Dear Abi | girlsarethenewboys.com

Foodie Fridays.

doowaditty — Fri, 17 May 2013 19:30:22 +0000

This is me on the regular, on the days when I’m not toasting at a sports bar, or eating Bon-Chon. When I actually have a kitchen to cook in, and easy access to a grocery store. I used to be all about that life, and then I moved, fell into a slump, and found myself making excuses for things that used to be important to me, because other things (like a fucking job and apartment) took priority. I’m still working on all of the above, but am slowly working on getting my fitness back on track. Not because summer is right around the corner, but because I’m fucking fat.

OK, not fat. But definitely not happy with the current state of my body. For the first time ever, I’m ashamed to wear a bikini. I used to live in those dammit! So I’ve been cutting down on carbs (practically eliminated them all together), and alcohol (exception for date night at Perbacco!). I don’t drink soda anyway, and the only excessive sugar intake I get is in my coffee, so I think I should be OK as long as I keep it up.

Anyway, I follow a few fitness accounts on Instagram including My Healthy Dish and decided to try out a few of her recipes. The first one being mock shrimp and pineapple fried rice with quinoa.

The first time I cooked this, it was pretty meh. I made the mistake of adding the egg to the pan before the quinoa instead of letting it cook first, so it turned into mush. However, I re-heated the mixture the next morning and added another egg (separately cooked) and green onions, and it was deelish!

The other recipe I attempted was stuffed chicken breast, which was yummy but a bit dry. If I were to make it again, I would add more cheese and pesto, and not leave it in as long. I accompanied it with a mashed baked potatoes, and just a little bit of pepper and butter.

Other than that, I’m on Day 14 of the 30 Day Squat challenge you see on my IG account. Now if only I could stop eating fried chicken skin.

Diary Of A Fat, Skinny Girl.

doowaditty — Fri, 17 May 2013 16:00:40 +0000

I’m no health nut by any means, but I’d definitely say I’m one of the healthiest eaters out of all my friends. I’m the weird girl at the bar that orders celery sticks with light ranch dressing, and prefers a sugar-free Red Bull at the club. Somehow, I was born with an affinity for deep fried Oreos as well as an obsession for kale.

If you were to take a tour of my kitchen, you’d probably make a beeline for the nearest gas station or liquor store in dire need of some artificial flavors. I’m actually really good at grocery shopping. I’m not trying to snag the cover of Fitness Magazine, so I don’t go too crazy, but I know what’s good for my body and what isn’t. I’m fine when I’m by myself, but peer pressure is a BITCH.

The other day I get back from Trader Joe’s with my mom, and start unpacking bags of quinoa, almond milk, fresh fruits, and veggies, etc. Then, she dumps two sandwich bags of fried chicken skin on the table right next to my skinless chicken breasts. The irony of it all kills me. Not only that, but it’s accompanied by a small container of vinegar and garlic. My compression pants are just begging to be burned at this point.

I know I just went on and on about being healthy, but fuck some celery sticks! Fried chicken skin is definitely one of my favorite things to munch on while guzzling down a San Miguel. But I mean, who does that? Who prints out recipes from My Healthy Dish.com and goes grocery shopping with me, then slaps me in the face with fried chicken skin? My mom, that’s who. After my fifth piece, I had to tell her to hide it. And she did (challenge accepted!).

As I type this now, careful to not get chicken grease on my keyboard, I’m feeling rather ashamed. But not as ashamed as when I first found the chicken skin a few minutes ago in the very top cabinet over the kitchen counter (nice try mom). You should’ve seen me looking like a fucking crack addict, crouched over on a stool, too excited to get my fix that I totally ignored the bananas and apples screaming, “Noooo, eat me instead!” in front of me. I looked worse than Amanda Bynes’ last Twitpic.

Needless to say, I have a problem. I love fried chicken skin, that’s my fucking problem.

There Is A Light That Shines, Special For You And Me.

doowaditty — Thu, 16 May 2013 19:30:19 +0000

If you’re in San Francisco this Saturday the 18th, you definitely want to check out “Shine: The Inner Light Edition” at 111 Minna for a night of fashion, art, and music. Show starts at 8pm!

Perfect (non)Sense – TBT Post 08.12.10

doowaditty — Thu, 16 May 2013 16:00:00 +0000

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

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

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

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

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

Early In The Morning’s When I Think About You.

doowaditty — Thu, 16 May 2013 03:34:02 +0000

Right before bed too. And sometimes at work. I swear, I need to be neutered.

Mind Over Matter.

doowaditty — Wed, 15 May 2013 16:00:43 +0000

There are only two times right before/during sex when you have my complete and undivided attention: when I’m too obliterated to have a thought, or if I actually like you. Otherwise, my ADD kicks in and I am thinking about anything from when The Walking Dead comes back on, to if I turned off my curling wand at home. Below, are a few things that run through my mind right before your dick runs into my vagina.

The size of your junk. I’m lying. I’m wondering how big (or small) your penis is the minute my mind and vagina agree that you’re attractive. You know how men do the “finger smell” test to determine if the girl they’re about to bang is dirty? Sometimes I like to do a little rub down to see what I’m working with. You might think it’s foreplay, but really, I’m just comparing your dick to the size of my hand. FYI I have tiny hands, so Lord help you.

“Where the fuck are my panties?” One of my favorite parts of foreplay is when a man is sliding off my panties. The part when his hands lightly caress my pelvic bone drives me absolutely wild, so I’m not giving two fucks as to where he flings my panties to. But once the deed is done, it’s like this scene in the Hunger Games where the tributes enter the arena for the very first time and endure a bloodbath just to find their weapons. I NEEDS TO FIND MY DRAWS! We may have just exchanged love juices, but I’m still not trying to have you wake up with my polka-dot panties underneath your pillow.

Pets and roommates. Honestly, I can get over the roommate thing pretty fast. Shit, I’m not embarrassed if they aren’t! I can be loud, but there’s nothing a gag over my mouth can’t fix … not that I’ve ever used one or anything. However, when it comes to pets … I just can’t. It’s a little weird, and a part of me is terrified that they might think we’re wrestling and want to join in on the fun. I used to have a dog, and I treated her like a Princess. One time she came into the room during “business hours,” and it was an instant boner-kill. It’s like fucking in front of your child!

Food. Damn, I knew I was a fat fuck, but I didn’t know just how bad it was until the last guy I banged told me I asked for Kettle Corn during sex. I want to say he’s lying, but judging by his testimony the next morning it sounded legit. After all, Kettle Corn is pretty delicious. It’s sweet, but salty. Hmmm wait a minute …

How I’m getting home in the morning. While you’re putting on a condom, I’m going through my mental rolodex of my best girlfriends aka the bitches who who will pick me up from your house the next day in exchange for brunch and a (hopefully) good story to tell. The last thing I want to worry about is how I’m going to turn my walk of shame dress from the night before, into something appropriate for a 10am bus ride. By the way, if you’re capable of bringing me home and you don’t, then I’m capable of giving you blue balls next time. If there is a next time.

Weekend In Pictures – Mama’s Day Edition.

doowaditty — Tue, 14 May 2013 19:30:16 +0000

On Friday I put on fake lashes for the first time since I got here, and had the ultimate GNO with 3 of my favorite ladies. The night started off with bar bites at O3 and the game, migrated to the club, and resulted with us not sleeping until the sun came up. I was a zombie the rest of the weekend, but still managed to be functional enough to enjoy a Giants win with my mom and brunch at 25 Lusk on mother’s day. Hope everyone had an amazing mother’s day weekend!

Seeing Is Believing.

doowaditty — Tue, 14 May 2013 16:00:12 +0000

P.S. You should totally follow GATNB on Instagram here!

I often wonder what people deduce just by going through my Instagram. Judging by the last 20 or so pictures I posted, any stranger can assume that: I am a sports fan, enjoy the outdoors, am active, love being surrounded by friends, and drink lots of beer. And those closest to me, can confirm this. While a good amount of my life isn’t perpetuated on social media, what you see – is what I got. Should I feel bad if this creates “Instagram envy” amongst those who view my pictures? Fuck no.

However, according to this Relevant Magazine article (and many others) there’s a new epidemic going around town called “Social media envy” that suggests I should. While I see its validity, I refuse to apologize for looking fucking fabulous in a skintight dress while vacationing on an exotic island with my beautiful girlfriends. Posting a picture of it online should be no different, and our lives shouldn’t be judged because if it. Just like my friend Elayne said “Instagram is a curated experience. You highlight what you choose to present”. Why on Earth would you want to highlight negativity?

This might lead some people to fabricate a perfect life, but I rather see fake smiles than pictures of someone attempting to slit their wrist, or crying in the shower. Weren’t we just complaining about people who rant on Twitter and wah on Facebook? Make up your fucking minds people! You can’t please everyone, so you might as well please yourself and post what makes you happy. If that means leaving out the bad stuff, then handle it.

You have to wonder who’s worse, the person who posts a picture of themselves posing at the top of Mission Peak *ahem* lol, or the person who believes they magically appeared there without sweat and struggle? Why would someone post a picture of her and her boyfriend getting into a fight? Why would someone post an ugly picture of themselves? It just amazes me that anyone would think someone has to post something for the gratification of others.

Regardless of what the truth is, the truth is not everyone deserves to see every beautiful, bruised, and imperfect side of you. More than often, the bare face of vulnerability is even more beautiful than your last FOTD photo. All your “followers” will get to see the picture of you popping bottles once you sign that book deal, but the people who were there when you felt too discouraged to even pick up a pen will be IN the picture celebrating WITH you.

We live in a world so saturated by social media that someone else’s success is hard to avoid, but you always have the choice to use it to inspire instead of envy. Why do I follow fitness accounts? To hate fit bitches, duh! But also to collect healthy recipes, and remind myself of how I want my to look and feel.

My life is far from perfect, but what you see in the pictures is real. The smiles, the sunsets, the hugs, the memories – all real. Sometimes, it’s even more fun than it looks. But if you really want to get to know what my interests are, who I be with. Things that make me smile, what numbers to dial. If you want to know the real me, just ask.

Are You That Somebody That I Used To Know?

doowaditty — Mon, 13 May 2013 19:30:16 +0000

Sorry I’m Not Sorry.

doowaditty — Mon, 13 May 2013 16:00:42 +0000

I’ve come to the realization that I’m an asshole. I know, I know – I’m late. Fuck you. I consider myself a good friend, but I’m def not the best person to talk to if you’re looking for some sugar-coated sympathy. I’m not the friend that’s going to be on your side just because we’re friends. I’m not going to pretend like I can’t see past all the bullshit. And I’m not going to tell you to follow your heart when we both know its GPS is broken.

I’m going to be the friend that calls you out on your bullshit, and doesn’t mind you doing the same. I’m going to be the friend that shakes my head at you when you leave GNO to fuck some loser that keeps breaking your heart, but will still pick you up at his house in the morning. I’m going to be the friend that will never approve of a man that obviously doesn’t deserve you, but never wants to see you sad either. I’m going to be the friend that may never agree with all of your ideals, but will love you for them regardless.

I know it makes me sound like a hater, but the only thing I hate is seeing you settle.

So to my friends, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’m not the easiest person to talk to about things. I’m sorry if I’m the overprotective friend that should just keep her mouth shut sometimes. And I’m sorry if my “tough love” comes off as me being judgmental. I just want the absolute best for you, and I’m sorry I want that more than you do.