FML

No, PFML. LOL.

HerStory

Leave it to Lawn and Hellz to drop their fall line right before my fucking birthday, yall bitches are straight KILLIN ME. As always, I'm a fan. Yall should be too. Check out the rest of the collection here!

I'M A MUFUCKIN MONSTA!

Wishful Thinking

I wish I had balls the size of grapefruits. So that when I think a guy is cute, I'd have the courage to do the simple task of smiling at him or saying "Hi." Shit, even oranges would do. So that when someone asks a question in a crowded room, and I have the answer, I'm not afraid to say it.

I wish I could JUST NOT GIVE A FUCK. About anything. Or anyone. About haters or admirers. About polar bears being an endangered species, the homeless dude down the street, or the fact that we have this new "green" recycling program at work and people are too fucking lazy to abide by it.

I wish I had an ice-box where my heart used to be. And I'm not talking about some below zero facade that easily melts when the truth comes out. Not some thin sheet of ice you can see right through. I'm talkin a brick of ice thick enough to build an igloo with. Cold. Black. Heartless even. Maybe.

I wish ... I could be ... what some people would call ... a slut. I wish I could have sex with beautiful men without having to feel for them emotionally. I'd get laid more. A lot more. And hurt less. A lot less. I wish I could be the perfect booty-call. Or at the very least, have a successful one night stand.

I wish I was taller. Had perfect skin. Curly hair. Dimples. Lighter eyes. A bigger ass. A flatter stomach. Existing hips. And at the very least, be a full B-cup.

There plenty of things I wish I could be. But then when I think about it ... if I were all these things, then I guess I wouldn't be ME. And as imperfect as I am, I kinda like me. If I were all these things, then I guess I'd be someone else. And as imperfect as I am, I'd never want to be anyone else. So never try to be something or someone that you aren't. Just wish to be the best version of you, that you can be.

Actually, fuck a wish. JUST BE.

Hi.

This weekend I learned how to wink without looking retarded.

Kinda. OK maybe not LOL.

Hope everyone had a good weekend,

Back at it on Monday!

Turn it Up ...

I woke up this morning and realized (for maybe the 100th time) that ...

I can't do this shit no more. This blogging thing. Writing on the internet as an escape from reality, using this site as a brief refuge from the humdrum routine of data entry and solicitor payroll. Because it's getting harder and harder for me to hop on that train and go to my 9-5, knowing I should be and could be hopping out of bed in a beautiful but humble apartment, hitting the gym, then making breakfast (don't forget the pot of Jamaican coffee!), and then strolling to my 11-3 that is my laptop in the living room.

It's fucking bullshit.

I'm tired of typing in notes on my phone whenever I get a new idea for a post and it staying there. I'm tired of getting ahead of myself and thinking of the perfect dedication, and illustration for the dust jacket of my non-existent book. I'm tired of the flattering comments, tear-jerking emails, and "#FF my favorite blogger!" tweets ... and not doing a single thing about it.

"This time, I made up my mind.

This time, I'm back on my grind.

I know there's things in my life,

That I'm a let go of starting tonight ..."

I can't live my life this way.

FAT.

Aunt Flow is making her way into my life once again and during her monthly visits, she likes to bring gifts in the form of cravings. This month is no exception. As of lately, I've been eating like my life depended on it and I've had NO kind of self control FML. Nothing like having a pot-belly in a bikini! And I have the following items to thank for that ...

Sushi Bake: Ever since I was introduced to this about a year ago via Vanessa (Fat), I've been hooked. So simple, so good, yet so bad. I swear I can (and probably have) finish an entire tray.

::As requested::

Ingredients: Sushi rice, rice vinegar, mayo, imitation crab meat, furikake, nori, salt and pepper to taste. Bake safe tray. I don't know how much of what to use, I just estimate.

1) Make sushi rice as directed on the bag. 2) Shred crab meat into thin pieces. 3) Add mayo to crabmeat and taste to your liking. You can add siracha to the mayo if you want a lil' kick to it. Add salt and pepper if needed. Mix well. 3) When rice is done spread it in your tray so that it covers the entire area. I personally, don't like it too thick. 4) Put crab/mayo mixture on top. 5) Sprinkle furikake on top. I like A LOT. 6) Bake until ... shit I have no idea lol. Not long at all, maybe 15ish minutes? 7) GRUB! We just cut out a square and place it in a square of nori and there you go!

White chocolate w/ rasberry swirl gelatto: I'm not a big chocolate fan (at least not by itself) so when I want something sweet while at work, my first go to is the food court at the mall which is home to a gelatto kiosk that I've made very good friends with throughout the years.

Seagram's Sweet Tea Vodka: Is the devil in liquid form. Last night Rach made me a glass mixed with some lemonade per Iya's suggestion and it tasted exactly like an Arnold Palmer ... on roids. I am now calling this concoction, an Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Balsamic Sweet Onion Chips: And lastly, these chips have been my kryptonite since I went camping a few weeks ago. I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY ASIDES FROM THE FACT THAT THEY'RE SO FUCKING GOOD AND I WOULD PUNCH A BABY IN THE FACE FOR A BAG RIGHT NOW. OK, I'm lying. I'd never punch a baby in the face. But for the 3 seconds I wrote that sentence out, I thought about it. Yah, they're that good.

One In A Million

RIParadise

Soular (support)System

The other day my Hayati reminded me of this quote from Eat, Pray, Love:

"People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.

A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master..."
— Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

I was then reminded of how "tender" I can get lol.

Last night, my homie allowed me to be crazy and irrational our entire phone conversation. Then, right before we hung up, he told me to STFU and STOP.

He is my soulmate.

Yesterday, my girl said something. Then, I said something. Then, we both disagreed with each other ... with the utmost respect.

She is my soulmate.

Earlier today I had a heart to heart with one of the only people in the world that I trust my life with. And with one sentence, she verbally grabbed me by the shoulders and shaked the shit outta me.

She is my soulmate.

A few hours after that, I told one of my best friends to stop acting like a pretentious idiot and "I love you," in the same sentence.

I am his soulmate.

And everyday, she manages to find a way to break me apart (without breaking me down), then make me stronger (without building my ego), and makes me remember the things I forgot or never knew about myself. BOTH good and bad.

She is my soulmate.

Some people are lucky to have fallen in love, even if things didn't work out at the end. Others are luckier to have found their soulmate. I'm blessed to have found 5 of them.

"i want to be your ex-boyfriends stunt man. you know, do everything that he didnt have the courage to do. like trust you."

~Taken from Jeyel's blog

I don't like to repost things from my readers blogs because I don't like leaving anyone out BUT I just had to do it this once lol. Remember when I said that I like to read just as much as I like to write? I wasn't kidding. I may not leave comments, but I promise yall I read your blogs and I hope you all continue to write.

::Editor's Note::

Good lookin to ?onnel for puttin me on to this poem. I'm ashamed I've never heard it before. FML it's the best cerebral foreplay I've heard yet.

"I love you the same way I learned how to ride a bike. Scared… but breathless. With no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you."

I Love The Gays

MAJOR. MAJOR.

What Goes Around ...

...comes around. What goes up, must come down.

Twilight. Inception. Hellz. The homie Reptar has good taste.

Congratulations Kat & Amir!

Willpower

Getting into a (potentially) new relationship can be hard for jaded individuals, and even harder for those who are damaged. A family vacation turns into "visiting the ex," and an "I miss you" text really means "I feel guilty for fucking someone last night." Your name suddenly becomes synonymous with the word neurotic and it gets to the point where you're constantly checking out your reflection in store windows as you walk down the street 'cuz you swear your crazy is starting to show through your cool, calm, and collective demeanor.

Well I'm so sorry. But this chick isn't your last chick. And this dude isn't your ex-boyfriend. Maybe they're better, maybe they're worse. Or maybe you need to fucking relax. 'Cuz running away from the first person you think of when you wake up, and last person you think of at night, isn't going to erase the pain what's his/her face left behind. Attempting to ignore their calls isn't going to reverse those tears that fell from your eyes months ago. And telling yourself that what you feel isn't real, is only going to make you realize just how real it is.

What you have to do is trust the situation. BELIEVE that they aren't seeing anyone else because they genuinely have feelings for YOU.

Because they haven't laughed so hard in a year. Because they've never seen someone look so handsome walking around in just their sweats. Because you're not just a good fuck, you're a GREAT FUCK lol. Because they've never felt so comfortable around someone they just met. Because they've never seen someone look as sexy as you do in open-toe shoes. Because you are one thoughtful and witty mufucka. Because you smell like a baby in the morning. Because they have just as much fun conversing with you as they have drinking, dancing, or riding roller coasters with you. But most likely because you are beautiful, intelligent, funny, talented, sexy, and just plain old AWESOME.

But most of all, you gotta trust yourself. Enough to know that even if they ARE seeing someone else, or aren't on the same page as you - that it's nothing to a boss. It's their loss, and you won't even flinch because well, duhhh - you are beautiful, intelligent, funny, sexy, and just plain old AWESOME.

Happy Friday.

Yah, kinda like this ;)

ALOOOHA!

According to my stats, next to Vancity, I get the most hits from the Aloha State. And how appropriate, considering some of my favorite things are from there: banana mac pancakes, garlic shrimp, Kailua Beach, Gail, and Laur :) Not to mention the fact that me and Rach will be there sooner than later. I predict a golden tan, sand bar, mai tais 'till the sun comes up, and all of you guys in my near future.

Ready, Set, STOP.

So you're sitting there. Across from him in all his handsome glory. You try not to look at him directly in the eyes, otherwise you'll get sucked in. Eye of the Tiger girl, EYE OF THE FUCKING TIGER. You look at his ... arms instead. NO, NO, bad idea. Wait - did you just receive a text message? No? Well, check your phone anyway.

So you're sitting there, pretending to check your phone that never went off. And he's rambling on and on about how pretty your feet are in those open-toe shoes. EW. Feet. Then mid-pretend text response back you think to yourself, "All this guy wants to do is BONE."

Otherwise, he wouldn't keep talking about how pretty your feet are. Or how beautiful you look with your hair swept to one side. Or how sexy your body looks in those jeans ... RIGHT? 'Cuz God forbid a man pays you a compliment and actually means it.

You put your phone away 'cuz really, how long can you have a pretend text convo with someone? You then have a schizophrenic pep talk with yourself and lifes soundtrack begins to play the Rocky themesong when he's running up the stairs. You look at him again.

He can't possibly be feeling you. He doesn't even know you. He just goes on all these dates with you 'cuz he's bored. He just texts you everyday 'cuz he has nothing better to do. He's fucking other girls. You're just covenient for him. You're just THERE. Or maybe, he's not over his ex. He's damaged. And closed off. He doesn't want to be in a relationship. He just wants to date. He doesn't want to be tied down. He's living the life. Own spot. Good job. Good shape. Good looking. He doesn't know what he wants. He has some things he's gotta take care of ... ALONE. He's scared. He's confused. He's just. Not. Ready.

And then IT hits you.

Like a mack truck. And it's a hard pill to swallow. But its something you gotta do.

So now you're just sitting there, feeling like a chump. In an act of desperation, you order one more drink, and a shot for good measure to help you swallow that imaginary "self-realization pill," and then get another imaginary text message. And this time it says:

NAW GIRL, YOU'RE JUST NOT READY.

Please Don't Let Me Wake Up

ridiculous

i want to be mad. i want to be fucking furious right now. over the fact that you aren't texting or calling me. but then i look at the time. and then i remember your schedule. and how i gave you the cold shoulder the past few days. and how i told you i was busy tonight. and how i didn't text you back earlier. and how i plan on never texting you until you text me first. and how i deleted your number (i think this makes it 7 now). and how i'd do things in spite. and how i rather snowboard blindfolded down a black diamond run at Heavenly than tell you how i feel. and how i'm over here playing and dedicating fucked up ass songs to you when all i wanna do is sing, "youuuu blow my miiiiiind. i'm satisfied," while dancing around you. and how i have "insurance." and how i won't just let shit be. and how i won't give us a fair chance. and how i won't let ME be happy. and how i made it a point not to look in your direction or even give you so much as eye contact. and how i put up a front. and i how managed to drink just the right amount of red wine to not give a fuck but still be functional enough to not drunk text you. and how i let everyone else BUT you know how crazy i am for you. how i make plans and pretend to forget to include you in them. and how i force myself to think of other guys like that one guy at the N stop that looked like Boris Kudjoe with Wall St. swag that gave me the eye when really ALL I WANT IS YOU.

and then i think to myself. i wouldn't holler at you either.

FML

I currently have 7 really good first paragraphs to what I'm hoping will turn into 7 really good posts sooner than later. It's not even writer's block. It's writer's I HAVE SO MUCH TO WRITE ABOUT I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START.

Just know that I'm alive and haven't forgotten about yall.

XOXO

Bulletproof

Been there, done that, Messed around.

I'm having fun, Don't put me down.
I'll never let you sweep me off my feet.

This time baby, I'll be BULLETPROOF.

"If You Could Have Beyonce, Would You Take Solange?"

Fab was wrong for that one, but YES. Yes. I totally would. 'Cuz although Beyonce is one bad bitch, in my personal opinion Solange >>> Bey in steez. And I absolutely love this pic of her and her son Julez.

Herro Churro

It's such a beautiful park, it's hard to NOT have a good seat.

Hope everyone had as awesome of a weekend as I did!

Anatomy of a Man

And yes, pic so nice, I used it twice!

I believe that when you are with a man, that he shouldn't be the only one noticing your new haircut or pointing out how good something looks on you. But, it's also hard for me to compliment a man. Almost just as hard as it is for me to accept a compliment from a man. So for every man I've failed to acknowledge, even if I've never told you directly, I'm telling you now: YOU LOOK DAMN GOOD.

Growing up, just like many horny little high school girls, I had a fetish for a mans abs. I'd oogle at the boys during lunch playing ball and watch as they'd lift up the front of their shirts to wipe the sweat off of their face in hopes of catching a glimpse of their 6-pack.

And then - I had sex. And ever since then, I've been infatuated with a mans ... arms.

There's just something about a man with nice arms. Something about this man with nice arms laying on top of you. Using those nice arms to hold himself up so that they're flexed and you know tickets have officially went on sale. And then there's just something about placing your delicate little womanly hands, on this mans nice arms and feeling each and every crevice of his traps and delts and biceps while he's doing this thang thang.

Good God I need a cigarette and a wet-wipe just thinking about it.

But perhaps the sexiest thing about a mans arms, is the fact that these are the same arms that will be holding me as I sleep at night (you know, after the mind-blowing sex lol), and the same arms that will be wrapped around me when I wake up in the morning.

These arms tell a story. They've thrown footballs during camping trips with their bestest friends, and they've thrown a mean punch to the faces of their foes. They've held up their cousins during family parties when they were too drunk to walk back into the house, and they've unfortunately been used to carry a coffin down to a hearse. They've played one-on-one bball with their fathers in their driveway, and moved furniture out of their parents house and into their very first apartment. They've unwillingly held up automatic rifles during war, and carried luggage down the halls of SFO to come back home. These arms have hugged their grand-parents, taught their little brothers how to swing a baseball, and held their newborn baby niece.

And when its' the right man, I'm hoping they'll be the same arms that twirl their mother around on the dancefloor during the mother-son dance at our wedding, the same arms that will carry me into our honeymoon suite, and the same arms that will eventually hold our newborn baby. The same arms that will protect me, and nurture me, and reassure me, and take care of me for the rest of my life.

And that's why, asides from the obvious (i have some nasty lil' girlfriends, yall know who u are lol!) the arms are my favorite part of a mans body. Besides, how ridickulous would it look if the D wrapped itself around my waist when we'd slow dance?

Readers, whats your favorite part of a man/womans body?

I'm the Shit

No, seriously. It looks like I came straight out that asshole.

"We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets."

~Marilyn Monroe

Perfect (non)Sense.

Sometimes we do things and have no idea why we do them. Sometimes we say one thing and then do another. Sometimes we feel a certain way and then our actions reflect just the opposite. And then sometimes we want to go to Great America and feel like a kid again and ride all the rides and eat all the bad theme park food and take pictures in the picture booth and then go back to the car to drink some Henn and apple juice so that you got a nice lil' buzz for the fireworks show - with only one person in the entire world. And then, we ask somebody else.

Because sometimes we feel so strongly about something, or someone, but are so scared, and damaged, and stubborn, and prideful that the two notions collide and we end up deleting someones number 5 times then re-saving it 6.

We'll think of them all day but never think to call. We see things that remind us of them ('cuz almost everything reminds us of them) but never let them know. We take exactly 17 mins and 37 seconds to write out the cutest email but never send it. We wait all day for a text message and then when we get it, we wait all day to reply back. We think, and stress, and plan the perfect way to tell them how we feel but never say it. We prep ourselves to ask them how they feel but ask how their day went instead.

We go out on Wednesday nights and have a few drinks knowing damn well we got a weekday curfew of 10:00pm and tell all of our friends how much we're feelin you ... and then murder the idea after 1 shot of Jameson, and even worse let someone else pull the trigger.

So we forget about being honest and play games. We convince ourselves you ain't feelin us and got other wo/men on your roster. We take "All I Want is You," off of repeat and blast, "Return of the Mack." We make up excuses like we think you make up excuses and flake on dates that we know we would've had a blast on. We walk away with our tail in between our legs, and brace ourselves for the "What ifs," and regret. Because sometimes, we just rather hurt ourselves this way now, than have you hurt us later.

OUTSTANDING.

Lips Are Sealed

I kissed a boy on the first date for the very first time when I was 28. And it was - well, AMAZING. I know it sounds mad cliche, but for real? FIREWORKS. And while I'm not sure if it was my heart or my hormones that ignited them, Disneyland's firework show still ain't got nothing on it.

For many, the significance of a first kiss, or a kiss in general, has diminished down to non-existent. But a bitch like me is not just old, but also "old-school". So a kiss is not just a kiss. It's me letting you in, even if just a little bit. It's me saying without words, "Yah, I could do this. With YOU." And only you.

I remember the first time I kissed you hello when I hopped in the car. It took a while for me to warm up to that. I didn't know if it was allowed yet. If it was OK. But you were on the phone talking to your mom and moved the receiver out of the way and leaned in with a, "Hey baby." And ever since then, you always got a hello, good-bye kiss like that.

Except for this morning.

Because this morning things suddenly became different. And instead of me telling you, I let the lips do the talking. Because I was too scared to actually say anything. Too scared to let you know that to me, a kiss is more than just a kiss. And too scared to ask if you felt the same. So instead, of closing my eyes. Instead of kissing you on the lips. Instead of sucking on your lower lip and feeling the roughness of your stubble on my chin. Instead of smiling as we parted - I kept my eyes open, gave you my right shoulder ... and right cheek and let out a disappointed sigh that I made sure you couldn't hear as I closed your car door.

And I don't know if you noticed all of this. But if you did. If you care, then I'm so. so. sorry. But just know that I didn't kiss you good-bye because I didn't want to. (I'd like to kiss you right now if I could.) And it's not because I'm not feeling you anymore. (Maybe I'm feeling you too much?). It was only because I didn't ever want to have to kiss you good-bye for the last time.

Body & Soul is Aching

Missing Mary J jams like this one ...

Food for Fuck

Still not completely rehabilitated from this weekends festivities so no substantial post today, but I did have a lil' something on my mind.

As a woman, it's hard for me to differentiate whether or not a guy is into me, or just wants to get into me. And I don't think I'm the only one. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that the latter is inevitable. Afterall, there's no way homie just asked for your number because he looked at you in that Herve Leger dress and thought, "I'd love to fuck the shit outta her political science degree." So let's just quit fooling ourselves for a sec and put it all out there, more than likely: HE WANTS TO FUCK YOU. And that's completely fine. I mean, have you looked at you lately? You're totally bang-able.

Now you just gotta make sure that that ain't all he wants to do.

See You Monday!

Holy shit it's already Friday? Sorry for the lack of posts this week but it's been a busy one. And now I'm off to roast marshmallows, spoon, tan, get fat, drink excessive amounts of alcohol, and play the Taboo game of ALL Taboo games. Happy weekend everyone!

Do I Drive You Crazy?

I hope so.

Even just a little.

Because I'd hate to be the only one ... staring at my cell phone. Smiling when it's you. Pouting when it's not. And zoning out at work when I think about the last thing you said to me that made me laugh.

It's actually really cute. But also kinda crazy. How I've managed to find the perfect spot on your couch ... half way in your lap ... legs hanging in between yours ... and my head resting lazily on your shoulder ... with 72 inches wrapped all around me and your like all ova lil. ole. me.

Honey, don't you know I'm loca? When I think of the perfect outfit to wear for you and ask all my boys how I should fix my hair, just to end up in basketball shorts and a messy ponytail anyway? I mean, I know you're a dude and don't have as many options, but would it be crazy for me to pretend you check yourself out in the mirror before you pick me up to make sure you look good for me too?

That would be nice.

'Cuz I'm over here replaying last nights date in my head and I swear I can still smell you. And I can still hear the bass in your voice. And I can still feel your hand behind my neck when we kissed. And I swear to GOD I am 2 dates and 3 kisses away from making you red Jello. OK wait. That definitely sounds crazy. So let's just pretend I never said that ... even though I just did. And even though you just saw our score card and said we sound good together ...

Naw, you know what? Just forget it. It's nothing. It's stupid. It's ridiculous. I was just kidding. I don't like you. No, not at all. Not even a Lykke Li Little Bit.

Well ... unless ... of course ... you're just a little bit crazy for me too.

PSHHH.

Speak No Evil

It takes a lot to get me embarrassed (reported a hit and run on the wrong car when the right one was only 5 cars down? CHECK. walked into the wrong car and sat shotty with the driver behind the wheel? CHECK. got my rag during a dance performance where we wore all white? PERIOD.) Sometimes, it also takes a lot to get me to shut me the fuck up. If I know I'm wrong, I have no problem admitting it but if I say the significance of a top continuously spinning in Inception means its a dream and you say its reality, you're not gonna hear the end of it!

But today? I'm silent. As the night before Christmas. As the lambs. As Hellen Keller.

Because as I sit here typing, I'm regaining my composurE from being verbally back-handed by a homie. And ouch did that tongue lashing sting. But - it also hurt so good. Because it was another reminder of how much I have yet to learn. About love. About life. About relationships. About myself. About the world in general. Twas quite a humbling experience if I do say so myself. And while a few years ago I would've disagreed, today, I'm glad I don't know it all. 'Cuz if I did, then that would mean there is nothing else beyond what I know now. And if that was the truth, fuck that would suck lol. Not only would it suck, but life would be boring as hell.

They say the loudest one in the room has the most to prove. I'm not loud. I promise. Well, maybe when I'm drunk ... and playing Taboo. But at the same time, closed mouths don't get fed right? And mufucka - I'm HUNGRY. I guess as with everything else in life, you gotta find the right balance. Know when to speak and when to be spoken to and when to just STFU lol. 'Cuz it's better to keep quiet then talk out your ass or put your foot in your mouth later. So I'm just gonna sit here in silence, while I throw an imaginary steak on my bruised ego.

And the next time someone asks me what I want to do for my birthday? I'm just gonna take a BIG CHILL pill and let them handle it. It's probably the most one can do, without doing too much.

With the Gay, Comes the Cray

Started 7/24, completed 7/28 ... 'cuz I'm really good at lagging lol.

So it's 1:03am and to be quite honest with you - I'm drunk. OK, maybe not DRUNK. But intoxicated enough to be having a fight with my cell phone right now. Do I text him or do I watch "Two Can Play That Game," on my laptop instead? FML. When did it get so complicated? (FYI Of course I didn't text, it was 1am and a bootycall I am not.)

I never quite understood the rules. Was never one to follow 'em either. Why is it that when we think someone's fly, are feelin their personality, and want to text them every 7 minutes of the day - we can't? Why do we have to wait 30, sometimes 47 minutes before texting them back? If I think you're cute why can't I tell you without you or your friends or even my friends thinking I'm giving you too much too soon?

I wish there was some way to fast forward into the future to that one moment where we can find out if shit was gonna work out or if these games we play are being played in vain. So that we wouldn't have to waste our time with all these potentially pointless dates, and hours of getting ready just to end up in the first outfit we tried on anyway. It would be so much easier that way.

But of course, nothing worth having comes easy" (God I hate quotes. Especially when they're true lol.). There are no shortcuts or magic remote controls that we can tinker with to take us to that exact moment we fall in like and then love. Sure, it would avoid all the staring at our cell phone, checking it to make sure you got reception, and asking your girl, "Hey can you text me right now I just want to make sure my phone is working." OF COURSE IT'S WORKING YOU FUCKING CRAZY BITCH.

*sigh* Why do we refuse to listen to logic when we're in like?

Because along with being gay for someone, you become cray cray for them as well. But if we skipped over all the cray cray we'd miss out on all the fun and amazing too. Like the "Can't wait for Monday," texts that make you giggle. Or the time you looked over to see him vigirously wiping his hands on his pantleg and then looking down to see you were doing the exact same thing. Or finding out your favorite movie is his favorite movie, and his favorite band is your favorite band. Or that first kiss.

So you just gotta ask yourself, "Were the fireworks that came along with that kiss worth those 15 minutes of crazy when you thought you said something wrong and he'd never text you again?"

Weekend (and then some) in Pictures