She got it right. Even the Leo part.

"And the fact that this situation occurred an estimated 20 times in the following two years makes me pretty sure of the fact that I am committable.

I’m sure you’re asking why I stayed.

I could attribute it to being a stubborn Leo, and say that it is my nature to stick something out and make sure I get what I want. I could argue that my penchant for seeing something through to completion got in the way of my better judgment. I could lie and tell you that he was so good to my body that I just couldn’t bear to be separated from that feeling.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was good. But ain’t no one in the world that good.

The truth is, I stayed because I loved him. And I was so sure that, if I kept on loving him with all that I was, that he would come around to feeling the same for me. And so I put all my effort, every good and loving part of me, into loving him. And as seasons changed and his stance remained, I became bitter and nasty—somewhat intolerable.

In my quest to make him love me, I had forgotten that I had to love me, too. As much as I worried about his well being, I had stopped worrying about mine. In efforts to prove my love to him, I had forgotten to prove to myself that I was worthy of love. I let the idea of him not wanting to love me seep into my cranium and convince my mind that I wasn’t worthy of being loved.

And perhaps, the biggest lesson of them all, was that if he didn’t want to love me, I couldn’t change that. Nothing in the world I could ever do would make this man wake up and say “I’m so in love with her.” That was a decision that he would have to make on his own.

So I made the decision to put myself first. To work on my body, pursue my love for writing, and to mend friendships that I had let become broken while I was so busy chasing after him. And once I started loving myself again, it didn’t matter whether he loved me or not.

Because I loved me enough to leave him alone."

Sweet Comic Valentine

I had to Google my own blog, which is dumb, because I forgot the title of it. But look what I stumbled across: The Korean Drama Life Test. So, 1. Korean Penchant for Dramatics is clearly a thing. And 2. I scored a mere 65% - Moderately Dramatic. To one person in particular: HA. Only moderate*.

Gabby modeling my Mom's knitting.

I was in Chicago over Valentine's and President's Day weekend for a couple of reasons. The first was because Gabby turned two! There are too many candles on this cake but look at this face! She is so sweet and smart and just my favorite.

Melissa, Mom, Me

The second reason was because my sisters and I were helping our parents move out of their house of 30+ years. We barely scratched the surface and probably just made more of a mess for them to clean. But look at this gem I unearthed. My mom's stunna shades are amazing and I'm pretty sure if I saw that jumper in a store I'd buy it in a heartbeat. Notice that my mom is holding a leash. That was mine - I was a leash kid growing up.

My brother in law said I look
like I'm crying ice or Powerade

And just because we're doing Show & Tell, I have one last picture for you. All I asked was, "can you recommend a good crayon eye shadow for me?" What resulted is Drag Show Queen Bee. I had a pitch black BART ride home because I kept my sunglasses on, lest I scare the little children. What The Hell, Sephora? Interestingly, one of the employees gave me his number because apparently I looked "AMAZINGohmygod?!" at which I wanted to slap him across the face and yell, "ARE YOU BLIND, FOOL?!" Apparently he used to work for MAC and currently does makeup for the strippers at the Hustler Club. Why he wanted my number, I do not know. As I was getting ready to leave, the girl who did my makeup tried really hard to convince me to buy the glitter she used. Can you tell where she put it?







So there you are. Goodnight and enjoy.



*According to the brilliant minds at OkCupid. They obviously have very sophisticated software, so I am confident in this data.

A little afternoon non sequitur.

I am currently eating lunch at my desk (as usual), which today, is an exciting combination of fennel salad my roommate made last night and my boss's pulled pork sandwich that he didn't want and offered to me. As I shove another forkful of food into my mouth that Miss Manners would cringe over, I can't help but notice the stain on my skirt that I have yet to dry clean out from the last time I ate at my desk (excluding this morning's breakfast). And now I wish David Sedaris were here to help direct this thought train to a witty and delightful end.

Regressing Happily

Do you remember that blog about how the previous title of my blog was a lie, and that I've been seeing a therapist? Well, apparently this was a lie as well. I had to bid him adieu because of a little insurance snafu. Dear Obamacare, thank you for helping me to make sure that nothing unwanted shall pass into or out of my lady parts. If you could also add mental health onto that list, I (and those around me) would be extremely grateful.

Anyway, the last topic that my therapist and I stumbled upon was how I am very reluctantly on the verge of adulthood (OH GOD). I do not see myself as a grown person, nor do I want to be one. Whereas my friends around me are married and have children, I spent Saturday and Sunday morning rolling around in bed until 10*.

However, I proved to myself over the weekend that, in fact, I am still a dumbass. I plucked the shit out of my eyebrows. ROOKIE MISTAKE. I "just took care of the strays" using a hand held mirror and didn't stop to check my overall face in a big mirror. I even snickered to myself midway about how "HA! I don't need to make sure I'm not going to f it up b/c I'm a grown ass person who's been tweezing her own brows for years, and I know what I'm doing." HORSESHIT. I look like this guy now. Especially with this lesbian hair I'm currently sporting. Some call it pixie, I call it my male K-pop star look. And I will have a perma-shocked/angry look on my face for the next 4-5 months because my eyebrow hairs take forever to grow.

I once had my eyebrows tattooed onto my face. It was... mildy chola. My friend, Andrea, and I were laughing about our tattooed brows because she had hers done, too. The first thing she said to me when I saw her was, "I'm not mad at you and sorry I look so fierce right now.."

So I guess the whole point of this blog is, maybe adulthood isn't so scary after all. I'll probably always be a dumbass, and that's okay. The next time you run into me, please know that I'm not mad at you. And if my drawn-on eyebrows have smeared off, you should really let me know so I can go redraw them.

* I just lied. It was more like 11, but I rounded down, just like I did on the weight on my driver's license. I will eventually lose those extra lbs.

I understand this study completely.

Title: Missed connections: seen but not spoken to: an atlas of where we're (almost) finding love

Author(s): Dorothy Gambrell

Source: Psychology Today: 46.1 (January-February 2013): p112.

I keep harassing my friend, Matt, to please develop my idea for an app: Facebook meets Missed Connections. Let's say you spy a hottie at, oh.. I don't know.. an airport, bus stop, on a cable car, at a coffee shop, airport again*,  but you didn't get a chance to lurk on them for their phone number? Enter in the date/location/etc. and if that other person is looking for you as well, my magical app would generate a list of potential individuals. All you have to do is send an awkward message. "Hi, um.. Any chance that you were on a flight to Pittsburgh..."

*true stories.

The most spinsterish post thus far.

The other day my shrink remarked upon how my life is basically a sitcom. Evidently Catherine is onto something. He said this after I told him how I was plotting to adopt a dog in secrecy and hide the poor thing in my room. According to the lease, we are not allowed to have pets, so I'm fairly certain my roommates would make me give Toby back. If I were home right now I would take a picture of the green collar (complete with "Toby" and my phone number), and upload it to this post as proof of my neuroticism. (Not that you need it, you can just click through these posts.) He was also pointing to the fact that my roommates are married, and that's apparently atypical. I suppose so. But it's nice to have people around, and the rental market in SF right now is really offensive.

However, I am noticing that I am increasingly surrounded by couples. In fact, at the moment all of my friends that I see regularly are coupled up, and that leaves me the odd nth wheel. There was a party that I went to awhile back where I found myself seated at a table, couples to my left, right, and straight ahead, discussing my singledom. "Don't you want to get married? Are your parents divorced? Are you picky?" I'm not sure about that last one. I suppose if "picky" means that you are waiting to meet someone who is compatible with you on various levels, then yes. The new rule that I recently added is that they better be within a 10-mile radius. I am putting blinders and earmuffs on to anyone who lives beyond that.

Anyway, despite the fact that articles from The Atlantic make me wonder why I'm so bad at life (It's not too early to talk about freezing your eggs, The high price of being single in America, Why women still can't have it all), I keep forgetting about my boycott and scroll through them. This recent one wasn't actually too horrific. At least the author considers Edith the most entertaining: Why is this season of 'Downton Abbey' so boring? Everyone's married now.

"I'm also tempted to make old maidish middle sister Edith my new Downton Abbey heroine, particularly as she is in the process of transforming herself into an opinionated lady writer for the Downton Town Crier, or some such publication. Acquitting herself admirably after being jilted at the altar, Edith may have had the line of the season when she declared, "Spinsters get up for breakfast.""

Finally, my niece's first birthday approaches. I'm forever thankful that this little lady was born on Valentine's Day because she will always be my go-to date when I am otherwise unoccupied.

Where the hell do you find a bathing suit?

When you haven't been anticipating the need to get beach-body ready, the prospect of running around 95% naked is a little.. unnerving. I had to rummage through my drawers a little, but I found every bathing suit or bikini that I've had since high school, including a Speedo that no one above the age of 9 should attempt to wear. When did I think I was going to be a competitive swimmer?

The problem is that in the last couple of years, my child-bearing hips have been eagerly anticipating birthing something. I almost want to have x-rays taken of my hips to make sure there isn't something amiss. Are you supposed to have your hips protrude out twice? And thank you, Google, for I now know what a "saddlebag" is. I wish my birth control would tell them that they don't need to do that, so please hold off for, oh.. 5 years?

Anyway, I’m kind of lost on where to get a new one, how not to spend $100 (Have they gotten more expensive?! Why do I not remember them being so pricey?), and what shape to even buy. I want something that covers, so maybe this?

Wholesome Wear

I showed these to Karen who told me, "if a man still wants to see you after you wear one of those, he's the guy for you." Sounds like a win-win situation to me.