There are two main reason's why I love New York City:
1) There's always something fun and exciting to do.
2) There are enough crazy and colorful people here that no matter how much of a fool I make of myself, nobody even bats an eye.
This weekend was no exception. My roommate and I entered the Great Urban Race, which is essentially a giant scavenger hunt around the city... in costume. Oh yes.
My roommate and I had our own mini-scavenger week the week prior to the race to find a suitable costume that would be funny, practical, comfortable, keep us cool in the heat, and maybe, if possible... a little sexy. We tried to think of a team name that would be a reflection of us... who were we? what were we good at?
We decided that out team would be 'Squeeze Me, Stomp Me, Make Me Wine" and we would dress up like Grecian Goddesses of Wine.
Who are you calling a lush?
We donned white robes, tied with gold rope and hung little bunches of plastic grapes all over. We spraypainted plastic goblets into golden chalices and adorned our hair with a wreath of golden leaves. As a final touch, we added 'Hello my name is...' badges with our characters, Chardonnay and Cabernet.
It was awesome!
So starting at noon on Saturday, we started running frantically around the city we both call home. There were twelve clues that took us from the West side to Midtown to Chelsea to the Upper East Side. We got tripped up on one of the clues but otherwise I think we hustled pretty well through the city. The only thing that really slowed us down were the subways which were running soooooo slooooowww (and the fiasco of the R train that ended up on the F line.. wtf?)
We finished the race at 3 hours and 40 minutes (there's five hours alotted total), and even though we definately didn't even come close to placing out of the 550 teams that entered the race, we had a great time and I'm damn proud of how well we did.
I mean, I fucking ran. Do you know how big that is? Epic. I hate running.
There's no reason to run unless you're being chased.
Our costumes were a big hit! I loved how so many people wanted to get photographs of us, and how everyone in Times Square were so bewildered "is there a show being filmed?" "Is this a reality stunt?" "I think there's some kind of marathon going on." and the classic "I love New York!" People who saw us coming cheered us on, and the non-participants at the places we were directed to loved that they had unwittingly stumbled across another crazy NY event.
After it was over, we drank and laughed and congradulated ourselves on not killing eachother during the race (I told her how much I hated her about 400 times that day).
This morning, I woke up with a massive hangover, and was more sore than if I had been having wild monkey sex all weekend (probably burned the same amount of calories though).
I can't wait to see if we come up on google. Haha!
...
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Bad Tiger
…no wood for you.
News of the divorce was plastered all over AM New York this morning as I snagged a copy of the free paper in the subway on my way to work this morning. I’ve remained indifferent about the issue since it doesn’t really pertain to me, but little snippets of conversation here and there made me think…
This is not good news for Tiger.
But it is not good news for any man.
Reason being… this is not good news for women.
Let me elaborate.
One fact of life is that boys will always be boys. And by that I don’t mean that ‘all men are dogs’ or some other stereotypical accusation, because not all men are players and more importantly, women can be just as deceitful and manipulative if not more… but we that are all human and prone to temptation. Men hunger deep down inside for the same kind of social validations that women do: power, status, money and adoration… Put a man in a position to be idolized, and invariable many will falter…
This is a fact that women are aware of. This is why most women have a general distrust of any temptation in female form, be it stripper, waitress, secretary or even that hot friend that we all secretly don’t like. When Clinton cheated, ‘oh he’s the president, he’s under a lot of stress, let him have some fun’, when A-Rod hits the tabloids ‘yeah, but he’s a star Yankee and I looove his eyes..” We’ve grown to accept that monogamy is virtually nonexistent in today’s open minded and legged society. But women have a defense mechanism to all this. If we hear of the latest basketball star, or hip hop artist in the news, busted with his latest arm-candy of the week, we scoff and say ‘he’s such a player’ followed up with the much more judgemental ‘but she should have known better with him’.
The difference with Tiger is that he caught us completely off guard. He didn’t fit the mold of a cheating, lying player. He was the husband, the father, the good guy. Although he was an athlete, c’mon, he was a golf athlete… how often do you see inebriated girls with face paint, flashing their tits and throwing their panties on the green? Umm.. never. He wore polos, slacks, and sunscreen. You never saw a bad thing about him in the papers, unless it was about him missing the last putt and dropping a spot in the ranking.
Nobody saw this coming, especially women.
Because before all this, women, while still suspicious by nature, were selectively distrustful. If you came into our world, swept us off our feet, and convinced us of your love and loyalty with gifts, sweet nothings and a nightly curfew, we let our guard down and put our trust in you. Tiger a year ago, gave men a chance. He represented all the good guys of the world and gave you hope that one day a gorgeous blonde would want to marry you and have your children.
But now, that illusion is gone… womens perception of who can be trusted is shattered, and our self-doubt and relationship issues and insecurities will only increase with news like this.
And that is why this is bad news for men.
Nobody should be cheering him for making it with all those strippers and living the Entourage dream. Women are angry and men, you should be too.
...
News of the divorce was plastered all over AM New York this morning as I snagged a copy of the free paper in the subway on my way to work this morning. I’ve remained indifferent about the issue since it doesn’t really pertain to me, but little snippets of conversation here and there made me think…
This is not good news for Tiger.
But it is not good news for any man.
Reason being… this is not good news for women.
Let me elaborate.
One fact of life is that boys will always be boys. And by that I don’t mean that ‘all men are dogs’ or some other stereotypical accusation, because not all men are players and more importantly, women can be just as deceitful and manipulative if not more… but we that are all human and prone to temptation. Men hunger deep down inside for the same kind of social validations that women do: power, status, money and adoration… Put a man in a position to be idolized, and invariable many will falter…
This is a fact that women are aware of. This is why most women have a general distrust of any temptation in female form, be it stripper, waitress, secretary or even that hot friend that we all secretly don’t like. When Clinton cheated, ‘oh he’s the president, he’s under a lot of stress, let him have some fun’, when A-Rod hits the tabloids ‘yeah, but he’s a star Yankee and I looove his eyes..” We’ve grown to accept that monogamy is virtually nonexistent in today’s open minded and legged society. But women have a defense mechanism to all this. If we hear of the latest basketball star, or hip hop artist in the news, busted with his latest arm-candy of the week, we scoff and say ‘he’s such a player’ followed up with the much more judgemental ‘but she should have known better with him’.
The difference with Tiger is that he caught us completely off guard. He didn’t fit the mold of a cheating, lying player. He was the husband, the father, the good guy. Although he was an athlete, c’mon, he was a golf athlete… how often do you see inebriated girls with face paint, flashing their tits and throwing their panties on the green? Umm.. never. He wore polos, slacks, and sunscreen. You never saw a bad thing about him in the papers, unless it was about him missing the last putt and dropping a spot in the ranking.
Nobody saw this coming, especially women.
Because before all this, women, while still suspicious by nature, were selectively distrustful. If you came into our world, swept us off our feet, and convinced us of your love and loyalty with gifts, sweet nothings and a nightly curfew, we let our guard down and put our trust in you. Tiger a year ago, gave men a chance. He represented all the good guys of the world and gave you hope that one day a gorgeous blonde would want to marry you and have your children.
But now, that illusion is gone… womens perception of who can be trusted is shattered, and our self-doubt and relationship issues and insecurities will only increase with news like this.
And that is why this is bad news for men.
Nobody should be cheering him for making it with all those strippers and living the Entourage dream. Women are angry and men, you should be too.
...
Monday, August 23, 2010
Summer's end...
...
It's been raining all weekend.
And although it can be quite enjoyable when you're home on a Sunday with a good book and a plush couch to curl up on, it's an entirely different proposition when you live in a commuter city and need to juggle a pocketbook, umbrella and your coffee on your way to work, while dodging puddles, soggy newspapers and wet dogs.
But on my way home today, as I stepped out of the humid 68th street subway station, I stopped for a second. The air was cool. Crisp. Clean. Like the rain had washed all the stale summer heat out of it, and suddenly it felt like autumn.
Just like that.
And as I walked home, I began to think about all the boots and jackets and sweaters that I could pull out of storage. The scarves and the hats... It's the most fun part of the year to dress up and I can't wait.
When I got home, I turned off my AC and opened up the windows. I set up my dog's perch by the window and watched her sit on the sill with her nose pressed to the screen sniffing all the scents of the city outside.
I'm going to sleep with the windows open tonight... I love the autumn breeze...
...
It's been raining all weekend.
And although it can be quite enjoyable when you're home on a Sunday with a good book and a plush couch to curl up on, it's an entirely different proposition when you live in a commuter city and need to juggle a pocketbook, umbrella and your coffee on your way to work, while dodging puddles, soggy newspapers and wet dogs.
But on my way home today, as I stepped out of the humid 68th street subway station, I stopped for a second. The air was cool. Crisp. Clean. Like the rain had washed all the stale summer heat out of it, and suddenly it felt like autumn.
Just like that.
And as I walked home, I began to think about all the boots and jackets and sweaters that I could pull out of storage. The scarves and the hats... It's the most fun part of the year to dress up and I can't wait.
When I got home, I turned off my AC and opened up the windows. I set up my dog's perch by the window and watched her sit on the sill with her nose pressed to the screen sniffing all the scents of the city outside.
I'm going to sleep with the windows open tonight... I love the autumn breeze...
...
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Paintballing or Mechanical Bull...
... apparently these are my only options.
This weekend was full of plans that I didn't want to do. Obligatory birthday dinner with a friend I don't like (she's a cheap train wreck, but that's a whole 'nother story), brunch with a guy who obviously just wants to bone me (before lunch), help a friend of a friend move (I don't even like helping my immediate friends move), and go paintballing (which is usually fun, but I just got too much to do, and I'm feeling sore from my anti-gravity yoga class yesterday).
So I cancelled all my plans and was prepared to stay in and veg out all weekend, catching up on work.
***
I told myself I was going to be productive today...
I woke up this morning, and said to myself "I'm going to get lots of work done today!"
Then I proceeded to fall right back asleep. (My bed is so comfy ever since I bought that foam mattress pad, it's got sleep inducing superpowers now).
When I awoke the second time, I sleepily turned my laptop on, put in my contacts, and proceeded to watch an Angelina Jolie movie (I love her), a procrastination defense second only to the evils of Facebook... oh the hours of life lost to that site...
But sometime between now and then, I did manage to brush up on my knowledge of the cardiac system seeing as I've somehow volunteered (what little precious time I have left) on helping out with a medical summer camp geared towards East Halem middle schoolers (ugh... why, I don't know, I hate children) . And some personal studying for the last test of my boards that I have still yet to schedule...
So after a delicious meal of swedish meatballs and mesclun salad with green apples, candied walnuts and gorganzola with balsamic dressing (all homemade in this household... see, I can be domestic), I settled in to get some reading done when....
"Hey, so you punked out of paintballing tomorrow, you at least gonna come out and grab a drink tonight with us or what? Don't answer that, just be ready, we're picking you up in an hour!" *click*
Yeah, I punked out of paintballing tomorrow and now I have to do shots and they're threatening me with a mechanical bull... man, Saturdays are hard... I can't wait for Monday...
...
This weekend was full of plans that I didn't want to do. Obligatory birthday dinner with a friend I don't like (she's a cheap train wreck, but that's a whole 'nother story), brunch with a guy who obviously just wants to bone me (before lunch), help a friend of a friend move (I don't even like helping my immediate friends move), and go paintballing (which is usually fun, but I just got too much to do, and I'm feeling sore from my anti-gravity yoga class yesterday).
So I cancelled all my plans and was prepared to stay in and veg out all weekend, catching up on work.
***
I told myself I was going to be productive today...
I woke up this morning, and said to myself "I'm going to get lots of work done today!"
Then I proceeded to fall right back asleep. (My bed is so comfy ever since I bought that foam mattress pad, it's got sleep inducing superpowers now).
When I awoke the second time, I sleepily turned my laptop on, put in my contacts, and proceeded to watch an Angelina Jolie movie (I love her), a procrastination defense second only to the evils of Facebook... oh the hours of life lost to that site...
But sometime between now and then, I did manage to brush up on my knowledge of the cardiac system seeing as I've somehow volunteered (what little precious time I have left) on helping out with a medical summer camp geared towards East Halem middle schoolers (ugh... why, I don't know, I hate children) . And some personal studying for the last test of my boards that I have still yet to schedule...
So after a delicious meal of swedish meatballs and mesclun salad with green apples, candied walnuts and gorganzola with balsamic dressing (all homemade in this household... see, I can be domestic), I settled in to get some reading done when....
"Hey, so you punked out of paintballing tomorrow, you at least gonna come out and grab a drink tonight with us or what? Don't answer that, just be ready, we're picking you up in an hour!" *click*
Yeah, I punked out of paintballing tomorrow and now I have to do shots and they're threatening me with a mechanical bull... man, Saturdays are hard... I can't wait for Monday...
...
Friday, August 20, 2010
Take them, I'm not going to use them...
I've made a decision recently and it's purely financial in reason.
I'd decided to get off birth control. I'd been on the depo provera for about ten years now. And one of the reasons I loved it so much is that it allows me to live my life as the promiscuous female that I am, a full 30 days a month! Meaning, I don't get a monthly time out from the joys of spontaneous sex, I don't ever have to worry about a price check on a box of Tampax, and I can wear white not just after Labor Day but whenever I goddamn please.
It's great. My best non-gay guy friend S calls me a 'dude in a hot girls body' cause I'm laid back, nonemotional, and drama-free.. I tell him its because I haven't menstruated in ten years, cause if I had to deal with that every month, I'd be a pissed off hormonal basket case too.
So let's take pools to see how long it'll be before I find my inner emotional train wreck and start drunk dialing at 3 in the morning, or snap in public when my breakfast stand runs out of onion bagels, or lock myself in the womans bathroom to weep uncontrollably over why no one loves me...
....Oh dear lord, I hope not....
So why am I doing this again???
Well ladies and gentlemen, the truth is desperate times call for desperate measures.
I am currently broke, unemployed, yet working more than 40 hours a week at a job that doesn't pay me, up to my eyeballs in debt, and have had the humiliating experience of having to ask friends and family for money to scrape by the last three months. I have also recently discovered that my healthy little oocytes (eggs, for you non-medical saavy folk) are worth about $8000-10000 a pop. Apparently medical school is a big plus because it means that my offspring will most likely be smart... I neglected to mention in the application that they'll probably also become bitter, cynical and hell bent on world domination by the time they're 13, but ahh... the joys of parenthood, they'll figure that out as they go. Also, it appears that although adopting little asian babies is soooooo last year, popping them out of your coochie is not passe at all.
So with the wonders of the internet, medical technology and a little bit of moral indifference, I had signed up to become an egg donor. I set up my application, my profile, embellished my good qualities, omitted my character flaws and was notified this afternoon that there is a possible couple interested in purchasing my eggs. (Take note Ebay.. apparently you can sell body parts over the internet, just not auction style).
I have a consultation with the clinic next Friday. If all goes well, three weeks of hormones, a quick needle extraction, and ka-ching! Rent money for the next six months!
And from a medical point of view, it's safe, really... even if I change my mind years down the line and do decide to raise my own spawns, I won't have a problem, and besides, I have hundreds of eggs down there, plus the last ten years worth in inventory... I'm not planning on raising an army (not from my uterus anyways).
...
I'd decided to get off birth control. I'd been on the depo provera for about ten years now. And one of the reasons I loved it so much is that it allows me to live my life as the promiscuous female that I am, a full 30 days a month! Meaning, I don't get a monthly time out from the joys of spontaneous sex, I don't ever have to worry about a price check on a box of Tampax, and I can wear white not just after Labor Day but whenever I goddamn please.
It's great. My best non-gay guy friend S calls me a 'dude in a hot girls body' cause I'm laid back, nonemotional, and drama-free.. I tell him its because I haven't menstruated in ten years, cause if I had to deal with that every month, I'd be a pissed off hormonal basket case too.
So let's take pools to see how long it'll be before I find my inner emotional train wreck and start drunk dialing at 3 in the morning, or snap in public when my breakfast stand runs out of onion bagels, or lock myself in the womans bathroom to weep uncontrollably over why no one loves me...
....Oh dear lord, I hope not....
So why am I doing this again???
Well ladies and gentlemen, the truth is desperate times call for desperate measures.
I am currently broke, unemployed, yet working more than 40 hours a week at a job that doesn't pay me, up to my eyeballs in debt, and have had the humiliating experience of having to ask friends and family for money to scrape by the last three months. I have also recently discovered that my healthy little oocytes (eggs, for you non-medical saavy folk) are worth about $8000-10000 a pop. Apparently medical school is a big plus because it means that my offspring will most likely be smart... I neglected to mention in the application that they'll probably also become bitter, cynical and hell bent on world domination by the time they're 13, but ahh... the joys of parenthood, they'll figure that out as they go. Also, it appears that although adopting little asian babies is soooooo last year, popping them out of your coochie is not passe at all.
So with the wonders of the internet, medical technology and a little bit of moral indifference, I had signed up to become an egg donor. I set up my application, my profile, embellished my good qualities, omitted my character flaws and was notified this afternoon that there is a possible couple interested in purchasing my eggs. (Take note Ebay.. apparently you can sell body parts over the internet, just not auction style).
I have a consultation with the clinic next Friday. If all goes well, three weeks of hormones, a quick needle extraction, and ka-ching! Rent money for the next six months!
And from a medical point of view, it's safe, really... even if I change my mind years down the line and do decide to raise my own spawns, I won't have a problem, and besides, I have hundreds of eggs down there, plus the last ten years worth in inventory... I'm not planning on raising an army (not from my uterus anyways).
...
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The sad truth...
Who is JP?
JP? How do you know about JP?
It doesn't matter. Who is he?
He is ... A friend. A old lover. A fling. He's a man I know from a long time back.
Are you with him?
Am I with him? <laughs sadly> No. I could never be with him. He's in Paris, before that he was in Tunisia, before that Israel, Tokyo, San Salvadore, Quebec, Antigua... before that he was in Sao Paulo.. <resigned> how could I be with someone who's never here?
Do you love him?
Mmm... <smiles> Of course. He's perfect. He's funny, he's smart, he travels, he speaks several different languages, he goes from one corner of the world to the other and manages to always fit right in. And he's gorgeous. Of course I love him.... <sighs> I love him... just like a hundred other girls in this world love him. And he loves me... just like he loves a hundred other girls... <smiles sadly>
I know I can't have him. That's why I want him.
And that's why you shouldn't worry about him.
...
JP? How do you know about JP?
It doesn't matter. Who is he?
He is ... A friend. A old lover. A fling. He's a man I know from a long time back.
Are you with him?
Am I with him? <laughs sadly> No. I could never be with him. He's in Paris, before that he was in Tunisia, before that Israel, Tokyo, San Salvadore, Quebec, Antigua... before that he was in Sao Paulo.. <resigned> how could I be with someone who's never here?
Do you love him?
Mmm... <smiles> Of course. He's perfect. He's funny, he's smart, he travels, he speaks several different languages, he goes from one corner of the world to the other and manages to always fit right in. And he's gorgeous. Of course I love him.... <sighs> I love him... just like a hundred other girls in this world love him. And he loves me... just like he loves a hundred other girls... <smiles sadly>
I know I can't have him. That's why I want him.
And that's why you shouldn't worry about him.
...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
From Paris with Love...
JP: I love you, and you are the girl of my dreams. Wanna get married?
Me: I've been waiting to hear you say that. I love you too baby, but it's hard to get married if we're not together.
JP: I'm coming tomorrow on the first plane. I do love you, and I do believe we are meant to be together, we'll make it happen, believe me.
Me: I believe you! I love you JP, I always have... now go to sleep you silly drunken French boy. Lol
JP: I am French, I am silly, and I am drunk! Oh baby you know me too well... ok, to sleep I go. Kisses for you baby
Me: Sweet dreams my love. We will be together soon. <3
Me: I've been waiting to hear you say that. I love you too baby, but it's hard to get married if we're not together.
JP: I'm coming tomorrow on the first plane. I do love you, and I do believe we are meant to be together, we'll make it happen, believe me.
Me: I believe you! I love you JP, I always have... now go to sleep you silly drunken French boy. Lol
JP: I am French, I am silly, and I am drunk! Oh baby you know me too well... ok, to sleep I go. Kisses for you baby
Me: Sweet dreams my love. We will be together soon. <3
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Buzzed and bored...
It was a random Saturday, and in all honesty, I usually don't go out on the weekends. It's too crowded, prices are jacked up, the lines are ridiculous and I don't care as much for the snobby pretention like I once used to. I usually reserve my weekends for lounging around the house in my underwear, watching movies, or catching up on the never ending inbox of work that I bring home with me from the hospital everyday.. instead, I assault my liver on nights when it least expects it, like on a random Tuesday when the streets are empty and the barstools sit unclaimed...
But this is story that takes place on a Saturday.
I had been diligent in doing work all day (and now my research publications are potentially 5!) and had gone to the local Gristedes (my neighbor calls it 'Greasy Titties' and now I have to repress the urge to say that every single time) and picked up some chicken quarters for dinner with friends. This was the extent of my plans. Work, cook, eat, and stay home watching a movie... dinner was delicious (I made roasted chicken quarters in a homemade asian BBQ marinade, and noodles with veggies in a peanut sauce).
The turning point of the night was when the movie we settled on was "I hope they serve beer in hell".
Anyone who knows me, knows that I love Tucker Max. The self-proclaimed asshole and womanizer and threat to anything with wheels or legs (either 2 or 4), is the most outrageously uncensored person I've ever heard of and reading his books and blog has reduced me to tears from laughing so hard. I'm saving up some of his best insults in my mental rolodex under 'fucked up things to say to people' and just waiting for that day that someone fat, stupid, ugly (or any combination of the three) to piss me off in public. Men want to be him and woman want to fuck him. I want to do both...
But the movie was less than inspiring. I think back on some of my more interesting nights and think that we could've had Tucker Max, (and maybe his female equivalent Chelsea Handler after reading ''My Horizontal Life") in our entourage, my interesting nights would have been much more interesting and I'd probably had lost all rights to ever pursue a medical license in the US ever again... so on that note, probably a good thing that they are not real people in my life... although my version of the movie would have been a lot more entertaining.
But as an after effect of the movie, I suddenly wanted to drink.
A lot.
After stating that, I wish I could say that I'm about to write about one of the most epic nights of my life, involving midgets, hookers and a tiger in Vegas, but disappointingly, that is not the case...
It is a sad and sobering realization that after months of not bartending, and being broke and not going out, my knack for getting in and out of trouble has disappeared and my tolerance has all but left me.
The girls and I dressed up and went to our local watering hole, but four drinks in, I was buzzed and bored. Irritated by the bar full of 20-somethings, all young and cocksure, and by 2:30am, I was ready to go home.
Disappointed? Yeah, me too...
Perhaps this is a good sign. A sign of maturity, a sign of settling, a sign of growing up... but I miss my old self sometimes. She was my favorite muse... and then I realized...
She's probably only sleeping off her last hangover. She'll be back Tuesday.
But this is story that takes place on a Saturday.
I had been diligent in doing work all day (and now my research publications are potentially 5!) and had gone to the local Gristedes (my neighbor calls it 'Greasy Titties' and now I have to repress the urge to say that every single time) and picked up some chicken quarters for dinner with friends. This was the extent of my plans. Work, cook, eat, and stay home watching a movie... dinner was delicious (I made roasted chicken quarters in a homemade asian BBQ marinade, and noodles with veggies in a peanut sauce).
The turning point of the night was when the movie we settled on was "I hope they serve beer in hell".
Anyone who knows me, knows that I love Tucker Max. The self-proclaimed asshole and womanizer and threat to anything with wheels or legs (either 2 or 4), is the most outrageously uncensored person I've ever heard of and reading his books and blog has reduced me to tears from laughing so hard. I'm saving up some of his best insults in my mental rolodex under 'fucked up things to say to people' and just waiting for that day that someone fat, stupid, ugly (or any combination of the three) to piss me off in public. Men want to be him and woman want to fuck him. I want to do both...
But the movie was less than inspiring. I think back on some of my more interesting nights and think that we could've had Tucker Max, (and maybe his female equivalent Chelsea Handler after reading ''My Horizontal Life") in our entourage, my interesting nights would have been much more interesting and I'd probably had lost all rights to ever pursue a medical license in the US ever again... so on that note, probably a good thing that they are not real people in my life... although my version of the movie would have been a lot more entertaining.
But as an after effect of the movie, I suddenly wanted to drink.
A lot.
After stating that, I wish I could say that I'm about to write about one of the most epic nights of my life, involving midgets, hookers and a tiger in Vegas, but disappointingly, that is not the case...
It is a sad and sobering realization that after months of not bartending, and being broke and not going out, my knack for getting in and out of trouble has disappeared and my tolerance has all but left me.
The girls and I dressed up and went to our local watering hole, but four drinks in, I was buzzed and bored. Irritated by the bar full of 20-somethings, all young and cocksure, and by 2:30am, I was ready to go home.
Disappointed? Yeah, me too...
Perhaps this is a good sign. A sign of maturity, a sign of settling, a sign of growing up... but I miss my old self sometimes. She was my favorite muse... and then I realized...
She's probably only sleeping off her last hangover. She'll be back Tuesday.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Time for a change...
Hello Blogger.com,
You do not know me yet, and I do not know you, but that is exactly why I am here.. I needed a change. I hope that we will get to know each other a bit better. You seem like a very nice blog...
...the truth is, I'm leaving my other blog. I feel like I've outgrown it... It didn't do anything wrong, and we have some great memories, sharing stories at four in the morning, gushing secrets after one too many drinks, and it was there for me during some very hard times.. it was a great listener. But it's been about five years, and I feel like we've kinda grown apart. I feel like I've moved on with my life, emotionally, mentally and professionally, and it's still treating me like a teenager...
Hence, I'm ready for a grown up blog.
If you'd like to backtrack into my past without the need of a PI, my old link is spicie97.xanga.com.
But please don't make fun of my old blog, it's handling all this very well, but still sensitive. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Jia
You do not know me yet, and I do not know you, but that is exactly why I am here.. I needed a change. I hope that we will get to know each other a bit better. You seem like a very nice blog...
...the truth is, I'm leaving my other blog. I feel like I've outgrown it... It didn't do anything wrong, and we have some great memories, sharing stories at four in the morning, gushing secrets after one too many drinks, and it was there for me during some very hard times.. it was a great listener. But it's been about five years, and I feel like we've kinda grown apart. I feel like I've moved on with my life, emotionally, mentally and professionally, and it's still treating me like a teenager...
Hence, I'm ready for a grown up blog.
If you'd like to backtrack into my past without the need of a PI, my old link is spicie97.xanga.com.
But please don't make fun of my old blog, it's handling all this very well, but still sensitive. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Jia
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