Just sever that leash and release.

I wrote a short story last night while in a state of mania. It was about a bad break up and then somehow I ended up turning a break up straight into a porn novel. I guess that's what happens when I have miscommunications with my boyfriend, I write bad porns. I'm convinced that I can turn virtually any situation into a bad porno. I mean, aren't most pornos composed of stupid situations anyway? No one really watches porn for the plot. The premise is what? Get naked, stick objects into holes and follow up with cum shots. Wait, before you got naked you were a pilot screwing your stewardess? Shit, how should I have known. Pilots don't walk around with their dicks hanging out and stewardesses certainly don't run around in bras and crotchless panties. What airline was it, anyway? I want to take that flight next time.

I guess since I am no longer having a stupid, yet dramatic, fight with my boyfriend I won't be writing anymore bad pornos. I'm almost tempted to post it but then my parents who read this will really know how disgusting I am. I mean, they know I'm fucked up ... but I don't think they need to read all in detail, right? Who cares if I'm old. They're still my parents despite my gray hairs that are making room for themselves on my scalp.

For now, I'll keep my porno to myself. The focus for the next 48 hours will be Christmas. I have a 25 pound pork leg to put in the oven at 5 in the morning. Goodnight.

Done.

I'm done shopping. I'm done wrapping. I'm done. I'M DONE.

Christmas can just hurry up and get here already. Thanks.

From everything to nothing.

The thing I hate the absolute most about the holidays is how I suddenly become overwhelmed with emotion and the need to give. Give, give, give. I suppose that's the point of the holidays, whether you're religious or not, to sit and reflect and think about how good your life is compared to others and how thankful you are. Maybe it's just me. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person who feels this way. I feel like my facebook is filled with too many status updates of people who know someone who took his or her own life. I know it's that time of year for suicides. I know. I know people start feeling the loneliest, the most unloved, the most discarded this time of year. I felt that last year. Last year was the first time in 7 Christmases I was without my ex and we had just broken up a few weeks prior. That was the first time in years he wasn't by my side at the table. That was the first time in years I felt like I wasn't good enough for anyone, ever. I was down on myself and put a lot of blame on myself even though I shouldn't have. I felt terrible and ugly from the inside out. I probably posted here on my blog that I was okay or maybe that I was distracted or whatever. I wasn't. I cried a lot until that New Year came and I made a conscious effort to not do that to myself again. Before I felt the need to go run off and party, which was from the New Year forward, I cried a lot. I cried it out but I made it through. I had my mind focusing on all the good things in life to keep me from drinking, dabbling in drugs, or doing anything other than keeping sober until I was ready to be normal again. I know so many people who have gone through hard breakups and drink or go on drug binges until they're in the hospital. I just wish people wouldn't turn to those things and just focus. focus on the good. it is possible that I am too logical in that respect.

This season I've donated the most I ever have. I've gone through all my clothing and shoes and have filled two gigantic garbage bags full of things I don't wear or need, and nothing of any significant value for me to keep or even sell. Even nice shoes that are still relatively new and were once expensive --- they're going to meet a new home somewhere else to someone who will cherish them more than I could ever. I've donated to causes --- one of them being petsalive.com because I started crying when I went to the website. If there's one thing that really pushes my buttons and really overwhelms me, it's dog abuse. Not so much animals in general which sounds terrible. Of course it bugs me. The instant tears and hurt is specifically limited to dogs. Maybe because I've had dogs all my life, currently have 3 that essentially rule my life... But either way, if you're reading this, please give them a donation to their Help for Dead Dog Beach fund. Please.

Every year the building in which my mom works sets up a gigantic Christmas tree full of Santa's wishes. These wishes are composed of children, mostly under the age of 12, who live well below the poverty line and what their wishes are why. I was digging through the tree last year and one really struck out at me. Most of the kids wanted toys or something artistic or some sort of specific item of clothing because they can't afford it. One little girl, however, of only 8 years old wanted bath towels. BATH TOWELS. She wanted them because she didn't want to share wet towels anymore. That really made my heart sink to a place I didn't know existed. I took the wish off the tree and immediately went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and bought her towels. I bought her a whole set of purple towels, because she mentioned purple was her favorite color. I still think about the towels, because it's something so many of us take for granted. Something so simple, something of what most of us think of as a common household item without thinking twice. A bath towel. I'm glad I never met that little girl face to face and there was a drop off location. I probably would have started crying immediately and tried to adopt her one way or another.

Tomorrow I plan on going back to that tree and granting another wish. If any of you are in the area where I live, and presumably you know who I am and where I live and want to donate, I'll give you the address where you can find that tree.

I guess the bottom line to this post is to please get in the holiday spirit, whether you're religious or not, just to give back. Before you buy a pair of Louboutin heels or another Louis Vuitton purse, before you go on some outrageous shopping spree, give a little. If you have change walking out of a grocery store, give the man in front chiming that bell a little change, even if it's a penny. Give back. Give back something. Stop looking at giving back as a liberal versus conservative issue, or an immigrant versus american issue or any way where the government can be blamed. Just give to good causes, even if it's just a little bit. That's all.

Anxiety ridden.

I'm having anxiety. I'm having the type of anxiety that sent me to the hospital when I was in my late teens because I thought I was dying of a heart attack and then I followed that visit with heavy doses of sedatives. A big glass of booze sounds good right about now but I'll deal with this.

Having anxiety issues can be a real bitch sometimes. Granted I don't help my cause with my caffeine addiction. I also don't take anti-anxiety medication because that's a crutch and not a solution. What I have is a voice inside my head that I need to channel and override the other voice that gives me anxiety. I literally say to myself DEAR BRAIN, YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF AT THIS POINT AND I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE, GO TO SLEEP BEFORE I PUT YOU TO SLEEP. Then somewhere along the line my common sense kicks in and my brain shuts up. Luckily my anxiety is a fraction of what it once was and it rarely effects me anymore. Periodically I get this and I'm not sure why, it's just been a while since I've had it this bad. Since I can't sleep with this anxiety, I keep myself awake until I knock myself out cold. If I try to sleep I end up waking up every 2 minutes with my heart racing and that gets old, really old.

Today's tragic news is what triggered my anxiety today, I'm sure of it. There really is no other explanation.

So this girl I once knew committed suicide. I feel like people that I once knew are dropping like flies. A couple of weeks ago, someone else passed away that was once an acquaintance, and I hate to say 'thankfully' but --- 'thankfully' his death was an accident. I say that in the sense of where no one is left behind saying, "I can't believe I didn't see the signs," or "I can't believe I didn't help him/her when I knew she needed it," etc. No one is left to sit there and blame themselves. An accidental death, like any death, is always hard but when it's something like a freak accident, you just have nothing but good memories to reflect on.

I have such a rough time hearing when people die of accidental overdoses and suicide, especially when it's from people in my area. I live in an upper middle class, borderline filthy rich neighborhood. I live in an area where everyone has the opportunity for a top-notch education, where everyone has a roof over his or her head, where everyone has food on the table, where everyone drives expensive cars, wears expensive clothing and just simply has the good life that so many millions could only dream of. I find it so hard for a person to actually sit there and think suicide is the best option. It's sad when one is given so many opportunities in life and pisses it all away for a drug addiction, an addiction that ultimately leads to depression and other emotional and mental issues. Often times I'm driven crazy by the problems that people I grew up with have and it's like no one has ever been thankful for anything they've ever received. ever. Forget that we're Americans with more over-all life opportunities offered here than any other country in the world. Forget that. Here. Bubble Town. Where everyone is rich. Your greatest problem might be your parents who don't hug you enough, but that's menial in the great scheme of things. Life goes on whether you want it to or not, and dwelling on the past and not even looking to take a step forward will never help you. Everyone wants to play the victim. Everyone wants to find a reason to be sad. Everyone wants to cry about their problems and not accept them for what they are and move on.

I've become less tolerant of suicides, depression and the absolute need for therapists and pills to get you through life after reading The Mole People by Jennifer Toth. It's about the homeless who live in underground tunnels in New York City. Talk about poverty. Talk about mental issues. Talk about the seriously ill who need the most help of all. This book is her first hand encounters with the mole people as part of her research as a graduate student at Columbia U. A huge chunk of this book is her direct quotes from interviews and her reactions and interpretations. There's also a lot of her interaction with the NYPD and their issues with the mole people --- Some who understand the plight of the mole people, and some who don't.

It's sad, really --- All the dwellers in the tunnels gives Hoovervilles a better, hotel-like name in comparison to the the way the mole people live. Even more so, it makes my upper middle class neighborhood filled with prescription drug addicts and suicidal kids look even crazier than anyone living in the tunnel, that's for damn sure. Reading this book, reading the lives of so many who live in completely destitute, whose living situations are worse than your stereotypical starving third-world town, really gets your mind going on a whole new level. These people live in complete squalor. These people eat and sleep where they defecate all while being survivalists --- Because murder is common. Because you are never safe. Because someone is always watching you and wanting to steal the few possessions you may have that more than likely have a lot of emotional value. It's not just sleeping on a park bench --- it's being so completely screwed up that you're willing to live a hundred feet or so underground, never see the light, hunt 'track rabbits' (aka rats) to eat and hope to join a community of other homeless is really, really sad. And you know, none of these people end up becoming suicidal. Surprisingly, there are so many hopeful people in the tunnels that it sort of makes all of YOUR problems seem completely inferior and meaningless. Yes, a majority of these people are ridiculously hooked on drugs and yes, there are a lot of accidental overdoses or whacked-out people who die on the tracks for being methed up and losing their minds. However, that is not the case and story of many of them --- Some are just purely down on their luck, and some just never had a chance at life. There are also some who are illegals, working minimum wage jobs no one else wants to work, who save every single penny of their earnings to hopefully buy land somewhere and find a better life --- But there is hope there and a lot of it.

Here. In Bubble Town. In the land of rich and spoiled, I honestly can't feel all too bad. It's hypocritical of me, in many ways, to just say GET OVER IT and move on. I'm one of the luckiest people on the planet --- I have everything I want and then more. I have two loving parents that despite all my screw ups in life still support me and love me so long as I'm not some freeloading junkie (this has never been an issue, btw). I have family everywhere I can turn to, who love me and I love them. A fantastic boyfriend who ultimately loves me for me even when I'm being a pain in the ass. I have an incredible network of friends. I have money in the bank, the ability to shop and travel and most of all, I am healthy and able bodied. Right now, today, in this world --- I am great. And sometimes I find it so hard when people around me have so much in common with me yet still find a reason to fall to drugs and take their own lives. It's selfish, and I don't care how mentally screwed up you are. I really don't. The Mole People in many ways confirms that you can be BEYOND mentally disturbed and STILL find a reason to live.

Don't get me wrong, I've had my hard times. Ive lost my mind on more than one occasion but I've always bounced back. I've had hard times as a kid that I really don't want to go into on my blog, experienced shit that I should have never that essentially stole my innocence as a child. I've lost a home due to fire and felt what it was like to lose all of your worldly possessions and feel for a short period of time what it is not to have a home because it's gone. There one minute and gone the next. Throughout my life I've had some hardships, maybe not to the extent of losing a parent which I believe would probably be the hardest, at least for me, but even through what I've been through, I've pulled myself together without the aid of a therapist or medication. I've never felt suicide was an option even in my darkest moments. I've never felt the need to dabble in drugs to fill whatever void I have. I've had it good my whole life when reading the lives of people here in America, much less in other parts of the world... And I know so many in my fucked up town who have had it better than i have yet still find a reason to let go. It's fucked up really. A majority of us didn't grow up to the theme of Bastard of out Carolina. Sometimes I just don't understand how people can be so selfish. I suppose that's the bottom line.

If you read this blog, I want you to take a moment and be thankful for your life. Be thankful you have the ability to read this, access to a computer, the drink, whatever it may be, that's probably next to you right now and the roof over your head. Be thankful. Don't wait for Thanksgiving. And if you read this --- and maybe you are a depressed and a suicidal person --- Please seek help. Don't do the selfish thing and hurt the people around you that you probably think don't exist or don't love you. There's help out there, I promise you. The same goes for anyone that reads this and is having issues with substance abuse. There is help everywhere. Just don't be afraid to ask for it.

Anal and Aviation.

No, I did not have anal sex mile high club status. I probably should have just to say I did but that's another story.

So in my quick trip to the east coast I discovered something very important. IT IS MOTHER FUCKING COLD IN DECEMBER IN MARYLAND. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO VISIT MARYLAND WITHOUT HUNDREDS OF LAYERS OF FLEECE CLOTHING AT YOUR DISPOSAL AT ALL TIMES. The entire time I was there I was mistaken for the Michelin Man. I was so bundled up that my armpits got sore from attempting to move around in so many layers of clothing. I'm honestly lucky that I found my only snow jacket. The snow jacket I so happen to have bought in Switzerland when I visited last March because when I visited Europe in the spring time, I was completely unprepared for cold weather much less snow. Let's just say if I would have never gone to Switzerland and experienced cold weather and snow, I would have not had that jacket. If I would have not had that jacket I probably would have made my way into the subway tunnels of the DC metro and befriend a bunch of junkies that live in the subways to keep warm and to come back with good stories.

My last journey to the east coast was a whopping 3 weeks ago and I was on a mission to find myself scrapple. Every opportunity of scrapple eating that I thought I had never materialized (scrapplized?). This time around, I told my friend Katie, who was nice enough to play host to me, that I would refuse to leave until I had my scrapple. In turn, I almost missed my flight but I had that scrapple. Sadly I wish I could say it was worth it. Assuming there are degrees or grades of scrapple, I would assume this was the dog food version of scrapple based on everything else I was served today for lunch. Pictured above is my lunch I at the Forest Diner in Mount Airy, Maryland. AVOID THIS DINER. Yes, I am going to Yelp review the food as being the same quality of waste that comes out of my dog's rear end. I ate half of the scrapple just to say that I actually ate scrapple despite the fact that it was deep fried and burned to the point where I may now have colon cancer. I guess that's not funny to joke about when that runs in my family. FORGIVE ME. The corned beef hash which is normally my favorite eats in diners was completely inedible. It was probably the least appetizing thing I've seen in my entire life (see photo of disgusting round item in sliced from the can and pushed out shape), and I'm willing to guess was leftovers from several years ago. The best thing I ate was the toast with packaged butter. I was hungry on the flight when it was supposed to be my pre-flight food. I had to order a TAPAS BOX on the flight which had olives, cheese and crackers, roasted pepper tapenade, hummus and whatever else Mediterraneanesque that United Airlines could think of that would cost nearly nothing to produce that they could get a significant profit from. I was sitting next to this really cool guy and we talked a bunch (more like I talked a bunch, I believe I talked his ear off) and after we spoke about food (erm, I spoke about food) he made fun of me for eating the tapas box. I showed him a picture of my dog shit for lunch and even he agreed it was probably a wise choice to go for the airline food. That guy was really awesome. I wish I had people like him to talk to on all my flights. Can't get lucky every time, right?

In closing, I just wanted to say that I conquered 8 degree weather. There's another item I can knock off my bucket list: feeling single digit temperatures without dying. See, I did it. I'm only pussy when I want to be.

What happened?

I'm not exactly sure where the time has gone. One minute I'm completely obsessed with this blog and the next it's like this thing doesn't exist. There have been a number of moments where I've said to myself that I've been neglecting this blog but have continued to ignore my blogger needs. Suddenly, weeks have gone by and still no update. Damn, I suck.

I posted last when I was in New York City. That was the begging of my Mid-Atlantic food tour. From NYC I followed with going to Princeton, New Jersey so my folks could see a friend of theirs and I saw a couple of friends of mine. Followed by Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington DC and Virgina/North Carolina.

The food trip was incredible. If I were to explain in detail of every single thing I ate and experienced I would be writing this blog for the next few days. Instead, I will sum it up.

Best palate experience: Morimoto's in Philadelphia. The only restaurant I've been to in years where I have no clue how to reproduce half of the food I ate. It really was a mind-blowing, mouth-fucking experience.

Most overrated: Delilah's FAMOUS mac n' cheese in Philadelphia. OPRAH, YOU SUCK.

Most fun: Pat's v. Geno's food feud in Philadelphia. I side with Michael Symon, PAT'S for the win. Sidenote: TONY LUKE'S is by far, hands-down much better quality of a cheesesteak. Bobby Flay is right.

Best classic dishes: TIE. Between Caracas Arepa Bar in NYC or La Isla in Hoboken, New Jersey. Both of them were featured on Throwdown. The Throwdown dish from La Isla was the stuffed french toast which actually didn't blow me out of the water like the arepas did. It was just their over-all classic Cuban food which was done to absolute perfection. My mom ordered the choripan and it reminded me of my childhood when my grandma lived with us.

Everything else I had lived up to its expectations. What blew my mind the most was the BBQ from mid-way through Virginia through North Carolina. Even more so, how the restaurants often offered Carolina-style BBQ sauce and Virginia-style BBQ sauce... Which much to my surprise was nothing of what I thought to be BBQ sauce to be, especially North Carolina style. When you hear that North Carolina style is a vinegar base, they honestly mean it's fucking vinegar --- lots and lots of vinegar. The people were nice, the food was awesome.

The picture above was at this place called Currituck BBQ in some podunk town in North Carolina. The place was packed with hunters and this picture was to prove that I saw hunters a'plenty. As a Californian I have seen a lot of things in my life, things that some people should see and experience and have also seen things some people will never and should never. Point is, something Southern Californians lack in their daily lives is a good dose of hunters. Strange almost, but cool.

On another note, I'm actually going back to DC tomorrow. I'm going for work, but I get an additional 36 hours after work to play around in DC. I'll get to go to Granville Moore, one of the places on my list that I didn't go to on my trip. STOKED! :)

I also bought myself a netbook today for traveling. I'm going to invest in a mac, FINALLY --- but I realized that if I go traveling around with a mac and God forbid anything happen to it, I will probably shit my pants and cry until I drown in my own tears. Now I have this awesome little netbook that fits in my purse and if someone jacks it, fine. All I had on it was e-mail, AIM and facebook. Go for it. Bitch.

Harlem --- and all the other enclaves.

You know, there's a charm and essence about Harlem I just love. I went to Melba's today for her famous chicken and waffles that were featured on Throwdown. Immediately when I walked in, a family member of Melba's that worked there said that the kitchen was closing to prepare for dinner service --- But if I could order quickly Melba is fine with keeping the kitchen open for another 20 minutes. Not only that, but she said I could hang out for as long as I wanted, no rush at all. The atmosphere was welcoming. The people were welcoming. I felt at home --- and I believe that's Melba's goal with her restaurant. She even came out and sat at the table across from me, just sitting there going over mail and number crunching. She was happy --- and happy to take pictures with anyone who wanted to take pictures with her, who clearly loved seeing people happy. Needless to say her fried chicken beats Roscoe's hands down. I did a million crunches and ran all over Manhattan shortly thereafter. Thank you, Melba.

On a different note, I'm not trying to be controversial nor am I trying to be racist. What I will post shortly after this is a forewarning of potentially terrible things -- these things are purely based on observation and I mean absolutely no harm by it.

So to just say it already, I just want to say that I love the Harlem black community. Historically Harlem has always been pegged as being such a poor black community littered with crime. That Columbia U is in the middle of the ghetto. That Harlem is nothing but projects and comparable to the worst parts of East LA, Compton, Watts, etc. I remember visiting Harlem, Queens, The Bronx, Brooklyn, etc. as a kid --- and Harlem today is nothing of what it was then. Harlem has been cleaned up beautifully with little fall backs here and there, but even in rich white surburbia that i call home, we have our fall backs in cleanliness, too.

Today I fell in love with Harlem. I fell in love with its people. I fell in love with the vibrancy that is this part of New York City. I felt safe and comfortable. I felt like this was what I wanted to feel when in Harlem. --- None of that nonsense down Times Square, 5th, Broadway or any of that crap. What I saw in Harlem was genuine --- Walking through Church of the Holy Rosary littered with happy go lucky church goers. Across the street at Riverside Park, where Ulysses S. Grant's tomb in that monster of a moseaoleum, I saw a bunch of Kid-Cudi look alikes hanging around in the park just huddled around talking politics. Maybe they were Columbia U students. Maybe there were just hood kids. In LA I'd assume they were all doing crack -- and they probably would be --- and certainly politics wouldn't be a favored topic. Whoever is running Harlem is spending their money wisely cleaning up that community on all levels. My father says it's a combination of the conservative wall street men bringing in the cash flow to NYC, its government dispersing it appropriately --- obviously a liberal government with the right intentions and agenda. Why can't I see this in LA? Why doesn't this exist in California? Either way, LA has taught me to be scared of everyone and everything but affluent ritzy areas. That drive-by shootings are the norm. That living that life is OK. Harlem has taught me that LA is full of shit and not everyone is fucked up. There is serious lack of culture in LA even though we say we're so cultured. We're not. Californians are full of complete shit. We segregate the poor and let them try to kill each other off. We keep them dumb and do nothing to help our terrible education system, we just give them money to shut them up just enough to not be heard. We allow people to go on welfare for lengthy periods of time without question. We allow for people to acclimate to living with nothing but government money. It's the Stockholm Syndrome of government. We do nothing to help. We've had Barbara Boxer in California for 20 years doing nothing. We've had Jerry Brown before who did nothing. He did nothing for Oakland. I'm not saying that what we need is a bunch of neoconservatives in office because that does nothing good either. What I am saying is we need people who actually care. I'd love to see LA transform like Harlem has. Harlem is amazing, plain and simple. Maybe I didn't spend enough time there to see its negative side but the reality all communities have their drawbacks --- despite race, nationality or creed.

Now that I'm going to step down from my soapbox --- I just want to say leaving New York City is going to be incredibly difficult for me. I spend the better part of a day just hanging around East Village --- filled with South Americans and its incredible cuisine. I was reminded of Madrid and my heart melted 800 times over. It's been exactly a year since I've been to Madrid. I spent my 1 year sans-Madrid anniversary in East Village, at Caracas Arepa Bar and I loved it. I've never spoken so much Spanish outside of Spain or in my own home.

It's like all these little ethnic enclaves are forgotten by tourists. Last I was here I was a kid, so this is a whole new experience for me. I feel like when my friends tell me about NYC they either aren't brave enough to explore on their own or aren't interested in anything other than the norm, they come to get drunk and go to bars or do drugs in hotel rooms. maybe see a Yankee game. Everyone wants to come to NYC and see the museum and the flashing lights and sounds of Times Square. Everyone wants to shop on Broadway and I'm not sure why, isn't that why we have online shopping? I don't think people come here enough and venture out to little mom and pop shops or go beyond pizza, hot dogs, pretzels and don't see what really makes New York City which are street after street of mini countries in such a small space. Traveling the globe in 10 miles. Sounds good to me.

Across the Hudson I fell in love with Hoboken and Jersey City. a 10 minute subway ride to an adopted Habana itself. I've never seen so many Cubans outside of Miami --- Cubans who take pride in their community and cuisine. It's so awesome here. As a Cuban on both sides, I adopted the Cuban culture as my own. I adopted as much as I could without being in Habana or Miami, minus the Catholicism of course. The point is that being here made me REALLY feel at home as I identified with this community in the best way possible.

Leaving tomorrow is going to be hard --- and I will be thinking of this side of the US until I come back. It's like I have all I want --- so much that reminds me of home, so much that reminds me of Madrid, so much in culture and cuisine in such a small space. I highly suggest to anyone that visits NYC to step out of the NYC box. Fuck seeing Trump Tower, fuck Rockefeller Center, fuck shopping, fuck it all. Go down to the old Five Points (Yes, from Gangs of New York and PS it's no longer the Five Points --- Take a walk down Mulberry. Sit on Baxter and Walter.) and see if you can feel old NYC like I did. Walk down streets you're unsure of. They're safe. Just walk. Walk into a restaurant whose cuisine you've never had. I ate cow heart and a Peruvian restaurant and it was delicious. Just walk. and keep going. I really know why people fall in love with Manhattan and all its beautiful communities with all its ups and downs. I love it.

Tomorrow I'm heading down into Princeton to see my Godmother. I'm slowly working my way down to Virginia with lots of other stops along the way. The more I travel the more I realize how much I hate Los Angeles. No wonder my boyfriend and I are so perfect for one another. We're travelers and we see the same things. We see that LA is bullshit. I wish he was here with me to experience what I am --- and I know he would. I miss him a lot right now but thankfully I won't be gone much longer.

Monsters and Trips

This is Kilo Monster, for those that are unaware of him. He's my boyfriend's dog that has become mine and if my boyfriend and I ever break up (which we're not, ever!) I am going to fight for custody of this dog because he will be miserable without me. This dog and I have been attached at the hip since Jamie and I first started dating. Apparently he was anti-cuddling and never wanted to be touched for very long and now that's all we do. We cuddle. He started hanging out with Sierra and now he cries like a bitch on the other side of the door when he's locked out. My boyfriend says I'm with him for the dog and not him. Which is not entirely true. I'm with my boyfriend for the dog AND his monster sized penis. God, he needs to get it right already if he's going to accuse me of such terrible things.

Anyway.

I'm leaving for a 2 week, guaranteed fucked up trip with my family to the east coast in 8 days. I sorta invited myself to mooch on to my parents trip because I have friends all over the east coast I want to see. It was originally going to be an east coast trip + trip to Madrid but it's just going to to be too hard to swing the two. I'm going back to Europe for my birthday, so that's fine. It's almost been a year since I've been to Madrid last. Time fucking flies. Then after purchasing my ticket I realized I will be without boyfriend and sleeping on friend's beds to get away from my parents and traveling by car for hours and hours all over the place, from NYC to Virginia and then back up and around again. The things I do to myself... And the reason why is simple. Food. I am traveling for food.

I have a few places that are MUST-STOPS that I will be fattening my liver with.

Melba's in Harlem. Known for their chicken and waffles. As seen on Throwdown.

Morimoto's in Philadelphia. Uh, owned by IRON CHEF MORIMOTO. This is his OG restaurant in the US. Ya. No need to explain anymore, do I?

Blue Duck Tavern in DC. My good friend Seamus recommended this place to me today, I immediately sent info over to my parents and we died at the menu. So, we're stopping here. Plus I don't want to hear shit from Seamus if I don't. Top 10 best hotel restaurants in the world, according to hotel magazine. We'll see.

Tony Luke's in Philadelphia. If Tony Luke doesn't have the best Cheesesteak sandwich I've ever had, then I will never trust Bobby Flay or Food Network again. Ever. I've been wanting to eat at Tony Luke's since I've seen it.

A Salt N Battery in NYC. After a very long, tiresome and unsuccessful hunt for Fish N' Chips in London, I'm hoping NYC has something better to offer. This place is known for it. If they fail me, I give up for life.

Junior's in Brooklyn. Supposedly best cheesecake in town. Yep.

Azucar Cuban Cuisine in NJ. YA. I'm going to be comparing everything to my abuela. We'll see about that.

... This is just a few. I have 30 more places to hit up.

I told my mom that in order to NOT gain a ton of weight, HELLO, I'VE WORKED FUCKING HARD FOR WHAT I HAVE, THANK YOU. ... We are splitting EVERYTHING. Literally everything. I am not ordering anything without sharing it with her and I plan on running every fucking day so long as it's not raining, I don't care how cold it is.

I guess that's it. I probably won't update until I'm either on the east coast or i'm back, unless something ridiculously awesome happens, because I'm a lazy pile of shit when it comes to blogging these days.

the rent is too god damn high.

Mouth Spoiled.

My life isn't all that interesting and I suppose that has been taken out on my blog. My blog has become a diary rather than ranting and raving. I have nothing to be upset about in my life, so I apologize for the lack of fun and/or crazy that has been missing for so long now. I'm happier this way. :)

This weekend, however, I feel like I should write about it. It's not so much interesting but more... how do I put this delicately... My mouth got fucked over and over and over and over again with delicious food.

Friday night my boyfriend and I went to Kiwami, owned by the Katsu-ya Group. This was hands-down one of the best sushi dinners I've had in a long time. This was more than sushi, it was fine dining and pure luxury in a nice date-night setting. We started with pan seared foie gras on top of kobe beef medallions. Perfect appetizer to start the evening. We ordered a bunch of sashimis (the best being the toro and the yellowtail), the spicy tuna on crispy rice was incredible, I ATE UNAGI which is saying a lot. I'm an equal opportunity eater and I always seem to end up with inedible unagi (eel, for those that dont know) so I've avoided it for years. This time it was more delicious. I don't see myself eating unagi anywhere else other than here. We had tempura soft shell crab with ponzu which was awesome. We also ordered seared albacore with shaved black truffles. Let's just say that I was in mouth-fuck heaven and I couldn't have been happier...

Then Saturday night came and somehow the BF and I ended up going down to the Grove with my parents to Ulysses Voyage, my favorite Greek restaurant aside from Papa Cristo's market in DTLA. Care of my parents we had lots of good booze and the consistently great food that Ulysses is. I think I've been to that restaurant 123098120938129083190 times and I will never get sick of it. Every time I go I leave happy, full and drunk, that's all I ask for.

Ranch Girl.

It's been a year and a half since I've been on the back of a horse. I forgot what it was like to be on a horse and just do whatever pleases you. I forgot how freeing that feeling is -- and I forgot how much I loved being around horses when it was just you and the horse and nothing between you. Today I got to feel that feeling again and I'm left with such an itch to ride continuously, but I know what's best for me --- for now -- and that's the occasional ride here and there.

My boyfriend has a ranch up old topanga canyon that's been in his family since the late 1800's. Fucking cool, right? Well, anyway, his uncle has 4 horses up there and today while we were up there for a family gathering, his uncle was trimming the feet on his arab mare (funny, his uncle is buddies with one of my old farriers) and i was holding her for him and we were chatting horses for a while. Then as he's done with her, he says, "ready?" and i'm like... Ready for what? And he says, "to take her for a ride?" lol. Of course I was ready, I am always ready. I mean, looking at me whilst in flip flops and nice jeans you'd think I wasn't... Oh, oh, but I was. and I did. Little brat of an Arab tried to test me and that didn't get her very far other than a heel in her gut which she wasn't too fond of. But then she realized she knew what I was doing, she gave up and we had a nice ride.

My boyfriend is cute. I saw him watching me ride from the patio area. I love that I could feel him smiling at me knowing I was happy. I love how we walk around his rugged ranch hand in hand. We pick grapes off the vineyards and eat them, complain that the avocado trees don't have any avocados ready, have staring contests with creepy cats with bright yellow eyes, sit on the ridge and watch the fog rolling in the canyons. I love being up there. I love that he and I love the same things in life. I also love that he grabs me by the face, tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me.

Wanna know what I am? I am lucky, in love and couldn't be happier.

My eyes are emerald green when i cry.

I wish this picture could actually capture the true color my eyes turn when I cry. A camera phone during the bright of day just won't cut it. This is an older picture --- after one of my many meltdowns I've had over the past ... well... I always have meltdowns. My eyes get swollen --- from below my lids to the tip of my eyebrows. My eyes turn so brilliantly green that they could be mistaken for precious stones. I can't hide it, nor do I try to. I just don't like explaining why.

Sometimes a girl needs a good cry. Sometimes those cries come at completely inappropriate times, or are triggered by innocent things, but sometimes they're just necessary. There's no other way around it.

I have an ambivalent relationship with crying. Every time I cry I learn something new. Every single tear represents something. Whether it's about myself, someone else, life, it doesn't matter. Every time I learn I hold it and I never let go. I could probably recite every lesson learned for each tear I've shed in my adult years. Despite the growth in every last drop I hate knowing that I've had to cry to learn. I hate crying in it of itself. It's an ugly process. I mean, who actually looks good while crying? Who feels good when they're crying? HAPPY TEARS DON'T COUNT BECAUSE THAT'S NOT REALLY CRYING. Crying is from being stressed, overwhelmed, sad, broken, a lot of things but happiness is not one of them.

I cried recently. Unfortunately I learned things that I didn't want to learn. Now I'm here --- on my blog --- and even here I don't want to talk about it. Pathetic.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'. Keep rollin', rollin'. rollin'. c'mon.

I am a sweaty fucking asshole right now. This is photographic evidence that i am fucking sweaty. I SOAKED my gi. Like, completely and entirely soaked my gi. I thought I was sweaty on Monday night but tonight's class doesn't compare. Tues/Thurs are no-gi days and I don't get as sweaty now that I'm training regularly and not just some lard ass trying to train.

I've been training really hard lately. By really hard, I mean every day this week and I'm going tomorrow with Friday off then Saturday and possibly Sunday. I think I'm going to enter in a Grappler's Quest tournament within the next couple of months and my goal isn't necessarily to place, but to hold strong and not get tapped out right away.

I am so lucky to have have a friend who introduced me to brazilian jiu jitsu and i'm even more fortunate to be with a jiu jitsu gym that fucking kicks ass.

Tomorrow Donny (assistant trainer that does the warm ups) that we would be doing the gnarly circuit work that leaves me sore for 2 days. I need that since Friday night is my night off.

Now I'm just rambling about jiu jitsu. nice. I fucking love it.

Vegas.

(Thong bikini --- the boyfriend didn't approve so I kept the rear covered)


The BF and I went to Vegas for his birthday.

Penthouse floor in upgraded mini suite.
Non-stop margaritas.
People watching at the BRO-INFESTED pool.
Spago and Mesa Grill.
Other good foods at Venetian and Mirage.
REEL MILLIONS (favorite game of all time).
... Did I mention margaritas?

We had such a good time. I guess I can love Vegas... But only when it's with the man I love.

On reserve.

Recently I tried to explain to an 18 year old boy that is like my own little brother about the birds and the bees in adulthood. He was having problems with the same girl he's been having issues with since as long as I can remember, the same girl I told him was a complete waste of time and energy. Over the years I tried to explain to him that he is the 'reserve guy,' the guy in the bullpen waiting to be let out and be a bucking bronco but will never be given that chance; that he will die in that bullpen or be sent out to slaughter, but neither would ever be the opportunity to wow the crowd to get the girl. The rodeo wasn't for him, and it would never be. Whether or not he actually took my advice, I'm not sure.

Trying to explain to a guy that he is a bullpen-bull is no easy task. To explain that he was was caught, domesticated enough to not break free and is always available to be haltered and lead when need be sorta sucks. He was the guy on reserve. Once you're in the bullpen, the chances of you are slim to none of getting anywhere on the lineup. Yes, it can happen. But don't bet on it. Just know you'd be last on the list - when all the other bulls are broken, busted, used and abused.

In essence, the bullpen is where guys go when they're not going to be creme of the crop in a girl's eyes. Every girl on the planet has a bullpen. Well, I guess if the girl is really fat or really terrible looking or a combination of the both, then I guess maybe it's slim pickins' for her, but even she might have one... But just know the better looking she is, the bigger her bullpen is. Every girl, whether she's taken or not, has one. If she's taken, she's more than likely even more aware of it.

Single girls know that a majority of their guy friends they haven't known their entire lives are probably just friends because they're hoping to get naked at some point. Taken girls, however, realize which guys are bullpen guys the moment they're openly taken. The guy friends that once hung around all the time are now gone - those are the ones that know they don't want to be in the bullpen. Then there are the ones that will remain friends (and really have no reason to be friends and no reason to really justify it, either), and said guys will remain platonic friends until said taken girl is having a downer day. When said taken girl is sad, upset, mad, whatever - especially at her significant other - it's like someone unlocked the lock but didn't take it off the chain and the bulls are aware. It needs to be jiggled, shook, slammed against --- but the bulls are waiting for that opportune moment to be let out. What's worse is that said taken girl is aware, very aware, and will walk back and forth in front of the gate, walking around with a bucket of pheromones. Women are teases. That's what we do best.

What do girls want out of their bullpen guys? Nothing other than attention in whatever level they're not getting it. Almost always in verbal form, composed of compliments, reassurance and sheer kindness. Anything that will boost her temporarily shattered ego.

"You're so beautiful, I can't believe your boyfriend doesn't tell you every day. I would."

"I would never do that to you. I can't believe your boyfriend does that to you."

"You don't deserve to be treated like that. He doesn't know how big of a chump he is."

"He doesn't respect you. You deserve respect."

"He has no idea how lucky he is to have you. You are one in a million."

blahblahblahblahblah. Need I go on, or do you get the picture?

The point is that if you are that guy that is friends with a girl and you're waiting for her to be single, don't wait. move on. Know that you are her shoulder to cry on - you are the guy she wants to keep around to rub her back or her feet when she's sad, to bring her stuff when her boyfriend won't, to lift her up and put her on a pedestal because her boyfriend doesn't care, to go on coffee dates with her at a moment's notice because her boyfriend forgot they had plans or is running hours upon hours late. Guys, just know she won't leave her boyfriend until she's finally figured out she's had enough - and that could take years or may never happen. Just know that if you are that guy, be aware that the likelihood of you having her is slim. It could happen, it has happened --- but the chances are rare. The more effort you put it, the least likely you'll get what you've been waiting for.

Also, if you are reading this and find yourself to on the opposite side of the bullpen, a.k.a. the boyfriend, just know that when you're not doing your job the way it should be done, there's a whole heard of guys available at a moment's notice. There are probably guys telling her RIGHT NOW how she can do better. Shit, you might be one of the few unlucky ones to lose her to a bullpen guy. Wouldn't that be a bitch.

Hangover.

I've had a god damn hangover all day. ALL DAY.

The amount I drank yesterday was ridiculous. I forgot that Jamie and I went and saw a movie at Muvico. We saw The American... And I was honestly too drunk to even remember more than George Clooney making a gun. The night before we were there too and we saw The Town which we loved - GO SEE IT - but yeah. Yesterday was shenanigans with my boyfriend. We bounced around from restaurant to restaurant to movie to walking around the mall aimlessly trying to 'walk off the drunk' to no avail. If it weren't for the fact that we had movie tickets I'm positive we would have never gotten off the gigantic bean bag chair at that memory foam store. Now it's a 'must buy' on our list of things to buy. IT WAS FUCKING COMFORTABLE AS HELL.

AND NOW I AM DISTRACTED because I'm play fighting with Jamie so I must leave blogger world to put him in a triangle choke. The thing I love most about training in jiu jitsu is being able to use it on unsuspecting people - like my boyfriend. :)

I'll never be her.

Sometimes I get wrapped up in my brain and pause on certain moments in time; those moments are still images that I can't burn without leaving a silhouette of a memory that is there to haunt me.

This blog drives me crazy. I never know what direction I want to take it. I find myself wanting to post very personal things on here and I don't because I feel like I have this tough, 'i don't give a shit' persona that only exists within me on occasion but always on this blog. It's not that I'm afraid of being vulnerable, it's just I always find myself blogging in those moments where I'm feeling sky-high and shove my low moments to the wayside. Then, of course, in those moments where I'm not feeling my very best I turn to my blog to write and find myself with no direction or course to take those moments. Those moments borderline don't make sense and certainly don't fit within this blog. I suppose when one loses direction in a blog, it becomes nothing more than a diary. My blog is without focus, without purpose and without logic. I write because I want to write. I guess that's it.

I'm in one of those moods where I'm being an absolutely stupid and stereotypical girl where I'm looking in the mirror and thinking I'll never be good enough. I'll never be her - if you know what I mean. The one that got away, the one that meant the most, the one that is actually the one. You know, her. The one whose name you default to in your sleep. her. that one. the one that isn't me. the one i'll never be.

It's funny how much a couple of drinks can make you think - and it's funny how much that thinking can effect so much in such a short period of time. I hate it. I hate thinking. Sometimes when I'm losing my mind and I'm not remembering words or things I just did, I get happy knowing I'm losing my god damn mind. It's like finally, my brain is letting go, and then I find myself rethinking all the things I didn't want to, all the things I wanted to let go, all the things I wanted to forget about forever. Suddenly here I am, reliving it all over again.

I am so bothered by so much in this world. I'm bothered by people's actions - and lack of actions. I'm bothered that I can't come to terms with certain things and I'm bothered that I have to. I'm bothered, just in general at this point.

I have such an incredible life, and don't get me wrong - not even for a second - I am a very lucky and fortunate person. In this world of bullshit, I have it easy. I have it easier than 99.99999% of this world. I have it all. If you write it down, I have everything a girl could wish for.

So what's missing? And why do I feel so empty?

Slutty Bikini.

I ordered this stupid fucking slutty ass bikini a million years ago. Well, apparently it decided to finally show face in my mailbox yesterday. So, thanks for finally showing up.

Okay... Change of plans.

I feel like since I woke up this morning, I've had entire change of life-plans.

I hate when I feel like updating but I can't because I don't want to jinx anything. Well, fuck!!!

Boyfriend and I have big plans. That is all.

Why?

Am I wasting my time again?

The Great Escape.

Sometimes I feel like the only person on the internet brave enough to post pictures of themselves looking like a pile of wet, steaming dog shit. I guess if I am not worthy of being looked at without a made up face, don't bother looking at me at all.

Anyway.

Withdrawal is a bitch. Not drugs, not alcohol - but rather, life withdrawal. In specific, Spain withdrawal. I'm going back this year, and on the same days I was there last year. Strange how an entire year has passed right before my eyes. I've done so much since my last visit.

I wish school was something that kept my interest long enough that it could consume my life in a mentally and emotionally positive way. I do it, I do it very well, then I get bored to tears because what I want in life doesn't come with a .edu e-mail address. I do it because I feel obligated, not because I want it. Life is short, and life is too short to be tied down to a life you don't want. I admire my friend Jeffer in many ways, he lives the dream pretty well. Just packs up and goes, and I admire that a lot about him. He puts his happiness first - and that is the dream: to be happy. The other day we were talking about how we're just going to end up old people surrounded by no one other than our dogs, and we're okay with that. There's more to this world than inanimate objects and life is a journey that is only completed when you die.

"Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." - Tyler Durden (Fight Club)

"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." - Tyler Durden (Fight Club)

I am planning my great escape - and I'll be gone before you know it.

From couch to bed.

I'm feeling healthy again.

Of course I finally feel healthy on a Sunday when there's absolutely nothing to do. I haven't worked out in weeks and I feel like a flabby pile of shit and this is depressing. I went from doing my marital arts nearly every day to being couch ridden and unable to breathe without help from an inhaler or an insane amount of purple drank, which just made me sleep away the coughing. Then I'd wake up choking, and that was bad news bears.

So now that I'm better, my muay thai trainer is too busy for me, my jiu jitsu studio isn't open, my dog is being a lazy pile of shit and doesn't want to run with me, my boyfriend is working on his project car... and i think he's sick of me because i haven't left his bedroom in a week and i am over-all a cranky mother fucking bitch.

Now when I come home and hang out at my house I get stir crazy and don't know what to do. It's like I really don't live here anymore, so I just sorta sit on the couch or in a chair downstairs at the dining room table and rot. My bedroom stopped being my woman-cave and I'm running out of options to satiate myself for the day.

I guess I'll go back to molesting Yelp. That's the only thing I've been capable of doing the past couple of weeks. I AM BACK TO MY NORMAL SCHEDULE AFTER TODAY.

Grumble.

I was just looking at this picture from a few weeks ago and realizing that I am not going to be able to keep up my fucking awesome body if I don't get better. Yeah, that was a bit egotistical but you know what? I was a lard ass and I work hard for my body that I have now. Right now I'm doing okay and not turning into a complete pile of shit but I've been sick for two fucking weeks. TWO FUCKING WEEKS. No jiu jitsu, no muay thai, no running... shit, i haven't even walked the dogs in 2 weeks. The only activity I do is sex and that's because I can't help myself. My boyfriend is ridiculously good looking, especially when naked, and I don't care if I'm sick and dying, I want dick. Actually, I think he dicks me because it keeps me from being a bitch. The more dick I get, the less of a complete bitch I am. The only reason why I haven't lost my body in this two week couch span is because of all my regular dickins. Anyway, I eat fucking ridiculously healthy with the exception of my over indulgence in clam chowder when I went up north with the boyfriend, but that was a planned pig-out. I feel like complete crap and it's annoying. Turning into a pile of rotting shit isn't in my plans. My plans have been to become a fucking bad ass fighter and kill people but clearly this is not working in my favor if I'm couch/bed ridden. I'm at the point where I don't know what to do with myself. I'm tired, grouchy, constantly coughing, my lungs hurt, antibiotics don't work, tea doesn't help, inhaler doesn't help, codeine cough syrup doesn't work, wtf?? am i broken? is this punishment for having a better sex life than anyone else on this planet? c'mon, i will sign my soul to the devil to get rid of this cough.

Since I can't sleep tonight I've been on YELP and adding my two very important cents all over the place. If you look at my twitter that's on the side of this blog, my links to my reviews are there. Go read them. Now.

The Practically Married Life.

So I wrote a really long blog about how I'm practically married and basically updated about my weekend and how great life is because my boyfriend is amazing, blah blah blah, and one day I plan on officially sealing my fate in paper with him, blah blah blah. Then I realized that I'm boring as all fucking Hell and it has taken a toll on my rantings, ravings and my normal crazies which used to frequent my blog. I have such a fucking incredible sex life I should talk about and I don't post about it because my asshole parents read my blog. I realized that I'm god damn 25 years old and if my parents honestly don't think 99.99% of the reason I don't live at home anymore is because Jamie and I hold each other all night and whisper sweet nothings to each other without genitals touching and that I wear a chastity belt to bed, then they both have really bad alcohol problems or... nope, nothing else comes to mind. they must be alcoholics if they could ever think that. Look, the reality is that I won't buy a car without test driving it. Why would I ever make an investment such as my precious fucking time without a test fuck? I DO NOT WASTE MY TIME WITH SMALL PENIS. I mean, there's really no point. If my cervix does not feel like it is being beaten with a baseball bat and left to die in the middle of the street, I want no part of it. There isn't a chance in hell my vagina will get near it. I do not accidentally fall on little penis, nor do I get too drunk and accidentally sleep with little penis. It just doesn't happen, and this is why I possess hands and they do not fail me. See, what happens is my body shuts down and is like MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYYYDAAYY!!!

Jamie, to this day, still questions why I'm with him. Probably because the first time he asked me this question I answered him with "because your dick is gigantic" and he responded all seriously with, "OHHHH, it's not my fantastic personality or that I'm funny or I make you happy or even my looks..." and I said "Sweetie, look, you're all those things... But if you did not have the gigantic penis you have, I would not be with you." Basically if Jamie and I ever break up I am going to be stuck dating black men that fit the famous stereotype that black guys don't mind having unless they're not equipped to fit that stereotype. All I know is that I am cock-jaded and this is probably a bad thing.Good thing I plan on keeping Jamie forever. Or at least his penis. I'll cast a rubber mold of it or chop it off and bronze it if I need to.

Trips.

I'm so not used to having a boyfriend that plans shit with me. I mean, I'm really not. After a million fucking years with a fullblown asshole that had complete disregard for anything involving my feelings and who was the most selfish person on the planet, I'm in relationship-shock. I guess I got so used to being walked all over that even after being with Jamie for a while now I'm still not used to being with someone who makes me so happy. We plan our lives together, and everything we do is about us and what makes us both happy, no questions. He's literally everything I've ever wanted in a partner in crime and life. Bliss isn't even enough to really explain how great my life is these days. Often times I'll just sit and giggle because sometimes I don't think my life is real anymore. And if this isn't real, I don't want to wake up from it. To think a number of months ago I didn't want to be in a serious relationship ever again. I was on this quest to just do whatever the fuck I wanted and be happy on my own, and damn right I was... But I discovered that it's still possible to do whatever the fuck I want while having a boyfriend. The key is to find someone who wants to do all the things you want to do and then do them together. It makes life SO much better. I feel like everyone lonely bastard in the world should be jealous of me right now. :)

So the point of this post is that my boyfriend's birthday is coming up next month and we're trying to plan a trip for it. We were planning on going to Costa Rica at the end of this month, but with his grandfather passing and other family stuff going on, they're doing a memorial in central California when we were supposed to be in Costa Rica so we're planning something else now. We're both bummed but it's completely understandable, Jamie knew his grandfather was going to pass a few months ago so I guess he and his family have just been waiting for it, as sad as that sounds. I went to their family BBQ up at their ranch a few months ago when they thought he was going to pass within the week. I almost feel like it was selfish of us to plan a trip without knowing if his grandfather would be around or not. Plus, we just got back from Monterey so I mean it's not like we haven't done anything this month. Because of our work/school schedules it will be nearly impossible for us to take a lot of time off in September since I'm going back to Spain and France with my mom in November - and he has a wedding in Chile to attend shortly thereafter my trip to Europe and I want to go with him. He lived in Santiago twice and I remember speaking to him when he was down there and how much he loved it. He talks about Chile all the time and how much he misses it and I would like to see that city with him. So for planning his birthday trip, we're thinking somewhere in the Caribbean, Mexico or Hawaii. We've found some really great deals for the Mayan Riviera and since we both love Mayan history and culture, we will probably end up there. The only part I'm bummed about is that we always do things where there's humidity and my hair gets all frizzy-Jewy, so when we go to take pictures I look like a monster (like the ones posted above, when we were on the pier in Monterey). It's like the Jew within me stays hidden until there's humidity and then I look like complete crap. Sorry Jews, you guys are notorious for having terribly frizzy hair and since that shit's in my blood, I am no exception to that rule. THANK YOU, REALLY.

I guess that's it. When we reserve the trip I will be posting all about it. :)

Central Cal with the BF in pictures.