Postseason BaesBall.

It’s been forever since I posted pics, so I figured a visual update of my postseason would be a nice way to reintroduce them. Obviously, I’ve been busy. And quote honest – nervous. Us Giants fans have been spoiled, and I don’t like the idea of making it this far and not winning it all. I loved my Giants before 2010, and will regardless. I’d just love to celebrate come Game 6/7 instead of mourn.

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Not Today.

I never did fully recover from my slip on Day 11.

Today, I couldn’t even say “I love you” in the mirror without crying. Imagine that. No, really – imagine it. Before you say, “It’s easy” or “You’re just going through a phase” or “It could be worse”. Before you doubt my struggle, imagine feeling so small and insignificant that the idea of simply loving yourself  or at least lying about it in the mirror, seemed so impossible that you couldn’t say the words escape without tears chasing after them. 

Do not tell me to stop being a victim. I know I am not a victim. I am fully aware that I am in the position and mindset that I’m in as a direct result of my words, my thoughts and my actions. I am blaming no one but myself. I am bruised. Some of the blows self-inflicted. And I definitely don’t help the healing process. I am in critical condition, but I will get up and start over again. Just not today.

Today, I don’t want to think about tomorrow. 

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Day 11.

Eleven days ago I made the decision to be kind to myself. After much apprehension, I decided to take the corny, but positive route by writing motivational  quotes on post-its as reminders ala Being Mary Jane. I bought green, yellow and blue post-its and even a pack of roller gel pens. I wrote some of my favorite quotes on individual post-its, placed them over my headboard, and hoped for the best. 

The following morning I had a complete meltdown. I grabbed all five post-its, ripped them apart and threw them in the trash. I sat on the floor and cried into my knees. I felt ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Most of all, not enough. While all my friends were enjoying the beautiful San Francisco weather, I was in the back of my moms car on our way to Napa tearing myself apart. I was ashamed, my mom was pissed and my grandfather who I should’ve been spending quality time with was confused. 

When I got home the next day, I went straight to my room, wrote on a new post-it, and stuck it on the now barren wall above my headboard. It read: I am enough. Then, I went to the Marina to watch Game 2 of the NLCS agains the Cardinals. We lost, but when I came home that night I wrote 5 things I was grateful for. To be completely honest, I felt like an idiot. I felt weak for feeling so helpless, and desperate that I had to turn to positive affirmations and post-its. But I had to convince myself that in actuality, I was being strong for trying control of my life. I had to tell myself that doing this wasn’t anymore stupid that me belittling myself everyday.

On the 7th day I texted two of my friends and let them know it had been a week since I last said something mean to myself. An entire fucking week. I sound silly don’t I? It’s just a week, but for someone that couldn’t go an hour without calling herself stupid, worthless, and not good enough, it felt like a month. I kept up with the ritual, and even looked in the mirror and told myself “I love you” every morning. I was on a roll. Until today.

I was having a text conversation with a friend of mine, and I slipped. I said something negative about myself. It wasn’t as bad as I used to be, but I still broke my rule. As soon I sent the text, I sighed knowing I would have to start all over again. I made breakfast, watched some TV and did the dishes. Then, I looked back up at the post-its I would have to take down in order to start over and thought to myself: WellI guess I’ll just have to start over. 

I’ll start over, and I’ll do better. 

And that’s the difference between me 12 days ago, and me today. Starting over wasn’t an option for me 12 days ago, because I would’ve never even thought to start.  


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Where the Wild Things Are.

Editor’s Note: I am not a sports aficionado, I just love the San Francisco Giants and (sadly) believe that baseball should be about the love for the game more than the business.

As if the “hate” against my beloved San Francisco Giants wasn’t apparent enough, I went ahead and read an ESPN article titled, “Welcome to the Worst World Series Ever” by David Schoenfield. Then, because I’m an emotional cutter I read a Forbes article by Tom Van Riper titled “Boring San Francisco Giants Threaten World Series Ratings – Again”. It’s been four years since the first wave of hate surfaced and the cringeworthy voice of Joe Buck reared its ugly head, so you would think I’d be immune to the naysayers. But I can only take so much.

Even this article was hard for me to write. I had to really take a moment to rid myself of all my overprotective mom emotions in an attempt to write objectively. Let’s just say I did the best I could. I can’t help but wonder if those who agree with Schoenfield have been watching the same games as I have. I can only assume these are the same people who only enjoy sex in missionary position. For me it’s been the most exciting post-season that I can remember. I say this impartially because I even watched other teams play – I never do that. Hell, I even paid attention to some of the Dodgers and A’s games. You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. 

I didn’t watch the A’s vs Royals game where Kansas City won the Wildcard spot, but it only took one solid scroll through my Facebook feed and two text messages to wish I did. Apparently, it was one of the best baseball games one could ever watch. One ABC news writer even titled their artcle “Royals Beat A’s 9-8 in AL Wild-Card Thriller”. Just in case you’re not familiar, Merriam-Webster defines thriller as:

noun \ˈthri-lər\: a novel, movie, etc., that is very exciting : a story full of exciting action, mystery, adventure, or suspense

Continue reading

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The Man With No Homegirls.

I’ve always been one of the boys. I was raised by older male cousins, didn’t fuck (or even date) any of the homies in high school, and was always the homegirl that got invited to “Boys night out” in college. Even now, you can find me grabbing dinner or going shopping with one of my homies. This is why I never cared if the man I was dating had a gang of homegirls. Why would I? I AM one of those homegirls.

One of my homies recently told me that the girl he was dating was a little concerned that he had so many girl friends. I totally get it. My friend is tall, has his shit together, dresses well, is cultured, articulate, funny, and an overall likable person. It also doesn’t help that his homegirls are awesome and gorgeous lol. What I wish I could tell her though, was his homegirls have BEEN his homegirls and will still be just his homegirls even if the two of them don’t work out.

I also wanted to tell her that you shouldn’t worry about the man with homegirls. You should worry about the man with NO homegirls. More than likely, there’s a very good reason for it.

The man with no homegirls can’t have homegirls for several reasons. For some men, there is no point in hanging out with a female unless he’s trying to date her or fuck her. It’s not to say that women don’t make good friends, it’s just them being realistic. For some, it’s hard to consistently hang out with a person of the opposite sex without gaining either feelings or a physical attraction towards them. If the man with no homegirls suddenly has one, you may have reason to be concerned.

Having said that, do I believe it’s impossible for men and women to be friends? Not at all, but with the very rarest of exceptions, one of those involved has liked or does like the other person. I know men who would never make a move on their “homegirl” but would still push the pedal to the metal if given the GO. For the most part, men and women are only friends, because one of them keeps it that way. I know this from experience.

So if you’re dating a man with homegirls, you should feel relieved. They will more than likely be YOUR voice of reason when he’s being unreasonable. Regardless of how  many girl friends he has, remember he wanted YOU to be his girlfriend.

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The Hunt For Orange October.

September baseball is nearing its end, and the hunt for orange October is upon us. This means I will be drinking a lot more than usual, and once again blabbering away about my beloved SF Giants. As you know, I love them. Basketball is my sport, but the SF Giants is my team.

I was watching a game recently where Brandon Crawford made a hit that was a turning point in the game. It was followed by Kruk and Kuip commentary about how Barry Bonds guest coached the team every now and then, and gave Crawford tips that seemed to be effective. As a left handed batter, Crawford ideally wants to keep his shoulder close at bat. However, he tends to open it up towards first base when he’s struggling. Bonds pointed this out and offered tips that he applied during that game I was watching.


Baseball tips and techniques are nothing new, nor are they particularly exciting. But for some reason, hearing that Bonds/Crawford story struck a chord in me. I’ve been obsessed with technique since going to the driving range for the first time and reading Phil Jackson’s Eleven Rings, so forgive me for sounding cheesy, but I thought the Bonds/Crawford story was beautiful. Almost poetic. I’ve always found it fascinating that a simple finger position or flick of your wrist, could command a baseball to be thrown a specific way.

All in all, it’s little things like this that make me LOVE sports so much. I’m even growing to appreciate baseball more and more. I’d just love it even more if we made it to October.

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In Loose Lips Sink Ships, I write about how friendships are just like any other relationship you have; you must maintain and respect it in order for it to flourish. I also write about how it’s not uncommon for friendships to take the backseat the second a romantic relationships starts. Unfortunately for some, friends aren’t even invited along for the ride once a significant other hops in the car.

They say that real friends are people you can not talk to for months, yet pick up right where you left off when you meet again. But they failed to mention that effort and intent still need to be present. I get it. Life gets busy. With work, school, family, hobbies, health, projects, deadlines, and everything else in between, it’s understandable for people to get out of touch. But if Beyonce can do it, then so can you.

As a single female, it’s hard for me to weigh in on the matter without seeming jealous, overprotective, greedy, or bitter. I’ve never alienated myself from friends just because I had a boyfriend, but maybe that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend. In an effort to sympathize, not saying anything at all has been my only compromise. 

It’s no secret that I love love. Especially the selfless, respectful, unconditional love that my friends have found. And I understand that things change once you have a boyfriend, or get married, or have kids. However, this change shouldn’t warrant abandoning your friends. Especially when your friends have been the one constant in your life.

If the friendship is real, a relationship shouldn’t break it up. I just can’t help but think of when Rach said “Friendships are relationships too”. And the one that I’m currently in is similar to that of a couple trying to reconcile after one has been cheated on. Sometimes, it’s just so far gone that no matter what you do, things just aren’t the same.

Photo courtesy of Kayak Kevin

Photo courtesy of Kayak Kevin

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