The Tower of Misunderstanding

My friend Dino Ignacio made this video. I call it the Feminist Rapunzel.

Second Week

My roommate has been gone on vacation all of this week, so I've been in the apartment by myself. I suppose I should be used to this, since I basically lived alone for the past year.

The past week has been basically catching up on writing, meeting up with old friends, and finding a really cheap yoga studio. I'm not bursting with amazement, but I'm not necessarily unhappy either.

I'm hiding in the apartment because it's safe here.

Although I spend a lot of my days alone I'm enjoying the solitude. Truth be told, I've been needing it. I've been confronting the projections that I've invented about myself, but I think I'm being good about it.

For the first time in a really long time I'm not beating myself up for what I am and what I'm not.

My dad warned me about the loneliness in LA, because I will be in my car most of time. Of course he is right, but I've also have made some pretty big revelations while driving, which is amazing because I hate driving.

The most important revelation that I've made is if I love writing, choreographing, and dancing so much, why is this not my job? If these are my dreams why am I not doing them? I would do these things for free. I would love to do these things forever.

Then there is my present dilemma. I have a dope opportunity to perform in the bay, but I would be spending at least a month in a half there for rehearsal and preparing for thanksgiving. This would be fine because I'm not working, but I wonder if this would the defeat the purpose of me moving down here in the first place.

I could use the company, the time, and the creativity. I need to sit on this. Shit I have the time.

Mama Ying's Marinara

Today I started to feel homesick. I've been living on my own for the past ten years, but my parent's home was always an hour away.

A couple of things went through my head. Why am I here and what the hell am I going to do with this idle time? As my thoughts raced to frantically put a life plan together, I started to miss home.

A Saturday could easily be filled with shopping with my mom, doing laundry while watching True Blood or Entourage, and then later eating dinner with my family.

Today's Saturday was not that Saturday. I'm very far away from home, so in order to get over the loneliness I decide to cook my mom's food.

Most Filipino kids miss their mom's adobo, but I think I make Chicken adobo better than my mom ;)

However, her pasta marinara recipe is my absolute favorite. It's the only recipe that I needed to know before I left for college. It's a base sauce to make pasta, eggplant parmigiana, lasagna, and all other dishes not Filipino!

She makes a marinara that's better than most restaurants that will charge you $23 for it. This recipe should cost you about $5, depending on how the quality of your ingredients. If she makes like a bucket of this, I can eat it for a whole week, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Roma tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, basil, and salt is all you need. Oh, wait. Add about a tablespoon of butter. I learned this from an Anthony Bourdain episode. The butter is the game changer, and if you have buffalo mozzarella. Take some pieces that sexiness and put it in.

Ying Marinara : Serves 2

8 Roma tomatoes

5 Basil leaves

5 Cloves of Diced Garlic

Tablespoon of butter

Palmful of salt

Enough Olive Oil to coat the pan

Boil the tomatoes for about 30 seconds. When you take the tomatoes out of the water rinse them with cool water, and peel the skin off. Take your peeled tomatoes and put them in a large bowl. With your own bare hands squeeze those tomatoes like your are squeezing a big pair of boobies. After you are done it should look more like a sauce with not a lot of lumps in it.

Dice your garlic and saute them in your olive oil for about a minute. Pour your tomato sauce in. Let it simmer for about ten minutes. Add your salt, and feel free to add more if you want. Tear your basil leaves into little bits and then throw in into the pan. Let it simmer for another then minutes.

As soon as your pasta is almost cooked add that tablespoon of butter. Take your noodles after they have been boiled to al dente and then add them to the sauce. Mix your noodles and your sauce for about a minute or two and then add your cheese. Keep stirring till the cheese is melted.

Enjoy :)

Ma-ART-Te

A Couple of Rules

Never forget where you are from


Call upon your kin when times are rough


No matter, and I mean no matter.... where you are at.... Hennessey in the drink of choice.

DJ Z-Trip

I'm at my very first tailgate party. I'm slightly overwhelmed. Almost every single inch of grass outside of the Rosebowl is covered in Blue and Yellow in honor of the UCLA Bruins.

Upon my arrival to Lot H. I notice the sleek amps and turn tables. There was already a buzz and I knew that my first tailgate party was going to be one of the most memorable.

I was asked to interview DJ Z-Trip on camera, and I sheepishly said yes. Not wanting to look like a fool amongst the musically savy, I googled his name on my iPhone.

When I saw words such as "Pioneer", "America's Best DJ", and not to mention his work on the video game DJ hero, I looked at my cohort and asked if I could hold the camera instead.

I actually just wanted to witness the magic. Gridiron football is not in my bloodstream, but dancing is. In a crowed where the demographic couldn't be any different, I was curious to know what America's Best DJ was going to play.

From the UCLA Bruins fight song, to Nirvana, to DJ Khaled, he managed to have a song for every single person on that grass. For four hours we had everyone on the grass hopping like it was a club. Opposing Stanford fans even managed to trickle in and freak one another. It was madness, it was beautiful, he did exactly was a great DJ does. He keeps everyone dancing. It's one of those things that is not by accident, he just knows exactly what he needs to play.

Free beer. Free food. Lots of sweat. The Mash Up King stole the show.

After my crew interviewed him. I reached up to give him a high five. Looking slightly confused for a minute, he smiled and connected with me. It was a most excellent Saturday afternoon.

LA Lost

I woke up this morning at 3AM to a couple fucking. They were super loud and obnoxious. It wasn't even gross. You know, like that college awkward gross? It was just funny.

All of the apartment complexes are close together, and there was this collective neighborhood reaction that took place that was beyond hilarity. I heard different sound systems playing music from other apartments to drown out the moaning. I heard dogs barking, people laughing, and tenants upstairs stomping back and forth in frustration and anger.

I could already tell from the sound of it, that this couple wasn't cute. I'm almost positive that they are fat. I've lived with a fat couple before. I know what fat sex sounds like. On top of that. I know what fat and ugly sex sounds like.

I swear to God if I had to work in the morning it would have been a problem.

The inner bitch would have came out and I would have walked up there and said, "Hey I really hate to get in the way of your fucking, but can you please keep it down?"

Then I realized, shit, I live in THAT LA apartment. I have that urban life now, and the safe and quiet confines of my perfect SF Noe Valley neighborhood is no more. I wake up the sounds of sirens, children, dogs, really bad music, and on top of that FAT UGLY SEX.

In the mornings I miss breathing that crisp SF air. I miss my cute and quaint neighborhood where my bank, my groceries, and even my clothes could all be purchased on one street. I miss my cat, my family, and my friends. Ha, notice I didn't say boyfriend? Please, hold back your surprise.

I only miss having a boyfriend when I can't find my car.

There are only two reasons why I need a boyfriend and they have nothing to do with sex. I need someone to find my car and most likely I will not feel like driving it. So aside from finding the vehicle that I don't feel like driving, I love a man that will just drive me anywhere.

The joy of riding shotgun with my arm hanging out the window is immense.

I've had the realization that aside from my longest relationship, I'm not sure which of my boyfriends I was actually in love with. Was I actually in love with them, or was I in love with the idea that our dreams and lifestyles could be aligned? Why is that so important to me?

What is a lifestyle anyway?

Sometimes I wish I was that organizing savage. I'm always envious of that kick ass Asian admin at work, that can predict that her boss wants her to label his tupperware before he even says it. She's the one with best notes and the only person in the room that anyone can rely on. She is that Asian yes girl and could quite possibly be as spineless as a worm, but you know exactly what kind of woman I'm talking about. She can make anything in order. I wish I had my life in order.

I long for years and a future where I'm no longer drowning in my own confusion. I hope to fall in love with man, who will not drive me to move away from everything that I love.

Welcome to LA bootch.

Kick Rocks. Deuces.

I'm moving to Los Angeles today. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I've returned from New York.

I'm tired and anxious.

I'm want to this move smooth and precise as possible. I'm afraid of the uhaul that I'm about to drive for eight hours, and all this crap I have to unload once I get there.

I'm also anxious that I'm not going to be happy in L.A. What if all these issues come up ten fold.

Well, we just have to do it Christina. People do this all the time. It's time for us to move.

Goodbye San Francisco. I will not miss your ridiculously condensed neighborhoods of tryhards that attempt subculture like a fad. Or your Boigie liberals that vote democrat, but are racist in every aspect of the word. I will not miss your feeble attempt to even address the amount of poverty that takes place in this city. I will not miss your walking dead. The ones who are used to be beautiful, but your drug rehabilitation efforts suck as much as the Non Profit I used to work for. You are a bunch of assholes for the way you treat our youth. Killers. You are letting them kill each other, as we hide in this fallacy that SF is a friendly city.

The ghost of Christina will always be here. Trust me.

SF is no friend of mine, and I'm going to a land of even more vast hypocrisy.

Lets try. If it doesn't work. We'll come back. We can fall in love again.

New York 2010

New York is like the High School quarterback that I can't talk to. I'm intimidated.

It has everything and it's slept with everyone. I want to be tuff enough for it, because I love it.

I've had the opportunity to go every year since 2006. So fucking splendid.

I've been here for six days and I've barely posted anything. There's been no time.

I love my girls. We have been killing the shit out of this trip, and it's been wonderful.

Camaradas el Barrio 11:00 PM Mondays

Last night was the night I've always wanted to have in New York. I've always wanted to have one of those NYC dance nights that explained exactly why Hip Hop originated in New York.

I got exactly that at Camaradas el Barrio in East Harlem.

We are on our way to the city from the metro north and Chelle mentions that Bobbito is spinning in East Harlem. My eyes perked up and there was no question of where we were going. WE ARE GOING TO EAST HARLEM.

Starting at twelve years old I was an avid reader of Vibe magazine, and of course I always enjoyed Bobbito's column "Ask Bobbito." His recomendations and lists were a channel for me, and I wanted to dance to his set, in his element, with his folks, and in his hood.

I've seen him in SF spinning for huge parties such as Wonderfull and Soul Slam, but he was at arms length and I geeked out. He still uses records. We are in a room with no more than 20 people and I feel like I'm in the best party in the world.

I'm not a music expert by any means. I'm sort of accidentally in the know of things, and my relationship with music has always been in sync with dance. There is a difference when you dance to a top 40 hit versus dancing to a classic. It's that feeling in dance that I always describe as the meeting of sex, prayer, and happiness.

Latin, Nu-Jazz, Afro-beat, Rare Funk, Sweet Soul, Progressive Hip Hop, Soulful House, Roots, Ballad was on the menu. Me and my girls were obviously out of place, but we took up the dance floor without sitting down for a good three hours. My limited salsa experience served me well, as men spun me around multiple times........ drunk.

I was happy as a clam, sweating like I just got out of the gym, and drunk as a skunk.

"I love it when you come to SF Bobbitto!"

He hella didn't hear me. He just smiled at me.

That's fine :)