debbie

LIBRA Drinking style
"...the Scales can really work a room. Charming as they are, Libras are notoriously lacking in self-control, however, which can get them into all sorts of trouble -- including flirting with every man/woman in the room or even blacking out the night's events entirely..."

Dude, you don't even know.

So life has been fanfuckintastic. Good friends, good parties, good lovin'. At the likely risk of jinxing myself, I gotta say that this has been the greatest summer ever. Spooning included.




I'm a whore, yes, but only on the weekends.

Please come support us at the Century Club, loves! It'll be a good show, promise! Call me for details.

(If you can't tell, I'm the first girl from the left. And, those are Emily's hooker shoes.)

There's nothing quite like schpooning.

No, seriously. I'm not even saying this for shock value or hinting at sex (hymen intact, thankyouverymuch). It's like, I finally get it. Remember the episode where Miranda and Steve only saw each other at inconvenient times and after sex Steve would want to cuddle and schpoon while Miranda looked at the clock anxiously? I was always on Miranda's side: Dude, you're done. The chance of you gettin' it back up within the next hour is unlikely, so roll the fuck over and go to sleep.

Until now.

There's nothing quite like schpooning after a long night of high energy nothingness. You can feel his heartbeat in your eardrums when your head is on his chest, your hair strewn about his shoulders. It pulsates lightly...boomboom...boomboom. You can sense his steady breath at your back as his lungs fill with the same air you're inhaling. He's warm like a summer night as his arm wraps gingerly around you, and you're warm because he is. There's a mutual feeling of giddiness but neither of you want to make it blatant because you're more or less "asleep." If you're lucky, he'll play with your hair, combing his fingers through the strands. If you're blessed, he'll rub your back until you fall deeper into lovely unconciousness. There are so many questions to be asked but you'll save them until morning.

You don't have a clue if he's the one. But you like him. And you like the way he makes you feel.

So that's youth. That's infatuation. That's intimacy.

It’s been awhile. Thus, a minor and spastic entry to thwart your ostentatiously blatant demands for new entry. And, yes, that was sarcasm.

UCLA is flippin’ awesome. No seriously, it is. I left shortly after Min’s graduation and made it to UCLA in record time. The purpose of my extended visit was twofold: to find an apartment for next year and to participate in a little something called “undie-run.” In case you’re not Captain Obvious, at midnight of the last Wednesday of every quarter, UCLA students run an approximate quarter-mile distance from the dorms to Royce Hall in their undergarments while screaming and chanting various cheers that I have yet to learn. And yes, I went in my underwear. I really should buy stock from Victoria’s Secret. (Patrick wore pink boxers with tiny yet manly penguins on it.)

I knew it was going to be mind-blowing, but never in a million years would I have expected the beautiful chaos that unfolded. A sea of tan and black, speckled with spots of rainbow was…writhing in before me. The excitement was palpable as thousands of twenty-somethings, eager to let out some finals derived frustration, were revving up for some good old birthday-suit fun.

Finally, it was a GO!, precisely at midnight, as everyone ran up and down some hills, hollering and hooting the whole way through. I saw a few streakers and a guy dressed up as The Flash. Some guys were in banana hammocks and jiggled the entire distance. The most exhilarating thing was we were all together. The “sea” ebbed and flowed rather violently but it was cohesive. It was a bonding experience I would never forget.

The run ended at a fountain. Yes, my loves, a fountain. Hundreds of people congregated either at the rim or in the basin of the fountain where I was. If you know me and my demanding body’s need for warm temperatures, you’ll be surprised by the fact that I was in no way even chilly. I don’t know if it was the body heat of hundred of kids around me, the pure adrenaline that more than coursed—RUSHED, even—through the core of my being, or even the effects of a little firewater, but it was such a warm giddy feeling unsurpassed by anything I’ve ever felt. After frolicking in the water, Patrick, Hendrick, and I left to go back to the dorms for more night fun. No, not THAT kind of night fun.





Oh, and spooning is awesome too.
Okay, maybe a little bit of night fun.
Kiiidding.
Ahem.

And so it is.
My first heartbreak.

Although, this is not to say breaking up with Roy didn't hurt, as it most certainly made an considerable impression on my emotional wellbeing. If you remember from my "man-buffet" entry, D and I were at the beginnings of a budding relationship. Through my own misgivings, I royally fucked up. I got greedy and wanted them all when the one I really wanted in the end was smackdab in front of me. I couldn't get pass my ego to see that he made me happier than anyone else did. And now it's over.

Over the past couple of weeks, D and I have been more or less confused about the status of our relationship. (We finally settled on "special friend, the kind that comes with trimmings and benefits.") I wanted something more concrete but he wanted to just float. Coming in accordance with destiny, however begrudgedly, I decided that this was better than not having him at all. Oh, how I wanted him. I wanted to make him happy, as happy as he makes me.

And then the mother of all ironies: I got into UCLA. The fucking source of affliction through all these years, UCLA has come back to kick me while I was finally up. Everything was going so well. I was graduating and moving on to the one place that has eluded me in the past. I had fabulous friends. I had a guy who genuinely cared. Tragically, by some perverted twist of fate, this guy has been badly burned in the past and does NOT want a serious realtionship unless it had a potential for love. Apparently, four months isn't long enough for growth.

I pleaded. I did. I argued my rhetoric as best I can. We can work it out! LA is only two hours away! What's a little distance if it means happiness? Want ME. Need ME. Choose ME. Because even though I'm scared to admit it, I want YOU, I need YOU, i choose YOU. Yet still, he wasn't convinced. My eyes became immediately saturated with tears, with loss, with the pain of the unknown. I don't ever want to look back in my life when I'm old and gray and realize that I let a good man go--and I could have (SHOULD HAVE) prevented it.

It's becoming hard to stay optimistic about love when love doesn't seem to be optimistic about you.

I'm not saying I love D, but good god, I was willing to try. I supposed that's what gets me the most: he gave up on our relationship BEFORE we even had a relationship. Illogical, isn't it? It's tearing me apart, knowing he cares about me, but he couldn't muster up the courage to fight for us. Why doesn't he want me? I was willing to give up mind, body, and soul for this boy--this tragically damaged boy--but he can't see beyond the number of miles. He said he just wants me to be happy. Couldn't he see that HE made me happier than I have been in the past year? He said that he doesnt want to live with regrets. Couldn't he see that he will regret this? WE had something true. WE had IT. And now, all I can do is sit at this computer and type my sorrows into oblivion.

So this is heartbreak. It's the flame in my throat everytime I say "Hi" when I want to say so much more. It's the twitch in my arms, now conditioned to want to hug his thin frame but cannot move any more than a slight wave. It's the itch in my lips to want to kiss him, but we can't because goodness forbid something starts up between us. It's the stretch in my chest as I breath in deep to bear down the hurt. And it does hurt, loves. It swells up and it hurts to see him walk away without as much as a mundane "Goodbye."

Fall cannot come any quicker. I'm ready to leave.

Chivalry is dead, but you're still kinda cute.
yeah, YOU. And YOU.

I've decided that the only men I really need in life are two deliciously sweet men named Ben and Jerry. These are saliva inducing, wonderfully true individuals who will stop at nothing to comply with my every needs. Like the flannel pajamas, they do not care that your waist has grown a few inches. No! Instead they keep feeding my insecurities with the love and tenderness I deserve in my time of utter desperation.

Never will they say, "I'm sorry" and walk off like they've done you a huge favor by leaving you to your self-made misery. Nor will they ever give an ambiguous "Let's just go with the flow." The only flow I will ever have is the one in my uterus every end of the month, thank you very much. And even in THAT time of need, Ben and Jerry will appease my hunger, my rage, my tirades.

So, I say, my lovelie: eff them all except Ben and Jerry, not only because that can get a tad bit sticky, but because they will never leave you. Like that safe feeling you have in the back of your mind, tucked away for rainy days, Ben and Jerry will give their all for your mind, body, and soul. They are all one needs in turbulent trends in life.





Oh, and Aunt Jemima, too.
Because I'm kinky like that.

why have A boyfriend,
when you can have
11 lovers
and
11 mistresses.

good god.
we're hot shit.

end gratuitous picture post.

old school journal.


september 7, 2005
"so, ive been talking to him fairly extensively now for a few days and it eerily reflects the early stages of the roy-debbie golden era. wit battles. laugh-out-loud sessions. secretly smiling to myself. i missed it more than i know, or care to admit. no matter the result of this, i can always remember the way these conversations made me feel alive and young. its dumb to say i wasnt alive and young in the first place, i realize, but its the first time, in a long time, that ive considered myself actually giddy. yep. giddy. its not just for horses anymore."

january 23, 2006
"its been a while since i have committed thoughts to paper, and even as i write this sentence it feels rather silent. foreign, like i dont belong in this world for holding pen to page. lately, its been more and more difficult to express through manifested words. had my very long relationship entry on Lj relieved me of all emotion? apparently not, as i just remember how shellshocked i was reading his profile last night. tyler was right. 'looks like he found somebody new.' yes, yes it does, and it hurts. its hurts my feelings, my pride, my esteem. it felt damn good being with him. i was comfortable at last. why did i give up like i did? was it the stubborness, not yet stamped out of me? was it the distance? he said he doesnt love me anymore and i couldnt handle the truth? regardless of rhyme and reason, excuses and rampages, it's officially OFFICIALLY over. he's found someone clean and fresh. someone not me. i want to be a kiss away too."

janurary 25, 2006
" 'all the things i want to say but i didnt say. all the things i want to do but i never did. all the things i want to give but i didnt. oh, darling, make it go. make it go away.' (a woman's work" -kate bush )
god, that sums it up so lyrically. so much so that i can agree with it anytime, everytime. on the other hand, it might just be okay, even beneficial, for me to miss him a little. missing him is the tiny flame that keeps me human because its so chilling to be all alone. so yes, i miss it all. talking on the phone, on-line...just talking. i'd like to think that it makes me a little less empty."

febrary 10, 2006
"am i too picky for my own fucking good? ben from UCLA. he is the embodiment of many good traits i deem are fitting for a potential sweetheart. 6'1", sweet, gorgeous blue eyes as clear as you please, a little older, a fantastic writer...one would think that this is quite fitting for my personality. yes, one would think. but theres something missing. the x-factor. the semi-volatile spark. the ever-elusive zsa-zsa-zsu. and that, too, is a shame.

"and speaking of the semi-volatile spark, i really want to just march up to his door, knock fervently, and ask him pointblank: 'do we, or do we not, have a semi-volatile spark?' and when he starts to look flabbergasted and utterly confused beyond his mind's grasp, i'd reassure him that its okay if we dont. 'i just want to know.' whether he says yes or no, it almost makes no difference, as long as i asked and he answered."



that's all loves, for now anyway. hope you had a good read in midst of your midterm/final/AP test studying. or non-studying, as the cases may be.

thanks for all the congrats. it means a lot to me that one, people read my LJ (however involuntary) and two, people care. *emo tear*

below is a poem (thoughtfuly cut for those who dont do rhyming) that makes me want to go out and paint the town red in stilletto heels and my hair did. enjoy, loves.

love-hate.
love-love.
in the end, it's all love.
BOTH WAYS.

yes, dahlings, after two years of obsessive bitching and whining, debbie is now officially bleeding baby-blue and gold. it's about mothaflippin' time.








undie run is going to be fucking awesome and that much more significant.

oh, loves, there are so much to say but so little words to contain it all. let's break it down now.







i 'spose thats the end of it. and i repeat, i am not a whore. to summarize, school's a bitch, dance is great, and the men in my life belong in souplantation.

so dancing OBVIOUSLY is great fun.

i've come to realize, from circumstances i hate to admit are out of my control, that some things are better left unsaid. some questions are better left unanswered. and lastly, and more importantly, some is not all. so while this-and-that have not worked out for the best, other this-and-thats will. i have a full plate as it is, so why rock the boat? (i know im mixing metaphors, but im sure it's quite alright after an epiphany.)

transfering is right at the brink for me and the departure shall be bittersweet. i can't say that im not eager to move to a bigger pond, but i sure will miss the people who have made these two years the best in my life. i've grown emotionally, mentally, and sadly horizontally, but c'est la vie. live the life you love, and love the life you live. and when you're done, do yourself a favor and have a little victory dance. preferable in green boys shorts and a little torn up top. trust me, you'll thank yourself for it.

I don't miss the relationship crap so much, but the hand holding, bed sharing, making your friends jealous stuff is what I miss.

mmHMM.

so, its been a while, my lovelies. other than the shallow fodder ive been feeding you, no insight has been spewed via livejournal from me to you. so here's some tasty little nuggets for ya:

-golden retrievers are fun little shitheads. emphasis on SHIT.
-i miss my friends DEARLY. ya know who you are, my bitches.
-gay clubs are too damn fun for its own good. (theres nothing like dancing on stage next twenty writhing HOT men...and realizing no one gives a shit that you're on stage in the first place. seriously, who was i trying to impress?)
-and lastly, in "like" is pretty fucking awesome. sweet and life-affirming.

AND, as an added bonus to you, dahlings
I'LL BE THERE FOR YOU. THESE FIVE WORDS I SWEAR TO YOU. WHEN YOU BREATHE, I WANNA BE THE AIR FOR YOU. I'LL BE THERE FOR YOU. I'D LIVE AND I'D DIE FOR YOU. I'D STEAL THE SUN FROM THE SKY FOR YOU. WORDS CANT SAY WHAT LOVE CAN DO, I'L BE THERE FOR YOU.

min-isms

me: didn't you know eye poop is dried tears?
min: no, is it really?!
me: yeah. what did you think it was?
min:...eye poop?...even the slimy ones?

(driving down street at night)
min: wow, the moon is super bright tonight.
me: what? no, it isnt.
min: (looks around) oh, wait, thats the streetlight.

(encounters min duct taping flimsy piece of paper)
me: what the hell are you doing?
min: i'm making a hanging parking permit. see, i taped my parking permit to this piece of paper, and now im duct taping it to make it stronger. it's going to hang on the rearview mirror. (holds up 3x5 piece of taped paper, it withers) it's okay. i'll just put more tape on it.
me: why didnt you just put a string through it?
min: oh, yeah.

min: HEY! stop doing that. i'm going to hafta hit you, you know that?! i dont like hitting you. why are you so bad? you hate me, dont you. huh? huh! HUH?! why are you so stupid? GAahHH?! (yelling at cowering puppy)

(talking to cute tony about his Score! nametag)
tony: you dont have a name tag?
min: no, my students KNOW my name.
(excellent burn. and then...)
min: OH MY GOD, THAT WAS SO GOOD, HUH?! IT JUST CAME OUT! I DIDNT EVEN NEED TO THINK ABOUT IT. THAT WAS SO GOOD, WASNT IT?! (laughs at own awesomeness)

why do we punish ourselves? that is my enigmatic question of late, a question to which no answer has been provided to me. until last night. i asked a friend, who had just broken up with his girlfriend of five years two months ago, why he was still talking to her on the phone when it clearly made him sad, to which he answered quietly, with no seeming hesitation, “in case there’s something left unsaid.”
The nature of his baritone voice and the easy position in which he sat showed no signs of indecisive pondering. He answered honestly and assertively, all without skipping a beat. Now, while I respect his choice, I can’t say I agree. If anything, I’m a little disappointed. Which brings me back to my question: why do we punish ourselves? You see, my loves, it’s a purgatorial loop that we’ve destined ourselves to be a part of, despite obvious warnings and previous examples. Fine, you find something unsaid and you speak it, but what happens later? The bottom line is, you’re still over. The fact that you’ve “gotten something off your chest,” well, isn’t the separation still in tact? So, by default, you’ve explored the unsaid, only to find yourself still lonely, still verbose, and still oh so very bitter. And whose fault might that be? It’s yours. YOU initiated the conversation. YOU’VE let yourself wide open. It’s YOU, for fuck’s sake.

but the slight, nearly undetectable romantic in me sighs the cliched "aww." afterall, how do you let go of five years of memories and inside jokes? for five years, he had molded himself into "the boyfriend," a character role he will not be able to get rid of for a long time, perhaps never. first loves never fade, my darlings. they are embedded in your psyche. you WILL smile when a long lost memory appears before your mind's eye as it plays out like a film on the silver screen. you WILL retain small habits you developed through your relationship. but, most importantly, you WILL have loved, and you will HAVE BEEN loved in return.

and THAT is why you punish yourself.
Because the pain is beautiful to recall.

"promise tomorrow starts with you."
how fucking sexy is that?
its right up there with
"I reached back like a pimp and I slapped the ho'"



it's you, you bloody idiot. oh, it's you.

at what point do we stop punishing ourselves for deeds undone, sins unrepented, and lovers lost?

why do you do this to yourself?
why do you think about him in class?
why do you draw doodles on your papers absentmindedly with hearts and stars and bright ink?
why do you dream about unmitigated cicumstances in which you two meet for the 7th time?
why do you stay up all night, waiting for him to IM you?
why does he bring a smile to your unaware face?
why does it feel like your emotions are raging guerilla warfares on your rational mind?
why cant you force him out of your brain?
why does it sting to know he's seeing someone else, even though youre officially over?
why does every love song sicken you, but you cant stop listening to it because it applies so fiercely?
why does your heart jump when his name is mentioned in the air, waiting for your ears to catch it?
why do your senses go numb?
why do you feel so dumb after talking to him, as if you have just made the gravest mistake in your life?
why are you breaking the number one relationship book in the battlefield of love: never like someone more than he likes you.
why do you check his profile every twenty minutes to see if there are new devlopements in his life you are not told by him (ever)?
why does it feel like youre overly emo?
why do you get up and dance when he makes an attempt to talk to you?
why do you sink and fall when he doesnt?
why does it sting and sooth at the same time?
why do you make yourself extra pretty on the sheer off chance he'll see you from across the room?
why do his written words ring so true, though he makes absolutely no acknowlogement of your existance when you make an effort to hide some hidden meaning in yours?
why do you buy clothes you think he'll like on you?
why do you write an obscenely long entry about him (and him) when you know he just isnt that into you?
why ask why when you know there no rhyme or reason?

why are we punishing ourselves?

i want an internet soulmate damnit.

regarding my last entry: the second i pressed "update," i felt sick to the stomach. i speak of vulnerability, only to strip my mind naked again on the internet. certainly, this is a grave mistake! however, the deed was done and i did not want to take back what i had done. usually i privatize these kinds of psyche baring entries, but oh well. so you know im not a total man eating bitch...things could be worse. as for the feedback i got, it was comforting to say the least. thanks to all who read it, or even responded. you dont know what it means to me for people to WANT to read my material. its not exactly pulitzer prize, grade a stuff, but knowing my friends react to it makes me feel like it is. it is seriously the highlight of my day.

its a strange thing, showing friends, acquaintances, and strangers whats swimming in your mind. you never know when you'll be pleasantly surprised.

here's looking at you, loves! (and especially you, ed! oh, you lone xanga-er. i dont think anyone has gone out of their way to link me. how very pleasant indeed.)

just when i thought i was free, nostalgia reels me back into depression. in light of infant, and conversely, broken relationships, i thought i might give my two cents. or, maybe a dime.

the beginning is all touch-and-go, the critical period where each move is calculated to precision. you know how it goes, dont you my loves? first, theres a rumor, and like all gossip, it begins with a kernel of truth, some sort of nugget of reality that spins out of control into obsessive but fantastic yarns. "did you hear? she likes him! i heard..." its at that time when you go through hell on earth. like i said before, its hard to play coy when all youre used to is playing aggressive. you want to tell him everything, how youve memorized his walking sounds, how you know he's sick because he does this little particular thing with his mouth, how much you care (even though it scares you to death). of course you cant; its against dating etiquette.

then, through some miracle of fate, he likes you back! apparently, while you were learning to memorize his facial expressions and what they represent, he was looking at you too. the reaction you get when you hear this brilliant news is just that: brilliant. everything is brighter, shinier, and through physcial consequence you glow from within. people ask, "why were you just smiling to yourself just now?" you want to scream it to the world, "HE LIKES ME BACK!" but you just reply mysteriously, "oh, nothing..." youre out of your mind with pleasure, but youre just mostly filled with fear. fear that youve heard wrong, fear that its not going to work out, fear that youre just not good enough for him. you might posessive a strong sense of self but it only takes one boy to tear it all down. you know this, dont you loves? dont we all?

another miracle might strike. boom, youre seeing each other. the dating period where you both try to be as polite as possible, making sure youre not stepping on any toes as you assertively express your opinions. its funny, that phrase, youre "seeing each other." the meaning is two-fold, you're, one, (finally) dating, and two, really SEEING each other for who you really are. the theory is terrifying to me. for someone who is more or less guarded behind sarcasm and crap humor, having him see you, REALLY see you, naked and exposed...its terrifying. but you'll put up with it, correct? for your long term happiness, a little terror might be good for you.

finally, FINALLY, youre boyfriend and girlfriend. the committment is incomprehendable, but you try your damndest anyway because he makes you fucking happy. like the song, its in the kiss. everyone has their definition of what marks a great beginning of a beauitful relationship, and mine is the kiss. it can be sweet, like hi-youre-the-highlight-of-my-day. it can be passionate, like when you dont see each other for weeks on end. but most importantly, it is intimate. i dont think you share souls, or anything metaphysical like that, but it certainly is something, isnt it? that "oomph," that spark. its exciting, its fresh, its new, its YOURS to treasure for as long as that memory stays in your mind.

during the relationship, you have your highs and lows, but if youre lucky, youre floating high most of the time. however, its the lows that you should be thankful for. its gravely underestimated. when a couple goes through a rough patch and emerges for the stronger, THATS when you know youve got a good thing going. it might be miscommunication, or long distance, but damn it, if he makes you happy, you''ll bite the bullet and evolve into a trooper. maybe we ARE predestined, but it doesnt mean we cant budge it a little. ruts, fights, distance...its all menial if its worth it in the end. you have to brave or else, dare i say it, LOVE will fucking tear you apart.

maybe you cant get over the lows though, and we certainly seen that happen, havent we loves? the committment was too hard, the adoration fades, that honeymoon period waxes and disappears until you cant figure out why is it that you can feel your realtionship is slipping away from you. it hurts, you know. you hold a good poker face, but inside its like your mind throbes with all the consequences of breaking up versus staying together. if you stay together, you have to make sure that the bond is henceforth unbreakable. if you break up, you'll be single again. do you remember how to be single? for such a long time you're half of this cohesive identity, this seemingly inseparable whole. can you stand to be alone after all this time? can you stand the flow of questions that will certainly come after you publicly announce to the world that you are indeed over? over. thats another funny phrase.

so you are then. over. it hurts more than staying together. you take off any insignia that reminds you of him. you hide your pictures together so that you cant see and torture yourself with images of your past happiness. oh, how you were happy! did you make the right choice, breaking up? goddamn, you were so good together. you said you were going to stay friends, but who knows how that'll work out? thats just it, you know? no one knows. no one knows ANYTHING. someone might offer you generic advice as to how to get over the heartache, but its difficult to undo the past weeks, months, years. you see his car and your heart jumps a little, but you know it cant possible be him. HE LEFT YOU. you want to call him the night after, like every other night before the breakup, but you know its only habit. YOURE NOT WITH HIM ANYMORE. you might cry, though some might not. i was pretty sure all i have in my tearducts is dust, but its not true. pain wells up in your eyes, you know? and you HAVE to let it out, even if you dont want to.

the aftermath. you tell all your friends that youre over him, but are you seriously? are you over him? youre over the way he made you feel when he danced with you in his livingroom? youre over the letters he sent you which proclaimed eternity? youre over the pain of knowing he doesnt want you anymore? its doubtful, but you say you are anyway because you know you should be. it might have been weeks or months since its been over, but you still feel the tinge of regreat everytime you see a couple walk pass you. you both love and hate the images as it rushes around you: you love the sweetness the couple seems to enjoy in each others company, but you hate them all the same because you had that too, but YOU couldnt keep it, you fucking loser. all the things you didnt get to say...the thanks you want to give him for the wonderful times...the raging tirade you have built up over the days for making you miserable...but your tongue is heavy and your eyes are hazy. your mind is suffocating in the wake of fleeting ardor.

i think as girls, we have to remember to breathe in deeply and remember that the end of a relationship isnt the end of the world, even thought it sure as hell feels like it. god, you can feel it in your chest, right, all those sighs you want to breathe out all at once but you cant. hopefully, someday you can, and the hurt fades over some time has gone past. i have faith in us to overcome our self-built barriers that we have constructed to protect us from the tears and pain. i believe in you, my loves.

i hope this somehow touches something in your hearts, because it has certainly been cathartic to type all this out after all this time of keeping it all inside. this is MY deep breath.

solitary is not a four letter word, and that seems to be the lesson of late. today, pam, alison, vicki, and i met up at starbucks for a good ol' gal-pal chat and bitching. as i sat there, i wondered why all of us were single. we talked about relationships and all the other four letter words that went along with love, and we spoke like true experts, as only one can in a coffee scented atmosphere. "she did this because of this and that," and "he is so sweet for doing this for her," but all the while, what real experience did any of us have in the true love department, or anyone for that matter? oh, we've had our fair share of infatuations and moments when we just want to have a TDH (tall, dark, and handsome) to cuddle up against, but true love? i dont know about the rest of them, but i just dont know. true love just seems so forever and distant...and painful.

being one-half of a couple is great. when you have conversations with a stranger, you can say "my MAN." when you are unsuspectingly walking about, you might see something that piques your interest and makes you think of some sweet little memory you tucked in the back of your mind. it's like a security blanket, you know? it's something you draw upon when youre having an otherwise shitty day. its what you think about when you say "my life is great."

but then again, being single isnt all that bad either. when you go out, you can put extra effort into the way you look. being the vain bitch that i am, when i try harder, i feel HOTTER, like no one can touch me (unless i want them to). you can wear higher heels. you can walk with that extra bounce in your step, like "bow down bitches! im painting the town red tonight, and NO MAN CAN KEEP ME."

...maybe its just me.

so yeah, we're single, but we're single with a mission, an ambitious purpose unparalleled by any other: to take no prisoners. to love hard and true. and most of all? to have some fucking fun. in conclusion, to all you single folk out there: live fast, party hard...and use protection.

what? i kinda ran out of things to say. it works!

i miss. it's true, you know? you don't know what you're missing until it's gone. here's looking at you, jen chang.

please donate blood people, especially if you have blood type O. how many times can you actually say, "i helped save someone's life"? make a difference. if you're scared of the needle, take someone with you. i'll gladly accompany anyone in their maiden voyage to a blood donation center. 20 minutes of discomfort can save as many as three lives! go make an appointment. i think im going next week, if not this friday,  in fullerton in the afternoon. go with me! 626-377-1816 (i hope that doesnt backfire on me.)

ridiculous? me? maybe.
where have you been, you fudger :D