Looking For...

My friends, and even some dudes, have asked me what I'm looking for in a guy. If you find these qualities rolled into one person, gals, please send him my way:

1. Someone who makes me laugh.

It takes a lot to make me laugh. It's usually a combination of smarts and silliness that does it, something to piggyback my own wit. So if he manages to make me throw my head back, he's gotta be a keeper!

2. Who is intelligent.

I consider myself to be smart but not well-rounded. If there is a man out there who doesn't make me feel stupid because I don't completely understand what is happening in Russia or Nigeria and is willing to explain it to me, I need him.

3. Who won't give me the silent treatment.

My dad does it to my mom. I did it to my ex. I'm over it. I cannot stand being in the same room with a person I have chosen to spend time with and not say a word to them. What's the point of being with someone if we're not going to maximize our time together? We need to talk it out, learn from it, and move on together.

4. Who won't let me go to sleep mad.

This one goes with point number three. Except the consequences are far worse. If I'm upset and I don't talk it out before I fall asleep, I will literally drive myself crazy. I will imagine the conversation I was supposed to have with the other person all night. I will rewind and play the things I wish I would have said until I fall asleep one hour before my alarm wakes me up to go to work. That's when the effects will be notably visible, on my face and in my behavior towards the other person.

5. Who wraps his arms around me as we fall asleep.

The connection that stems from being as physically close as two bodies possibly can, the heat, the skin-on-skin contact... priceless. I won't be hurt if we stick to our sides of the bed after that for the rest of the night.

6. Holds my hand.

To me, this means that he's not embarrassed to be seen with me and perhaps wants to show me off a little. If he walks slightly ahead of me, I also feel protected. 

7. Gives me forehead kisses.

These are sweeter, non-sexual smooches than those on the lips or anywhere else, for that matter. They translate the affection rooted deep down at the "best friend" level where true caring for the other person developed.

8. Who loves the outdoors as much as relaxing at home.

I love hiking, the smell of the forest, and the warmth of the sun on my body. And even though I don't do this a lot, I like TV marathons, but they would be much nicer and more frequent if I had someone to cuddle with.

9. Who is just a pinch of macho.
Complete turn on if he pulls me in hard for a kiss. Sue me.

10. Who is a little bit jealous.

My wish is to catch him staring down dudes who are checking me out. I would totally melt inside.

Bonus: Has a big penis.
Kidding. If he meets the criteria above, we'll find a way to make it work ;) :p

Exception: If he happens to look like Channing Tatum, there's no need to check off this list. Just give him my cell, classroom number, or address immediately.

Thanks so much in advance :)

Blame it on PMS

I couldn't help feeling like the ugly girl the last couple of times I went out with my friend. I was literally the one wingmen were hitting on.

"My friend saw your friend across the room and wanted to talk to her," one of them said to me.
Looking at the main dude, I told him, "She's right there. Go for it."

Even when they didn't have a wingman, they went through me first.
"Ask your friend if she'll dance with me," another one said.
And like a moron, I relayed the message only for my buddy to shake her head.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had always been told I was beautiful. I know that sounds conceited but that is the exact reason I don't believe in complimenting little girls for their looks, because we believe and hold on to those statements. I found myself doubting what appeared to be a lifetime of lies as I sat on a stool sipping on a margarita while my friend danced the night away. I have never been one to call attention to myself or post selfies so the number of Likes I receive can boost my ego. On the contrary, I just recently started accepting praise rather than humbly contradicting people's kind words. I will admit, though, that I assumed my physical appearance would draw dozens of men but they were obviously looking for something else.

Knowing looks were only half the charm, I followed the advice I found in Cosmo about how not to intimidate guys to raise my odds. I sat tall (to exude confidence) with a smile on my face (to appear friendlier). I didn't cross my arms (the gesture that apparently keeps men at arm's length) and made eye contact (says I'm available and/or interested). But the appearance/body language combo didn't bring more than a handful of men to me. They bypassed me all night to ask my friend out instead. And it's not that I was jealous of her. I really wasn't. I just wanted to know what was wrong with me. Naturally, I deconstructed myself, trying to identify what was keeping the dancers at bay.

1. I wore my hair wrong. Despite knowing that guys were turned on by long, luscious hair, I opted for the ponytail due to lack of preparation time. And even when I let it down, I ended tying it up because I got hot and sweaty and I always opted for comfort. 2. My eyes looked tired. I had gotten up at 6:30am and didn't have time to fit a nap in before the salsa class at 8:30pm. 3. My boobs were too small. The girls took a big hit when I lost weight last summer. 4. My butt was almost nonexistent. I strategically bought dresses, skirts, and jeans that didn't make me look like a board but even I couldn't turn away from the bootylicious options available. 5. I had chicken legs. I have been self conscious about my stems since the sixth grade after one of the few white-ish kids in my predominantly Hispanic elementary school told me I had chicken legs. I've been working out on my tippy toes and doing a lot of calf exercises trying to reverse that. 6. My hair was too dark. Guys like blondes and, well, that ain't ever gonna happen. 7. My voice was not girly enough. 8. I was too tall. Even without heels. 9. I looked mad even when I smiled; guys could sense my phoniness through my teeth. 10. I was just, plainly put, ugly. Men were just not attracted to my face.

For all of those reasons, I ended up with my friend's leftovers on two occasions. She didn't send them to me. They came on their own since I was the only single girl not dancing. One guy talked my ear off about his girlfriend/non-girlfriend. And another one made small talk about the 90s' TGIF lineup (can you say Step By Step, Dinosaurs, or Hangin' With Mr. Cooper?). They stood or sat with me for a couple of hours until closing time. While they ran their mouths, I enviously looked on to the happy couples on the dance floor. Neither fool took my hints. That was until they needed a break. We danced one song a piece before getting back to their conversations.

I was upset because A) I had gone to the club to dance while those guys wanted to chat and B) They prevented other men from asking me out. Did I tell them anything, though? No. That's because they entertained me. And since I'm shy, they took the pressure off from having to go through the formalities of meeting anyone else each night. So why I am complaining? Because I felt like I got the short end of the stick. I am a unicorn. I live in my fantasies. The dudes who came into my lives two hours at a time seemed to be unicorns too. I didn't want another unicorn. I wanted someone who was going to push me, take me out of my comfort zone, teach me and make me try new things. The guys who talked to me were male versions of myself only worse because they vented about their former relationships, something even I know very well not to do upon meeting someone.

My findings were thus inconclusive. I wasn't sure if I attracted the broken man, if I was ugly, or if I was just overreacting as a result of PMS. Maybe it was all of the above. Either way, my luck has to improve.

I was bloated that day. Can someone please Photshop this picture?

Too Conscious Fashion

I hate shopping. I very much dislike the act of heading to the store, finding parking, and having to search through hundreds of racks for the perfect item/price combo to take home. Most people don't believe me when I say this because I clean up well, if I do say so myself. I can't tell you how many times a coworker has asked me where I bought my top only to leave her in disbelief when I say, "I got it at Ross for five bucks." 

It doesn't matter if I'm going to a wedding or the beach, outfits pop into my head on a fashion designer's sketch pad as soon I know where I'm going. The problem is that they need to magically appear in my closet too. I conjure up the cutest ensembles for every occasion only to realize that my closet is devoid of them. Those designs are my only motivation for hitting the teenybopper-filled stores and their Selena Gomez (versus the original Selena Quintanilla-Perez, thank you very much) infused musical selections blasting in the dressing rooms. But it's my unwillingness to shell out more than $15 per piece of clothing that makes my ideas impossible to realize sometimes; shoes and dresses fall under a different category, though, no need to worry.

Since I have no friends in LA, thus no plans, I reserve all of my shopping needs for my bi-monthly stays there when I visit my parents. My stay-at-home and shopaholic mother reminds me of the classic Mervyn's commercials ("Open. Open. Open.") every Friday night as she prepares her itinerary for the weekend. After dinner, it never fails that she asks, Where are you going tomorrow, putting the emphasis on me because, you know, shopping is my thing. And do not give her the benefit of the doubt. She never refers to a hiking trail or the club I plan on tagging along with my sister to. She means which mall--Stonewood, Lakewood, Glendale Galleria, Cerritos-- or shopping center-- Downey, Pico Rivera, Montebello-- I will be taking her to the next day.

Against my instinct to take a hike, literally (although I've been doing staircase hikes on Saturday mornings with Jackie's friends), I go prepared for the grand ol' time I'll be having in the dressing rooms all weekend. Wide or v-neck tee shirts or button ups are essential so I won't mess up my hair and makeup too much. Skirts or shorts are a breeze to slide on and off the body. And anything I can kick off my feet, like boots or sandals, help the entire process go by much faster.

Once equipped, I head out to my "favorite" shopping center in Downey if I'm lucky. This is one of the few cities that houses a DSW where 99% of my purchases come from its clearance racks. Ross, Marshall's, and G-Stage also call this place home. If you are a professional shopper, you know that the first two stores only allow you to try eight items at a time. Therefore, I usually have to take two trips. On a good day, I'll come out with a few items, my record being ten blouses. The next day we change it up, taking our clearance search to the racks at JCPenney and Macy's at an indoor mall.

The best, though, is when, instead of shopping, I meet friends for dinner AND they give me clothes. My friends are also fashion savvy and their gifts are always an asset to my repertoire. Just take a look at the blouse I wore to the beach a few weeks ago. Receiving beautiful clothes is as close as it's going to get to having them magically appear in my closet.

It irks me that shopping is such a necessity for my mental health. I can lose my cool in less than five seconds if my visions don't follow through, mostly because I don't own what I see in my head and what I have doesn't give it justice. When this happens, I want to punch a wall and scream my lungs out. Because I rent and not own my place, all I can do it stand still and clench my fists until the rage dissipates. Then I take a deep breath and start at square one again. It is then that I wish I knew how to sew. All of my styles would be unique and I would also make comfortable but stylish teacher's shoes (Why hasn't anyone thought of that yet?!!!). But that won't be entirely necessary because I'll be able to send my visions to a 3D printer in a couple of years and strut original ideas versus the options a cheapskate like me has to work with. Until then, I hope the mornings I rip blouses off their hangers and fling them behind me towards my bed continue to be sparse so I can continue to enjoy more time outdoors where my clothes and I belong.

Location: Botanical Gardens @ UCR
Sunglasses: Versace, $150, at least three years old
Earrings: gift from Darcie although it was HER wedding
Watch: Bulova, $250, my first splurge when I started working
Thumb ring: Nothing But Silver store... remember those?
Necklace: Bday or Xmas gift from Yesica, a few years back
Top: JCPenny clearance
Skirt: Ross
Orange bracelet: student

Boots: Cathy Jean, Fall 2013, $70

Location: Corona Del Mar
Hat: JCPenny
Top: Bday gift from Maria this year from Marshall's
Belt: $15 at Target from 2004
Jeans: American Eagle, $30
Sandals: Target, probably $10, at least five years old. 

Location: Sturtevant Falls
Car: Jeep, priceless
Top: Ross
Sports Bra: Marshall's
Backpack: Camelbak, xmas gift
Flannel: Target clearance
Yoga pants: don't remember
Hiking Shoes: Bear Paw, Big 5, $25