Fixer Downer.

I had a conversation with my ace this morning. It started with me trying to figure out what tropical island I was going to spend money I don’t have on, then quickly spiraled into a pity party of 1. Instead of cake and confetti, this party had insecurities and self-loathing. I told her that I lurked the Instagram pages of the exes of any man I’ve kissed in the past year and wished I had their body, their hair, their lips, their confidence, their job, their anything and everything I didn’t have. Then, I told her how I started personal training today, so at least I could “fix” that part of me.

I took a double take at what I messaged her and silently screamed to myself,


Fix? I say it again, FIX? No honey, you do not need to be fixed. Silly girl.  Continue reading

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Nothing and Everything.

I have amazing friends. They’re beautiful, and talented. Thoughtful and funny. Smart, and cultured. Every now and then we’ll summon our 25-year old selves and do something crazy like put heels on, drink all the drinks, and stay out past midnight. We laugh until our tummies hurt, and cry unfamiliar-but-becoming-more-of-a-thing happy tears when we see one of us walk down the aisle towards the love of her life.

But when those familiar-not-as-frequent-but-wish-they’d-be-non-existent tears do appear, I feel alone. I’m on the outside of inside jokes, and I no longer know who is doing what with who or where. Catching up used to be, “So did you fuck the guy from last night?” to “Wait. You have a boyfriend? Who? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN AND WHY DON’T I KNOW ABOUT HIM?!”

At work I know what shelf the very last paperclip is on. I like my co-workers, and they like me. I think. I’m taking on new responsibilities and getting my feet wet in the HR and recruiting pool. I received a bonus and got a raise earlier this year. I have my very first business trip Sunday, and I don’t have to wait for lower back pains to go away because I don’t have to worry about health insurance. 

However, I am currently living my biggest fear as a senior in high school. My Journalism degree is just a very expensive piece of paper (which I can’t even find), and at times I can do my job on auto-pilot … from a plane with smoke coming from the engine

I’m tired of being tired, but never have the motivation to execute. Yet, I seem to always have just the right amount of energy to complain.  Continue reading

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It’s Here.

The sun shines through the sheets hanging from your windows as makeshift curtains, and I feel your hand reach over to pat my head. Oh there you are. I’ve missed you. You used to do that before. You know, make me feel as if it could actually work. Like I actually mean something to you. Something more than enthusiastic road head and a tight pussy.

Head rubs usually meant “Good morning,” you were horny, or sometimes both. I turn to my side. Not because I don’t want to feel your body against mine, but because I don’t want to face the day. To get up and leave knowing that whatever we just shared, as menial as it was, only exists as long as I lay in that bed. I just want to lay there with you. Not in an “OMG I could do this forever” way. I’m an idiot, but I’m realistic. But in a let me pretend for a little bit kind of way. 

Your arm slides across my waist and you rest your other hand on my thigh. Squeezing it every so often. I’m a tiny little thing, but I thank the universe for granting me a little bit of thickness where it counts. You’re being sweet to me. It makes me sad and happy at the same time, but mostly sad.

Moments like these are fleeting, and I know it’s only time until I feel like a convenience again. The anxiety is far less often, but the intensity remains the same. A picture, a mention, the mere thought of your hands on someone else. The inevitable potential of you looking at someone the way you could never, and would never look at me. That feeling of not existing until I do again. 

It’s here.


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Shit Bitches Love Pt VI

Daaaaaamn Abi, back at it again with another post. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, what more wrote a “Shit Bitches Love” post, so I thought one was overdue. For first time readers, it’s pretty self-explanatory: a list of shit bitches (including myself sometimes) love. If I’m missing anything, feel free to let a bitch know in the comments section. 

tumblr_inline_nyl87tILm31te9s4t_540.png.cf_Kylie Lipkits. Let’s be real here. If you are a woman (or man) under the age of 25 and obsessed with pop-culture, then Kylie could slap her name on dog food and you would buy it. You don’t even need to on a dog. While I don’t look at her as a role model (mainly because I could be her mother), I will shamelessly admit that I dig her style. She’s business savvy (wonder where she gets it from) and capitalized on all the hoopla surrounding her infamous pucker. And if her followers are willing to buy a tube of lipstick for $50+ she’s going to sell it to them. I on the other hand will wait until Colourpop comes out with a metallic dupe for less than half the price. Because #RealBitchesLoveDiscounts. Continue reading

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Fly High.

Me looking nervous while he looks like a fucking toothpaste commercial.

I’ve always wanted to go skydiving. While I’m frantic in 5 feet of water, I’m pretty sure I was a bird in a past life. A timid one, but a bird nevertheless. I once had a dream that I went skydiving. I was scared the entire time, and just as I was about to board the plane I woke up. I took it as a sign to hold off. 

Then, I booked a trip to Kauai last year and saw a picture of my friends 60+ year old father with a knee brace skydiving tandem to one of the  most handsome men I’ve ever seen, and decided it was time. If he can do it, I can do it I thought.

I remember arriving at Skydive Kauai unshowered with no makeup on, a pimple on my chin, and nappy ocean hair hoping Mr. Beautiful wouldn’t be my instructor. Of course he was my instructor. During the plane ride up he asked me how I was feeling, and I told him “I want pancakes”. *Insert face palm felt around the world* I wasn’t nervous, and not being nervous made me slightly nervous. But I figured if the last thing I ever saw was this beautiful island, it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Look ma, no hands!

I wonder if that’s what Wayne Rose, my instructor that day was thinking this past Sunday when he hopped into the Skydive Hawaii cessna plane for the last time. My roommate sent me a link to a news article about a skydiving incident in Kauai, and I immediately knew it was Skydive Kauai. It didn’t take long for me to find out more details regarding the horrible incident, and during my search I also found the following excerpt written by Wayne’s twin sister:

Please take a minute today to tell your family and friends you love them. Never take one second of this precious life for granted. Quit the terrible job you complain about every Monday (that’s what Wayne did). Move to the city or state you’ve always wanted to live in (Wayne did that). Go on that adventure you’ve always dreamed of (Wayne did that, too). Put yourself out there, meet someone, and don’t hold back from falling head over heels in love. Live out your storybook romance despite all the odds against you (yep, that happened, too)

I remember walking over to tip Wayne that day before I left thinking, you must really love doing this because I know they don’t pay you shit.  I handed him the money and said, “Thanks for not letting me die”. What I should’ve said was, “Thanks for letting me live”. Thank you for living a life worthy of dying for, and being an inspiration for me to do the same. 

And for the record, I will never eat pancakes the same way again.

13239283_1089522117773348_3901067933279668402_nClick after the jump to watch my moded ass skydiving video with Wayne.

Continue reading

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Ayesha, you are the girl that I never had…

Warriors fan or not, you know who Stephen Curry is. And if you’re an actual fan, then you are also familiar with his spunky daughter Riley and God fearing wife Ayesha. While Riley emerged a star last season due to her sassy post-interview cameos, more recently Ayesha has been taking social media by a storm for being … herself.

Cute-Pictures-Stephen-Curry-His-Wife-Ayesha_(1)To give you some background on the couple, the two met in church, were college sweethearts, got married when Steph was 23, and now have two beautiful girls together. Ayesha was never a stripper, does not have any children out of wedlock, and does not have any half naked pictures of her on Instagram promoting detox tea. In a world and profession where morals, fidelity, and marriage are often questioned, they seem to set the standard of what a family should be and Ayesha Curry is the prototype wife. 

This should be a good thing, but it’s actually had the reverse effect for some. While Ayesha is a woman many of us can look up to, her existence has caused others to look down on anyone who doesn’t follow the Ayesha blueprint. 7feI’ve been a fan of Ayesha Curry even before I was a fan of Stephen Curry. When he first started (and I had a Monta Ellis chip on my shoulder) I remember seeing a picture of him and his family at Bucca Di Peppo in the city. Naturally, I saw her pretty face and stalked her on social media. I ended up finding her Instagram and Little Lights of Mine website, and have been a follower ever since. I think she’s amazing and possesses qualities I think any women, including myself could benefit from having. However, I don’t think you are any less of a women if you DON’T have these qualities.

Screen Shot 2016-05-12 at 1.39.03 PMInterestingly enough, I’ve seen more men than women contributing their two cents to the matter in true misogynistic form. The truth is, good women like and not like Ayesha Curry have BEEN existing. Ya’ll remember FLOTUS right? And I’m sure anyone reading this post right now knows an amazing women too. On a surface level I totally get it, but to compare Ayesha to anyone else is obsolete because there is no other Ayesha Curry.

If you know you’re a good women, you wouldn’t be offended by Ayesha Curry and what she represents. And if you are a man, I don’t want to hear shit about you looking for an “Ayesha Curry type” when you’re getting kicked off the D-League.

**Editors Note** I really hate that I can no longer just write, and have to explain everything but just so you know. I am in no way discrediting those in the D-League. The point in using that as an example is to not ask for what you can’t give.

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Growing Pains.

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m Asian. This means people automatically assume I’m good at math, bad at driving, and eat dog. It also means I’ll always look younger than I actually am.

While I have colleagues older than me, I work with a good amount of people who are fresh out of college. Most of who think I am still in my twenties. My favorite was “Holy shit I thought you were 22” (God bless you my child). Obviously, I’m flattered. Unfortunately, it’s also a tiny bit disconcerting because as soon as I’m told I look 27 I have to tell them I’m actually 34.

Then, I get self-conscious. Then, I’m embarrassed. Then, the anxiety kicks in. Then, I think of how much I haven’t accomplished in life. Then, I think of wrinkles. Then, I think of how I’m going to die sooner than later. Then, it’s pretty much a downward spiral from there. BUT WHY?  Why can’t I just take a compliment for what it is – a compliment?

A big reason is because I grew up believing that I should be a certain way by the time I turned a certain age. According to my 21-year old self, by now I should be married with kids, a house, 2 dogs, and several house plants. If not, I should be living in some expensive sky rise apartment in the city ballin out of control thanks to a dream job that only allows me to date casually. Either way, I shouldn’t be getting drunk, going to clubs, or spending my money on frivolous things. That’s not what people my age do.

The truth is, age doesn’t change you (at least not mentally) – being in a relationship and having kids does. If you liked going out to the club and drinking when you were 25, chances are you’d still enjoy it when you’re 30. However, having a significant other makes certain aspects of clubbing pointless and having a kid means being responsible for someone else. And the only reason why the things you enjoyed when you were younger aren’t as appealing now, is because there are less people your age doing it. Chances are, a good amount of these people are either married, have kids, or both. 

This post isn’t a way for me to justify my hangovers, nor is it saying that being married or a parent defines who you are. It’s actually a reminder for myself to stop feeling bad just because I’m not married like my one friend or have kids like my co-worker. Growing older doesn’t mean you turn into someone else, it means you may share a responsibility with someone else. And I’m pretty sure that future someone else of mine wouldn’t appreciate me throwing up into a potted plant.

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