Grieving Really Extreme

It's been a shiteous week. This past Wednesday I took the GRE and I straight FUBAR'ed that shit. If I took the test with my eyes closed, I probably would have gotten the same score. Remember that feeling you had as a kid whenever you got lost in a store?

You're choked up and confused, with no idea where you are supposed to be. There I was, in an air conditioned room, with a frozen face, and forgetting every single thing I studied for the past four and a half months.

My stomach was grumbling and my head was spinning. I had ten very difficult math questions left with only five minutes on the clock. I guessed the shit out of a section that I probably could have passed if I had more time.

I completed my test, my score was calculated, and I exited my station. The test site receptionist politely asked, "How did you do Christina?"

"Not so well," I replied.

"Oh." Silence.

I walked to my car and cried like someone had shot my puppy and ate it in front of me. A black civic parks next to me and I hear a girl frantically state, " I just want to get this over with!" I put on my shades I cried in a fetal position, because I didn't want my sobbing to ruin her moral.

To say that I'm taking this really hard, is very, super true. I've spent the rest of the week and weekend in my living room, with the shades closed watching Breaking Bad. I've been snappy, irritable, and fragile. My room mate has been delicate in approaching me, and I don't blame him.

I don't know why this is such a hard hit. Well actually, I do know. This time last year I was in a really bad place, which subsequently resulted in my big move to Los Angeles. In the past year I've thrown myself into a fury of self-improvement that would make Tony Robbins proud of me.

As my mom would say, "It's just a fucking test Christina." After I started laughing, she did mention that it was admirable that it was so important to me.

Yes, I know. For some reason it was really important to me. However, as I've learned if something is really important to you, than it takes even more patience and drive to achieve it. I'm taking a month off to give my brain a rest. In three months I'm going to take the test again.

Patience is a beautiful virtue that I wasn't born with, hence why I have to learn it the hard way. Any dream takes an investment. Dreaming about it is the easy part. Working for it is going to take some pain. Oh lord oh mighty let the pain come.

January 2011

When I was still in Asia a part of me was eager to get home, because I had a lot of goals that I wanted to accomplish. Now that I'm back here in LA I need to fight laziness and fatigue to get from point A to point B.

I've decided that my phase of intense alone time is over. I'm actually going to find a way to socialize more in Los Angeles. I want to enjoy this city as much as I can, because I don't know where I'm going to be living in the next 6 months.

I'm an adult/kid. I go as I please. I'm here I'm there. Catch me if you can. I'm hardly as glamorous as those Kardashians, but I have a self confidence that I haven't had in a minute. I catch myself playing with hair and feeling cute. Every girl should feel that way, and men get in the way of that sometimes.

As each of my friends are moving up in their careers and having kids, I'm only responsible for myself. I suppose when I'm old I will look on this moment with a lot of relief, that I took this time for myself.

Three years ago I was working full time adult cohabiting with my college boyfriend. I was on top of bills, cooking, and a kick ass credit score. I was in my ultimate adultness. I think all of the girls my age are following an imaginary blueprint, but if the blueprint was enough. I would still be on the wifey track to super adultness

I miss being a hyphey wifey. Although I'm the fun single chick in a sea of couples ALL the time, it sucks to be dancing by yourself when all your girls are dancing with their boyfriends. I can only dance with "George Glass" my imaginary boyfriend for so long. *me doing my awkward robot* However, I've finally broken my pattern of being the serial dater/monogamous.

You know in Eat, Pray, Love when God told Liz to go back to bed. God whispered to me...."You cannot be a hyphey wifey right now." It's a relief to breathe and finally hear myself for once.

Woes aside, dating is not ideal right now. Five months ago it was a choice that I made out of anger from being betrayed. I'm focused on myself to get to where I need to go. I wish I would have taken more risks when I first graduated from college, and I'm doing that right now.

The first step was school. When I got home I immediately enrolled in the UCLA extension writing program. It was recommended by another mentor in Writegirl. It's my first college class in five years, and I'm looking forward to extending my writing community. It will also help me in developing a manuscript for grad school applications.

The second step is an internship, which hasn't been fully executed yet. I'm trying to expand my skill set so I'm looking at different opportunities. If there is an opportunity to follow Lindsey Lohan get her cocaine, and she hires me to brush it off her nose. Then I'll take it!

Bad joke I know. Jokes aside Boothebootch has been a great release to me. I never thought blogging would be therapeutic, but it sure saves a lot of money! The blog has grown with a lot of trial and error, but I think I've found my blogging style. I've been through the self loathing phase, the bitchy phase, the preachy phase, and the silly phase. All these phases have entertained friends, lovahs, and god knows who else.

Happy New Year to Boothebootch and to all you other bootches out there! Lets keep laughing.

Japan 2011

I'm back in Los Angeles now, and I've been meaning to catch up on the blogging. My last Asia trip has left me speechless, but I just needed to get back home and put things into perspective.

It's time to talk about Japan.

Japan is this magical place. As my dad would put it you walk around the city and you "feel like a kid again," because you get so distracted with everything that is around you.

Being in Tokyo was the polar opposite of being in Manila. It's a well operated and uniformed society. Unlike Manila, you see very few children. Japan has a really low birth rate, which may be the lowest in the world. Instead you see a swarm of fashionable adults, who are constantly shopping, eating, and commuting.

It is a society where everything happens in the most meticulous order, therefore making it really easy for foreigners to get around. If was a relief for a control freak spaz like myself.

What I couldn't control was my wallet, but I didn't go as hog wild this time. The last time I went to Tokyo it took me a whole to pay the trip off, which included my materialistic purchases.

The top three splurges was a sweatshirt at Bathing Ape, a baseball jacket at the Nike Store Tokyo, and a couple of items from Jeanasis. That's it, but my wallet is still hurting.

If you are an Asian fashion bootch it's very easy to get sucked into the fashion monsoon that is Tokyo. You feel constantly under dressed, and the urge to buy really great clothes just compels you like a demon.

On top of that everything fits you.... perfectly. Well almost perfectly. My thick ass thighs didn't even dare try to put on any pants. I'm just saying.

My cousin and I wanted our wallets to take a break from hurting itself, so we were looking up Tokyo tours online, and we found the Tokyo Ghost and Goblins Tour. It was only $30 U.S. dollars and we got to see some of the spookiest places in Tokyo.

It was one of the most interesting tours I've ever taken. Our tour guide was American, but has been living in Tokyo for the past 25 years. We visited various shrines that honor magical creatures. In the picture to the left I'm standing next to the Kappa Shrine, which is a shrine dedicated to magical Frogs, who like to pull women into a river and have their way with them. LOL.

We went to the cemetery tomb of the Japanese artist Hokusai, who is famous for his painting "The Great Wave off Kanagawa"

The creepiest place she took us to was "Old Hags Pond." I'm not sure what the Japanese translation for this is, but it's a site of a really famous serial murder. The picture is below.

As the story goes, there was this old woman who owned a hotel and she had a beautiful daughter who would stand outside to lure men.

Apparently the girl would lure in these men to have sexy time, and after they went to sleep the mother would push a big ass bolder from above and crush them.

How did the old woman get this big ass boulder above the bed after she was done?

Any smart person would agree that there are holes in this story, but the tourguide told us that apparently this woman had killed 999 people. Then there was this handsome man who apparently got the pretty daughter excited in her panties.

When it was time for the old woman to push the boulder on the pretty man, she crushed her pretty daughter's face instead. Her daughter was her 1,000th victim. The woman was so distraught she drowned herself in the lake, and what's left of the lake is a pound around the monument. AAAH!

My cousin Marc thinks that this story is a crock of shit. However, there is a freaking monument with a pond so that the ghosts of the dead boulder men do not wander around the city.

The ghosts apparently cannot separate themselves from water, so there you go.

What's even creepier is that there is children's playground next to the pond which is to the left. I suppose every culture has their set of tales, and this one definitely creeped me out.

It will definitely be a long time before I go to Tokyo again. After my last trip which was two years ago, I made it a point to watch "Lost in Translation." I felt that I would have a better appreciation for the movie this time.

It's really easy to feel out of place here. For people who are looking to travel to Japan, it helps to pick up a few Japanese phrases. If you didn't do your homework, what usually helped was a notebook and a map. I would usually write down places that I wanted to go, and people were kind enough to direct me where I needed to go.

Although I feel really out of place when I'm in Japan, I appreciate how kind Japanese people are. It doesn't matter to me whether it's fake or not, it's appreciated. The more you travel you realize that you simply a speck of dust. My trip to the Philippines and Japan brought me the best quality time I've had with my family in a really long time.

I had to part with my Bestie/Cousin Marc and I HATED it. We traveled together in both the Philippines and Japan. What am I going to do without him?I feel so bad that I relied on him to be my translator and gps, because my ditsy ass could barely make my way out of the hotel much less around Manila or Tokyo.

I'm grateful that he was able to stand seeing my face everyday for three whole weeks. We put up with food poisoning, colds, and mental breakdowns together. However, he and I are pretty in sync in terms of traveling interests and now he's GONE! WAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!

We will find ourselves together again, although it's usually half way around the world. He is now back in Australia and we have resumed our usual schedule of Gchats and facebooking.

I didn't cry when we parted like the panzie that I am, because I cried a week before. I cried when my mom noted that Marc really takes care of me. My mom had to tell me to stop crying because we were in the middle of a department store.

I'm getting teary as I am typing this and always wish that Marc didn't live in a faraway neverland called Australia. He is the best travel companion a bootch could ask for. Everyone loves Marc and there is no reason not to. I miss you bestie. It was a great trip wasn't it :)

Philippines 2011

I just got back from the Philippines. This is the fourth attempt to write a proper entry and I can't seem to finish it.

I don't know what to say. Every time I think about Manila I have very mixed emotions, and they are actually really extreme. I either want to throw a tantrum or start an advocacy organization.

I want to adopt every child, every dog, and every cat and start a sanctuary. I want to be aligned with my family and not feel such a disparity in our opinions. I truly want to understand this crazy ass place that is my ancestral home.

I think for the sake of my own sanity, I will let the feelings be. My opinions about the Philippines are not right or wrong. I felt what I felt.

I'm simply not Filipino enough for the Philippines. That's okay. I'm arguably Filipino enough here.

Despite how I feel about the Philippines as a society or my culture. I truly love being Filipino. The Philippines has one of the most inspiring and fearless histories of any colonized country. Filipinos survive in any predicament that they are given starting at a very young age. The importance of family is stressed in the simple nuances of daily life, and it made me appreciate why it is my family is so close. As the U.S. continues in a self centered culture, Filipinos will always exist in a tribe.

I don't know what my connection to Manila will be from this point on. I would only go back to do some sort of work if the opportunity arose. I'm not sure what that could be, but I don't think I can vacation there ever again. I need a purpose.

Gobble Gobble

I always find a way to feel fat and miserable around this time of the year. The conversation around weight will always fly out of someone's mouth and I have to counsel myself for the next hour.

"You know these are YOUR genes that I have?"

This conversation puts me through puberty all over again, and I don't have enough snarky comments to combat childhood ingrained insecurities. Am I the only that checks my stomach and thighs after Thanksgiving? Fuck this shit I don't want to do it anymore.

All my life I've been rewarded or praised for losing weight. It's something that I never want to do to my daughter. I'm trying to stop to habit of noticing when someone loses weight, because I know that I am toying with someone's self worth.

Right now my self image is the healthiest that it's ever been. For once in my life I'm not weight obsessed, but old habits die hard. There will be no yo yo diet this year. I will eat what I want and I will not exercise out of guilt. This is the best new year's resolution I've ever had.

I promise to enjoy my worth.

Come join me.

Relief

It's lonely being angry.

Earlier today I read my posts from the past week, and I see that I was all over the place. Like someone took a bag of marbles from my brain and just spilled them all over the floor.

I used to carry a lot of anger towards myself, because I had shown that I was easy to manipulate. I have a tendency to trust terrible people, therefore all of it is my fault.

So I'm now obsessed with Yoga. Yoga either attracts the obnoxiously peaceful or the emotional train wrecks like myself. I don't brag that I do Yoga, because it implies that I can afford the ridiculous prices, and I am a crunchy granola yuppy. Well, I'm actually a crunchy granola hipster, because I only go to the $5 classes!

This pose that I'm doing this picture, is an advanced version of a pose that is really hard. It requires a certain amount of strength and a lot of men can't do it. Two months ago there was was no way I could have balanced my foot onto my leg. I could barely hold myself up. My arm would shake, as if a bridge was about to break. I would get very frustrated and I would literally cuss at the pose. If you want to know what angry yoga sounds like, set your mat next to mine

When I first started doing Yoga I carried a lot of anguish when I came into class, and I would power through the poses as if it were circuit training. Many yoga classes end with Shavasana which offers time to feel the effects of your practice and to rest as you lie down on your mat for 5 to 10 minutes. In my first class I cried during Shavansana. All of sudden the tension that I had carried for the past five years was released, and I had no pride or ego to hold it in. Of course I had to do it silently so I didn't look like a freak. Before anyone had a chance to open their eyes I wiped my eyes and I scurried out the door. Maybe I was crying because I was so glad the class was over ;)

The Shavansana is the most interesting concept in Yoga, because you are training your body to rest. You put your body through a lengthy and tortuous session and it is now to time to reflect. This contradicts many aspects of how Americans view exercise. We exercise to look good, and that's it. There is not time to rest when you have too look good.

My time in Los Angeles has been a two month Shavansana. Once you rest and reflect on your practice it will get better over time. My life practice has been very scattered, but it was because I was forcing it to be linear.

When I finally got this pose I felt like a beam of light was shooting from my ribs. My arm was solid and rooted to the ground, and my foot came up my leg so effortlessly, as if I was dancing. In Yoga as it is in life, you can master something, and then become challenged with something else.

I wish the rules were different. It wouldn't be called practice if it all came easy.

The Year of the Planner

As I began my statement of purpose this morning, I felt my breath pacing in that very worrisome way that I hate.

The only voice that I could hear in my head was "I am not going to get accepted to any of these programs." If I ask teachers to write me letter of recommendation, I'm going to be wasting their time. I started to cry in front of my computer.

It was more than doubt meeting insecurity, it was a reality check. I realized that I'm running a race for the Olympics when I didn't train all year. There is no way I'm going to win.

I just dawned on me that I was laid off of my job just four months ago, and I've been living in Los Angeles for two months. How the hell am I'm going to turn in MFA worthy writing in a month? I have the talent to write things quickly, but I cannot "wing" a manuscript in a month. I have a year to be in Los Angeles. I can use this year wisely so for next year's applications, so I don't feel so unprepared. If I take my time I can have enough to show that I'm a writer. My blog doesn't exactly show that I'm a great candidate for a MFA program in writing.

I've applied to grad school twice and I did not get in, but it's taken me a long time to realize why. In the past, I would hastily pick a program, in hopes that I would get in and escape my monotonous life in San Francisco. I was also using grad school as a means please my parents, because I wanted to show them that I could become more than a poor social worker. This is not to discredit the work that social workers do. It's an incredible and rewarding job. However, truth be told it can long and miserable place to be, because there is a ridiculous lack of support.

You need to be a special person to make it your life's purpose. I will always be socially and politically engaged in everything that I do, but I couldn't continue on the path that I was on. It was becoming destructive. I was starting to hate service. This not the trait of a good human.

Why have I chosen writing? It's the only thing that I'm remotely good at. I would do it in my sleep, and I would do it for free. It's a skill that is mine, and I don't have to share it with anyone, but it needs a lot of work. I need to write more and I need to get published. Things do do include refreshing my grammar and language, expand my range in writing, and to read more.

I'm great at planning when I am accountable to other people, but when it comes to myself I don't think I've ever planned beyond a week. So here it is. My plan is to take classes here in Los Angeles for the rest of the year. If all works out well, I can move NYC by September and continue to take classes and write. By December of next year, I will not be so ill prepared for the Olympics. I will take this year to train.

Inspired by Samarai, Miyamoto Musashi, I'm in a process of letting things go of what I know and just be.

Write Girl

A couple of weeks ago I picked up a flyer from a coffee shop. "Mentor a girl in Creative Writing."

It was a sign of all signs, and it was in tune with a lot of the things I want to accomplish here in LA. I procrastinated on turning in the application, but when I finally did they got back to me promptly.

When I received an email that I had to attend a five hour training, I immediately found myself not enthused about committing. Keep in mind I've been slightly shield from anything related to my previous field of work for the past three months, and I figured that I would never have anything to do with mentoring or non profit ever again.

I hate to admit that when I went into Saturday's training slightly hung over, and I knew that this was going to make the training significantly longer and already felt myself dragging. I coordinated my own mentoring trainings in my previous job and I didn't understand why this had to be so freaking long. ARGH why is this thing 5 hours????????

My mopey face turned into a huge smile when I walked into the room and I see at least thirty women. I was so shocked and I felt this sense of excitement that I hadn't felt since I first joined Bindlestiff (My theatre collective). They had accepted women from all writing genres from blog writing, screenwriting, technical writing, non fiction, etc.

I felt like I just walked into the mentoring program that I've wanted to run.

I saw this magnificent team of really great women, who were so committed to this program they volunteer about 30 hours a month. They were not begrudged with the miserable rigmarole of working with at risk youth and even stupider people that reside in non profit.

I signed up for weekly mentoring sessions with my own girl. I have to come up with writing exercises with her, and help her with her homework. I'm also obligated to attend monthly trainings with all the other mentors/mentees. Whenever I would get a new person to be a mentor for my previous job, they would all say the same thing. "I hope my mentee likes me." I find myself saying that now, and I sincerely hope that they don't run away at the first sight of me.

Please check out Write Girl :D

Namaste Bootch

For the past three weeks I've been a beast. A namaste beast.

Note the highschool sweatshirt and nanay duster dress I'm wearing. Yes this is what I wear around the house.

My workout regimen consists of mostly yoga and jogging. I found a yoga studio near my house that has $5 yoga hour. The classes are great considering how cheap they are. I've always wanted to do Yoga on a regular basis. In my old age I want to be a Yogi and a dance instructor, the fact that I can do Yoga five days a week is a blessing.

I've been dancing since I was a kid, so I take my flexibility for granted. When there is a pose that I can't do, I catch myself literally saying "FUCK THIS POSE." Then I look around and make sure none of the peaceful hipsters heard me.

It's been helping at getting my mind right. Coincidentally it's been helping me in my quest to become a runner, because now I can actually get through 30 minutes of jogging without giving up. Last week I ran about seven miles, which is pretty small time. Oh did I mention that I HATE running? You couldn't get me to run anywhere unless there were a pack of tigers chasing me.

Fuck Running. It's boring. Whenever people talk about marathons it's just a bunch of bla bla blahersons to me. Running is not fun and there is no way that I'm jumping on this bandwagon.

Well look what happened. I'm giving it a try. My goal is to run two miles in twenty minutes, and I'm about five minutes away from achieving it. We'll see if there is a marathon in the future. For right now, I'm enjoying the time that I have to work on these two things.

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 :)

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.

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.

Dear San Francisco

Everything of who I am is in this city, but it's time for us to part.

I used to love you. We've been in and out of love for quite a while now.

I can't look over one shoulder anymore. I know you like the back of my hand, and you are so fucking beautiful I would be insane to leave you.

But I have to. It's time.

I promise I will be back. I need a a dream beyond us, but you have provided some of the best experiences I've ever had.

With you, I'm an artist, an activist, a youth advocate, and a best friend.

Why am I now the prodigal daughter?

I have to do this. If not, I will forever be lost in your complications.

Goodbye love. Beautiful Love.

When people show you who they really are. Believe them.

Hotlanta and Last of the Single Girl Travels

The past five months have been a lot of traveling and a lot of kickin it. The best part about being single is ending up in the most random places, and allowing yourself to experience new things. I went on three trips in a four month span, not exactly jet setting status, but the most I've traveled in the U.S. in a short period of time. Every one of those trips was a blast, and it helped in finding my way out of a dark time. If a friend asked me if I wanted to visit or if I wanted to come with, yes came out of my mouth before I even had a chance to blink.

Things are gonna slow down a little. Yesterday I made the decision stop some things in order to live in the present. I'm very optimistic and hopeful with way things are going. It's different to be in a place of hope versus a state of uncertainty.

Atlanta, good southern comfort. Tory our gracious host took us to great places to eat and crunk places to dance. His grandmother's salmon croquettes were a great send off. They flying biscuit restaurant's white cheddar grits were to DIE FOR. I will post more pictures when they arrive. Of course I didn't bring a camera!

Me, Nelson, Jeff, and Tory.

NYC Freewrite Part 1 from 9th Street Espresso East Village

Thursday Night:
I love coming here. This time around I get to spend time with local folks. Michelle and Despo have been kind enough to let me stay at their wonderful condo in Bronxville. Apparently Beyonce and Jay Z have a house that is close by. These two know the key to my heffer heart, as they follow chefs like fashionistas follow designers. They are in the know of what is good to eat, and which restaurant just opened and closed. At a moments notice these two can pick a spot that will fit your palate and your budget. In a town where there is someplace to eat at every corner, I am easily impressed that these two are so in the know.

They took me to Momofuku owned by the famous David Chang. He was featured in an episode of No Reservations, and apparently has a cult following here in NYC. Famous for pan asian dishes without falling in the dreadful category of white washed "fusion" I heard he makes about $300,000 a year on his pork buns alone, which is his most famous dish. Man, once I had a bite. I shook my head. I having a Chinese pork bun made by a Korean and I'm not even mad :) It's that good. His ramen is the closet that I've had since I've been back from Tokyo. He got the flavor and the noodles right. The only thing that was missing was the special hot sauce. Definitely memorable. We went to his bakery after dinner. As if I had any room. His cakes and icecreams are different. Cereal milk flavored soft serve ice cream? It literally tasted like I just finished a bowl of frosted flakes. His chocolate chip cake though... ooooh so good. Yellow cake. YUM. I am now a fan of David Chang.

Friday:
Started with pizza in the Bronx at Jaspers. Flat bread pizza with no sauce. Just garlic and cheese and with herbs, different but yum. Walked around SOHO. Bought a dress that is gonna set me back in my finances, but hey I can't get that dress in SF. Resolution #1 when I get back to SF I need to treat my bank account better. After SOHO went to NYC MOMA which is free on Fridays after 5PM. Ridiculously crowded, but I got to see all of my favorites, Rivera, Kahlo, Warhol, Van Gough, and Matisse. After MOMA went to meet up with my girl Rosa in the East Village. I haven't seen this girl in 6 years, but she is still as energetic and vivacious as the day we first met. I joke that it's weird to see her as this woman with all this sexual magnetism, cussing like a sailor with such New York intensity. Apparently a lot has changed since High School. We met up with two of her friend and walked the shit out of Brooklyn. If one spot didn't work then we went to some other spot or some other bar. Feet were killing. Shots and cocktails numbed the pain for a bit only to wake up with a hug blister. Rosa with her 6 floor walk up and a closet sized bedroom. Interesting night indeed.

Will write more adventures later. Gonna eat some bomb ass arroz con pollo that I saw in the Bobby Flay throwdown episode. When I meet this arroz con pollo. I'm gonna say. Baby I've waiting for you a long time. Lets make love. LOL. As you can tell my mind and body is running on low battery. Lets continue this later.