's "2-days away" strategy by stating that when a couple is married they should always want to spend their time with each other. Now. This might come as a surprise, considering that I've been known to be the Miss Independent spokeswoman ... BUT ... she kinda has a point. Afterall, marriage is the unity of two people. As much as I want to say nothing changes - IT DOES. And while you shouldn't have to sacrifice the very essence of YOU, you do have to sacrifice a PART of yourself.

I am all about a couple still having that one (or those 10) things that nobody can take away from them, whether it be a passion in life or something as simple as your favorite pair of worn out shoes. In my book, "girls night outs" and "men only" poker tourneys are a MUST. But ultimately, I'm still not sold on Big's proposed 2-day rule.

It absolutely makes sense ... but I'd like to be in a relationship where me and my partner don't need to ask for time because it's already GIVEN. I want to be that woman that is so understanding and in tune with my husbands wants and needs that when shit goes down, I help ease the burden not add to it. And I want my husband to be so awesome that when I go on that unrealistic all expense paid dream vacation with my soul(sista)mates to Abu Dhabi, I'm running off the plane to meet him at the airport 'cuz I've missed him so much instead of dreading my return home. In contrast, I want us to have the freedom to be who we are without compromising our relationship. Balance 7 days a week so so it feels as if everyday is a holiday.

'Cuz sure, you gotta put in work to make it work. But a relationship should never feel like a job.

Chick is Bad

"When the lights don't shine the same way that they used to ..."

P.S. You're welcome Scott lol

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

To Dye For is To Die For

I've come to the conclusion ... that Lawn doesn't like me. I THOUGHT she did, but I'm begininning to doubt myself. A person who is genuinely concerned about your best interst wouldn't keep on coming out with lines like Hellz's Summer 2010 delivery. 'Cuz now I feel like a crack whore tryna figure out how I can combine the remaining balances of my credit cards with the spare change in every purse I own just so I can cop some pieces from the drop. Wanna know how it feels to be a crack whore? Then click on the image below and let Lawn hate you too.