Why So Single?

There are a few things you should never ask a woman. There’s a lot of things actually, but at the very least do yourself a favor and don’t ask us the following:

  • How old are you? (Following up with “OMG you don’t even look that old!” does not negate the question)
  • How much do you weigh? (Following up with “OMG you don’t even look like you weigh that much!” does not negate negate the question)
  • Wow, are you tired? (Bitch, I will cut you with my tired ass)
  • Why are you single?

The only thing worse than “Why are you single?” is “Why SO single?”

Like DAMN. I’m not just single, I’m SO single. What on Earth could I have possible done to deserve an adverb like that? See it’s hard to talk about this without sounding bitter or in denial, but trust I have fully embraced my singledom for good and bad. I’ve heard every explanation and have given almost just as many. And as a former wannabe cynic, I know that those who reject relationships tough, secretly want one even tougher. But SO single? In the words of the great Ed Lover, “Come on son!”

It started off innocently enough with a random follower on IG asking how the Wu-Tang concert was. I replied, and he then took a left by asking about my relationship status. It’s not the asking that’s rude, it’s the inference I know he’s probably not even aware he’s making. 

First of all (breaks out Power Point presentation and laser pointer) …


Otherwise, you’d know I’m not so single after all.

Secondly, why’d you have to ask it like that? As if I’m crying on the curb with my head in my hands and you’re coming in to save me? In his defense, I’m sure he was just asking an innocent question and meant no harm by it … except I know it wasn’t innocent because HE SENT THE SAME EXACT MESSAGE TO MY ROOMMATE *insert face palm emoji here*. I’m not upset because he asked me this question. I’m upset because the only correct answer to the question would’ve been one that gave him the go to holla. Nothing else would’ve sufficed, not even the truth. The point is, being single is not a death sentence and #HoeIsLife dammit!

So before you ask a random female you don’t even know “Why so single?” first ask yourself “Why so presumptuous/why so unoriginal/why so corny?” 

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Man, it feels good to be a motherfucking gangsta.

When the world celebrated #adaywithoutanimmigrant I had no qualms about coming into the office, which may be surprising to some because I am an immigrant. Even more surprising might be the fact that I didn’t become a citizen of the United States until 2009. However, I made the personal decision to work that day, because my company supports immigrants. I am lucky to be a part of an organization that although isn’t perfect, looks at talent before the color of your skin – a company that also makes having a prayer and nursing room a priority.

Today however, I am blogging from my best friends living room in solidarity with #daywithoutawoman, which happens to fall on International Women’s Day. And again, I feel lucky. Lucky to not have ever felt knowingly discriminated by an employer because I am a woman. Lucky to have never known of a man that got my position simply because they had a dick, and lucky that I’ve never known of a man in my position that got paid more just because he owned a pair of balls.

Then I realized that I don’t actually know any men in my position to begin with. While I know they exist, I don’t personally know any male Office Managers because it is a role that mostly women apply to. It is a job with very little accolades, but very big impact on a day to day basis. It is a job that many men are unwilling to do even though it is such an integral role to an organization.

I do realize that I’m saying this on a good day, a day where men and women are celebrating Goddesses around the world. But I won’t lie, on a normal day as I’m doing menial tasks like restocking Cheez-Its or putting dishes in the dishwasher, I think to myself “I did not graduate from college to do this shit”. Then, on a day I’m out of the office I’ll check my phone and see the numerous messages about how the office is falling apart without me and feel validated.

It doesn’t take a specific gender to be an Office Manager, it takes a specific person to be an Office Manager. One that is patient, empathetic, nurturing, selfless, and resilient amongst a plethora of other things. Things that are associated with being a women. Things that I have to remind myself to NOT be embarrassed about the next time my job calls for me to sweep the front of the building or clean out the refrigerator.

Everyone has their own definition of what it means to be a woman. Just as they have their reasons for acknowledging or not acknowledging International Woman’s Day, and participating or not participating in #adaywithoutawoman, which is – GREAT.

Today is not about equal pay for me. Nor is it about being better than men. After all, my blog is called Girls Are the New Boys, not Girls Are Better Than Boys. It’s about being equally extraordinary, and reminding everyone including ourselves that we are not to be taken for granted – today or any day. 


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Ain’t nobody fucking with my clique.

It’s crazy to see how much my framily has changed since we had our very first friendsmas back in 2013. People moved, came back, got married, had babies, broke up, had more babies, and I … I … I’ve had at least 4 different hairstyles. At any rate, it’s always a treat to see everyone in the same room at the same time and I appreciate the people that take time out of their busy schedules to join us, what more fly out for this event. What I love most is how everyone gets so involved in our themes. This years theme in case youcouldn’t tell was “Gatsby/1920s/Old Hollywood”, and in addition to 1,782 photos we also got a video.

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The Little Things.

When you’re in a relationship, often times it’s the little things that mean the most. 

Like the “Good Morning” texts that you send on autopilot before your eyes can even focus. It’s almost like the equivalent of coffee for some, because let’s face it – I never wake up in time to make coffee before I leave for work. Also,  I don’t own a coffee machine. Nevertheless, as soon as I get that text response, I can get out of bed and go about my regular morning routine. 

Little things like making plans for two instead of one (even though it took some time getting used to another human being a part of your daily routine). Not big plans like marriage and babies, but small plans like breakfast and grocery shopping. You have an automatic date to the iHeart80s concert, because no one else is that corny enough to attend. And you can finally have matching Halloween costumes, because none of your girlfriends want to be Chucky (unless it’s a slutty Chucky of course). 

You miss the silly faces he only makes for you, and the ugly faces you make for only him – even though he still thinks you’re beautiful. 

You even appreciate the things that annoy you. Like how he puts your extra pillows on the floor before bed. Who cares if you have 5 pillows, but only use 1 of them? THEY’RE YOUR PILLOWS GODDAMMIT! Or how he dumps all his stuff next to his side of the bed, making it look like dirty laundry or junk. It doesn’t matter if the ret of my room is a mess – it’s your mess! You didn’t mind these things because it meant that he was staying for a while when he had an overnight bag. And it meant he would be laying next to you that night instead of those pillows. 

When you’re in a relationship, often times it’s the little things that mean the most. Unfortunately, when a relationship comes to an end it’s these little things you miss the most too.

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Yes He Can, Yes He Did.

As a woman of color, a minority, and an immigrant, some of my political stances may surprise you. There are times where I struggle between what I believe in, and what I’m expected by my peers to believe in. Politics is not my forte. I don’t follow it as much as I should or would like to, and my emotions get in the way of me being able to properly articulate my thoughts. Still, I made sure to utilize my right to vote for the very first time in support of Barack Obama. I watched in bewilderment when he made his first inaugural speech and last night along with many Americans, I cried when he gave his farewell speech.

Depending on who you are, how much money you make and possibly, the color of your skin, you may or may not be relieved that the Obama administration has come to an end. But this post isn’t going to be a reflection of his policies, it’s just an ode to my favorite President.

What I’m going to miss the most about Barack Obama is the way he maintained, managed, and honored the relationships he had. Whether it be professional, political, personal, or superficial. Whether with an ambassador, enemy, best friend, child, or janitor, Obama interacted with you just the same and treated you with the respect you deserved.


Perhaps this is most apparent with his relationship with the most important women in his life, and especially with his wife Michelle. Naysayers may say that the President’s personal relationships have nothing to do with the way he runs a nation, but I believe it does. I believe your beliefs and values start at home, and it’s safe to say that Obama, “The best Vice President America’s ever had,” and FLOTUS have all found a home in our hearts. Continue reading

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Wants and Needs.

This year I want to go to Iceland, Cuba, Hawaii, Bali, and Thailand. I want Invisalign and lash extensions. I want to finally eat at French Laundry. I want to take a dance class. I want to start bikram again. I want to redecorate my room. I want to punch inconsiderate people who lack common sense in the face. 

But I need to save money. For my mom’s bachelorette party. For a new car. Shit, for life. I need to meal plan. I need to stop taking Uber to work. I need to give less fucks about things that don’t matter. I need to go to the gym at least 3 times a week. need to stop wasting my gym membership. I need a new car. I need to love myself. 

I wanted this man. I always wanted him, even before I knew I did. This man that had a soft side to his hard demeanor. This man that was brutally honest with me. This man that let me know he couldn’t give me more, but continued seeing me knowing I wanted more. This man that laid me down then laid it down. This man that didn’t do anything wrong except for not want me back.

I wanted to scream. To inject some sort of paralyzing serum into my veins everytime my fingers would respond to his texts. I wanted to furiously beat some sense into myself whenever I walked through his front door.  

But I needed him. I needed him in my life to remind me that I was already everything without him. I needed him to make the effort. I needed his sensitivity and support. I needed to know I was worth it. 

I needed to be with him. Not just that, I needed to be head over heels in love with him. I needed to be obsessed. I needed to text my friends every detail of every date we had, and feel butterflies everytime the door opened and it was him. I needed to need him.

The thing is, I needed to want him too. 

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Take A Seat.

If you have any kind of sense, you will have watched the entire first season of Insecure by now and have reveled in it’s glory. While almost every episode was “Gworrrrl” worthy, there was one that compelled me enough to write a blog. It was the one where Issa suggested her bestie Molly try therapy and just like most headstrong women who seemingly have their shit together, the suggestion was met with severe backlash that put a temporary strain on their friendship. For Molly, seeing a therapist suggested something was wrong with her and was the equivalent of a 5150.  


As for myself? I first saw a psychologist back in 2009. After taking birth control for eight years straight, I went cold turkey and underwent some sort of chemical imbalance that left me crying on bathroom floors and banging my head against passenger side windows. Whatever it was had me feeling FUCKED UP over my ex who annoyed me so much I broke up with him via text message.

I survived that moment in my life, but unfortunately went through a turn of events that lead me back into a therapy a few years later. In addition to that, I ran the lake. I meditated. I read all the fucking books. I sought help from a spiritual advisor, and didn’t even flinch when he made me sit in the middle of my living room while talking to my “other selves” aka my sofa pillows. I didn’t care how embarrassed or silly I felt, I would’ve done anything to get better. 

And I think that’s how you have to look at it. As someone who is taking a small – yet bold step to healing themselves. Not as someone who is crazy, or incapable of healing themselves by themselves. To be completely honest, the therapy sessions didn’t solve my problems. For me, therapy simply provided a safe place for me to vent without feeling guilty about it. I didn’t learn anything new, other than learning that a few of my friends had also seen therapists and this normalized the stigma to me. It made me feel less crazy, and most importantly less alone. 

If the only thing holding you back from seeking out help, whether it be therapy or otherwise, is embarrassment or fear of being judged – don’t believe the hype. You don’t have to be depressed to see a therapist. You don’t have to be sad or crazy, or in an unhealthy relationship. And most of all, you are not weak for wanting to get help. For taking the necessary steps to get better. It takes courage to identify pain, get out of bed every morning, into your car, and spill your guts to a stranger. 

Therapy may not be the solution for everyone, but it’s definitely not the problem either

Happy healing.

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