A Letter to Every Man Who Has A Girl Friend Like Me – TBT 11.28.11

Dear Friend of a Friend Like Me,

I just wanted to say that WE’RE SORRY. Since you’re such an understanding person you’re probably thinking, “No it’s OK. Don’t be sorry” BUT LET US BE SORRY. Please. Because we know that we can be a bit much sometimes. And when I say “a bit,” I really mean, “a lot.” And when I say sometimes, I really mean a lot of the time.

We also wanted to say THANK YOU. Since you’re such a generous person  you’re probably thinking, “No it’s OK. You don’t have to thank me.” No really, THANK YOU. Because you’ll never understand just how much we appreciate you being you while still allowing us to be us.

So sorry for missing out on Taco Tuesdays because we were caking with some jerk off. Thank you for still inviting us back the next Tuesday when the jerk off flakes on us.

Sorry for waking you up at 2am crying, because of what some asshole did to us. Thank you for always picking up the phone no matter how many times it happens.

Sorry for all those times we’ve asked for advice just to turn around and do the opposite. Thank you for not saying “I told you so,” when we both know you told us so.

Sorry for all the hours of venting about the same old shit from the same old guy. Thank you for always being there to listen every time we do though.

Sorry for not really being “there,” even though we’re right there. Thank you for giving us another chance to be there for you.

Sorry we haven’t been acting so awesome lately. Thank you for still thinking we’re awesome nevertheless.

Sorry for driving you *poof* crazy with our ridiculousness, over-thinking, text/email OCD, and neurotic tendencies. Thank you for driving us to grab a beer at the sports bar or red velvet latte at the bookstore just to make sure we don’t go crazy, act ridiculous, over think, have OCD, or be neurotic by ourselves.

Above everything else, we want to let you know how much we LOVE YOU. Since you’re still a jerk, you’re probably thinking, “No it’s OK. You don’t need get soft on me.” But broseph hat off, WE LOVE YOU BRO. Because we know just how difficult we can get, yet you still love us back despite it all.

Every Girl Friend Of A Man Who Is Like Me

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The Many Faces of Anxiety.

Photo courtesy of Sol Sisters Org

Photo courtesy of Sol Sisters Org

The lovely ladies of Sol Sisters took to IG live to dissolve the stigma surrounding anxiety. As someone who continues to suffer from it, I was especially happy they did this. I was also surprised. I wasn’t surprised that smart, involved, cultured, successful, and social women had anxiety. I think on the surface, that’s what I look like. I was surprised at the specificity of it. Continue reading

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All is UnFair in Love and Porn.

I remember having the most ridiculous crush on T.I. I would fantasize about being the one “normal” girl in a sea of groupies he fell in love with. This fantasy came to a halt the minute I found out he was with Tiny. I  know that defeats the whole point of a “fantasy”, but fantasizing about being a home wrecker didn’t sound attractive at all. As you can see, fantasies are not my forte. 

It’s no wonder some celebrities choose to keep their personal life, and especially their relationships a secret. For those who are most popular for being single and available, it can ruin the fantasy as well as income. Why do you think Ralph T. had to keep his baby under wraps when he was a member of New Edition, and boy band members are urged to stay single?

For me, the sentiment is the same for porn stars. In case you forgot, I was infatuated with Johnny Sins aka the original Porn Twin. There was a portion of my porn loving life that I would only watch his films. I even followed him on Instagram. It was there that he debuted his new relationship with a woman who is now known as Kissa Sins. Initially, I felt betrayed. There I was masturbating to him and ONLY him, and he returns the love by … giving it to someone else? Poppycock! 

After the feelings of betrayal wore off, I started to take a liking to the new couple. I mean, asides from the fact that he was banging 5 other chicks a week and a close up of her asshole was everywhere online, they were #couplegoals. I “shipped” their relationship by masturbating to their porn (DUH). If you can’t beat them, beat to them right!

Their videos are great, because their onscreen chemistry is exemplified by their offscreen chemistry. I’ve just about seen them do every position imaginable, yet the only scenes that make me uncomfortable are the ones they record on SnapChat of them making out over breakfast. WTF right?

This is because I know that (for the most part) what I see off of the silver (slimy) screen is REAL life. While they obviously don’t mind sharing their intimate moments with the world, I prefer to be one less pair of eyes from that audience. I know the sentiment is a little strange, but leave it to me to stare at their privates, while keeping their intimate moments private




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you can do anything but not everything.

I’ve always despised people who say, “Let me check my calendar” when making plans. Like, should I have my people call your people while we’re at it? Naturally, I am now one of those people. I just scheduled brunch for January 21, 2018. This isn’t because I’m insanely busy or super popular, I just know when to say no

Don’t get me wrong, I am still a passenger on the Hotmess Express when it comes to adulting. I still have my anxiety, my depression and my meltdowns. Thus, I go hard for the parts of my life I am actually able to control. 

Call me an underachiever. I value doing “nothing”, I relish alone time, and I don’t mind gaps of inactivity on my calendar. Maybe this is why I’m not as accomplished as most people my age, but maybe this is also why I’m not as burnt out as most people my age. 

Growing up we were always taught to hustle hard, and sleep when we’re dead. Now, companies have meditation rooms and the US has an official day devoted to mental health. So how am I supposed to achieve my goals while taking care of myself, when every second spent not honing your craft sets you behind the competition? 

#ItsCalledBalance. Just be aware that everyone’s scale has a different setting. So work hard, but work smart when you can. It can be hard turning down people and projects, but maybe it’s not necessarily about the art of saying “No”, but knowing when to say, “No, not right now”. 


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Leftover Love.

We always hear stories about that new love. 
That giddy, inconvenient, smoke and mirrors, is it real love.
The kind that makes you forget how to act right.
Got you making actual phone calls, but leaving texts on “read” all night.
It’s a butterfly riot in the pit of your stomach, 4-inch heels and La Perla lingerie instead of faded sweats and a holey shirt love.
It’s whiskey kisses in other people’s doorways, and “Get a room!” from passersby love.
Sure, there’s a lot of lust but it’s STILL love.
It’s exciting, yet scary. Refreshing, yet hot.
The kind of love that got you making excuses like, “I can’t make it, I have to work late” when really you’re not.

But what a bout that leftover love?
Not that love that’s left after the fireworks die. 

I’m talking about the love that’s left when one no longer tries.
That obligated love. That “we got history” love. That I still got love for her, but I’m not in love with her love.
That painful slow death when there ain’t nothing left, but we’ve been through so much, we gotta keep it up, he’s all I’ve ever known I don’t want to be alone love.
It’s that she was there since Day 1, so you keep holding on love.
I mean, how do you leave a good man when you don’t want to leave?
How do you stay with a good woman when she’s not where you want to be?
So we get drunk, and cry when we’re sober. Carrying the weight of a failed relationship on our shoulders,
Trying to figure out what to do with our love leftovers.

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“My man is my man is your man
Her, this her man too
My man is my man is your man
Her, that’s her man
Tuesday and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday
I just keep him satisfied through the weekend
You’re like 9 to 5, I’m the weekend”

Congratulations Sza, you’ve just created the side-chick anthem of the year. I ain’t gonna lie though, that song goes.

By definition, a side-chick is “A mistress; a woman one dates in addition to one’s girlfriend or wife, usually (but not always) in secret”.

I’ve never knowingly been a side-chick. As much self-loathing I did in the past 4 years, I still managed to have enough self-respect (or at least selfishness) to never share a man. More importantly to never fuck with someone already in a substantial relationship. I have however, dated men that I knew were dating other women while I also dated. Because well, that’s what dating is. Right?

Unfortunately, I’m not very good at dating. My heart would catch feelings, but my logic would remind me that I have no right to be jealous. It was during these times where the crazy would take over. I remember the first time Thor the Whore took me out to a crowded club on Saturday night. It got me thinking: He has to like me if he’s taking me to such a public place for everyone to see. Otherwise he wouldn’t bring sand to the beach and fuck up his chances at meeting other girls. And if he is fucking other chicks, I must be his favorite. 

Look at my dumb ass reveling at the thought when I just compared myself to SAND. 

But I get it. Who wants to be that dreadful, obligated 9-5 when you can be the release? The fun? THE WEEKEND! The thing about the weekend is it’s short lived. As triumphant as I would feel going home with Thor from the club Saturday night, he’d still wake me up early the next morning to leave when he went to play ball. Only once did he let me sleep in until he got back, and never did we meet up after for breakfast. 

Maybe what I really wanted to be was his Sunday afternoons going into Monday mornings? Actually, I had him on weekdays too. Still, our time together felt fleeting and we never saw each other two days in a row. Truth is, Monday through Thursday, 5pm – 1am, I was all of these things at one point, but never all of them at the same time and I wanted to be his EVERYDAY.  

So the next time you’re feeling accomplished being someone’s “weekend” as opposed to their “9-5”, remember that you deserve more than just someone that gives you the time of day. 


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I was there for you. 
During your saddest of sads, your lowest of lows, and the ugliest cries.
I changed out of  jammies, put on a fancy dress, and spent money I didn’t have to make sure you felt like a million bucks. 
I interrupted dinner dates to see if you needed me to leave or meet you somewhere.
I cried with you, felt betrayed with you and hurt for you.  
I paused my life for you, so that you would continue yours.
I tolerated HIM. And him. And even HIM. Forced conversations and bit my tongue.
I was there for you. Even when I wasn’t there for myself. 
I watched you do nothing on my couch, just so you wouldn’t have to do nothing alone.
I went to prayers even though I’m not religious. I asked my loved one to watch over your loved one, even though I don’t believe in the afterlife. 
I reminded you that you were enough, even when I had enough of you saying you weren’t enough.
I slept next to you even when I knew it wouldn’t fill the emptiness he left behind.
I forced you to go to the gym, to go to yoga, to go to happy hour, to go running, to go outside of the four walls of your comfort zone.
Then stayed with you, when nothing worked.

I replied to every single text. With optimistic love. With naive love. With realistic love. With tough love. WITH LOVE.
I sent flowers and notes. Song lyrics and inspirational quotes. Macarons and whiskey.
I was there for you. 
During your saddest of sads, your lowest of lows, and the ugliest cries.
Not because you needed me, because that’s where I needed to be. That’s where I wanted to be. 

But what about your highest of highs and your happiest cries? 
I am here for you.
To listen to your gay.
About how he treats you like a Queen, so much that you barely remember the pain of peasants past. 

I want to hear about upcoming vacations, catamarans at sunset and morning balcony views instead of just “liking” the photos on Instagram.
I want links to wedding dresses, reception venues, and ring options because he knows I know what you’d want.
I am here for you.
For the new job, the new promotion, the new car, the new house, the new baby, the new life. Even for just the new pair of shoes you’ve been wanting. 
To follow your journey, even if the road is smooth and the view is clear.
Even if you no longer need me in shotgun. 

To heal. To congratulate. To celebrate. To reminisce. To say “Hey!” To actually be happy at happy hour. 
And maybe things change, and people change. We become adults or at least learn how to adult.
There’s no more time or no need to “check in”.
Maybe you don’t need me anymore. Maybe you have everything together.
Maybe you’re too busy. Maybe we can pick up from where left off, because that’s what real friends do.
Maybe talking to each other everyday isn’t necessary.
Long as you know that,
I am still here for you.
And I hope you are here for me to.

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