I would just like to be involved with someone who values me enough to call me at a respectable hour… someone who would maybe take me to Birch Aquarium to look at moon jellies, grab some dinner afterwards (nothing fancy), and maybe share a Churros Con Chocolate cupcake from Cups. In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. I came home from the gym this morning to this chocolate covered strawberry bouquet sent from my sister and her fiance.
Pammie, Chel, Shi, Anthony and I (the Choadorios!) hit up Pho Cali and Cups for Shi’s birthday. I was curious about what other details of my life surfaced when he looked me up online, so I googled myself. Sam the Cooking Guy is having this contest where the prize is to have dim sum with him (plus a friend and four other couples) at Emerald that day. Fifty dollars, six cranberry vodkas, two slices of New York pizza, and one drunken text to the ex later (yikes), I called it a night at four in the morning. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. I just don’t want to be scrambling to lose three dress sizes in May to fit into my bridesmaid dress.

No matter where we are, we always end up being that table—the loudest one in the restaurant.
I’m quite the social networking butterfly—my Facebook, Myspace and Twitter accounts came up first.
All you have to do to be eligible is translate this Mandarin phrase posted in his newsletter.
I’m not sure which iTunes playlist to file it under—Baby Makin’ Music or Sad Times?
I’ve known it was going to be my wedding song since the first time I heard it in 2000. The girls all texted me to make sure that I wasn’t going to throw myself off a bridge before spending the day with their significant others, and I even got a V-Day greeting from the Cake Boss (which I also ignored). I didn’t work out every day this week and pull three two-a-days to indulge in dessert—I did it so I could drink my sorrows away tonight with my single friends.
He was a part of my past that I thought would never come back—sort of like the tongue ring I used to have when I knew him.
My grandpa was Chinese, but the only Mandarin words I know are the ones you can find inside P.F.

They make me realize that I’m better off without these jerkoffs I keep involving myself with. Nothing too embarrassing or too personal came up, though… unless you count my old Xanga page—complete with a rotating icon of me, my ex, and my aforementioned tongue ring. Sitting through all 120 minutes of Flirting with Forty was worth discovering Robert Buckley. And especially not when I used to be that girl you’d take roller skating on a random Tuesday before the street lights came on. Every time I get off this carousel, I just get back on again, spinning around and around knowing this ride always makes me sick.

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