Love Me Tinder

relationshipstatus

A little confession for you all: I tried the dating app Tinder ( I know, girl, I surprised myself too). At the urging of my friends and roommates, I caved and joined the world of online dating.  It was either Tinder or adopting a cat. In my humble opinion, I feel that I still have “it” going on – I chose Tinder.

“You like what you see?”

I had originally planned to join Tinder while in San Francisco this past Labor Day weekend. Portland has become a fish bowl for me, and I was freaked out at the idea of finding people that knew me. “Look at Marbles,” they’d say, “look at how sad and thirsty she is. She should just buy a cat and call it a day.” After talking to my old roommate about his successful Tinder adventures, I got the nerve to actually try it in Portland before my trip to SF.  He had to help me via text for about an hour. I was scared of the technology and I needed him to push me over the edge. Swiping left means you’re not into the person, swiping right means you like them – Jesus take the wheel, I accidentally swiped right on so many ugly dudes!

I decided to begin my search for guys ranging ages 24-32. I live downtown, so I made my profile searchable to only those within a 7-mile radius. My initial findings were so overwhelming, my thumb hurt from swiping so much to the left. I learned quickly that I had to filter my results to get closer to what I was looking for. Here is what I quickly learned:

  • 24-year olds guys are 24-year olds guys, and they are the worst people to talk to. Switched my filter results to say 27-32.
  • Switched my 7-mile radius to now read 4-mile radius. This filters out Beaverton and Gresham folk
  • Guys still wear fedoras, and they look like gay mobsters
  • Everybody in Portland is white, and everybody in San Francisco is Asian.
  • 1 in every 4 guys has a picture of themselves as a DJ (laptop, not even turntables)
  • Christian dudes talk about Jesus in their profile and have picture of themselves with African children
  • People will post pictures of themselves with kids then write: “NOT MY KIDS” in their profile
  • Everyone has on a checkered, plaid, or picnic-table-esque shirt.
  • Guys visiting from out of town will still post pictures of themselves with their wives or girlfriends because they are terrible people
  • Guys will ask you for your height ALWAYS
  • Everybody is into hiking or fitness
  • EVERYONE is a beer snob. It’s all about craft beer. One guy told me he was a “beertender,” and meant it.
#selfie

By no means am I ready for a relationship. I have issues with commitment and my last romantic situation left me exhausted. I wasn’t wounded, but I felt tired of trying so hard in a situation that clearly did not work. It made me question myself as a person, and what I wanted for myself. In the end I came to the conclusion that I am actually a fabulous person, and if I had to validate this by putting myself in random situations with strangers, then so be it.

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The Boss Bitch Bulletin Dictionary

Talk the talk, boo. We had something similar on I Heart Shiny Things, but of course, that was one million years ago. If you want to sit down with us over nachos and wine, you have to be down with the lingo. It’s still a lot of pop culture references mixed with English and Spanish. You will also see old words we have posted, deal with it.

Power Puerca (Noun): To nourish thyself with food until the point of asking God for forgiveness. *Puerca means pig in Spanish.  Some may be familiar with the term already. $Cruz and I used to have what we called, “Power Puerca Fridays” – which meant that we could eat WHATEVER we wanted. It’s a better and less basic way of saying, “OMG Becky, it’s my cheat day.” No, Becky, I am going to eat like a pig on steriods, so get out of my way before I eat your face off.

How to use in a sentence: “I’m going to be a power puerca when we go eat sushi. I don’t give a fuck.” 

Party Fat Ass (Noun): To nourish thyself with food during a social gathering.  I remember when this term was invented. It was New Year’s Eve and we were at a house party. A friend and I were being judged for eating food instead of drinking. In my defense, eating before drinking helped me ring in and remember the New Year. I created a maxi pad of food in my stomach for my booze to be absorbed. It’s called being, “responsible.”

How to use in a sentence: “Oh my god, I went to this networking thing after work. I couldn’t stop eating these salmon cake things. I was being a total party fat ass.” 

MC Hammer (Noun or Verb, mostly Verb): To blow thy money away.    We all know MC Hammer was 2 Legit 2 Quit. However, he was not 2 Legit with his finances. I am pretty frugal most of the time, but every once in a while, I like to be a big spender. Because any purchase over $50 makes me feel like I’m going to go bankrupt (eff you Sallie Mae), the term MC Hammer seemed fitting.

How to use in a sentence: “I know you just got your tax return. Please don’t MC Hammer it away.” 

Chones (Noun – rhymes with “bones”): Thy undergarments. *Derived from the Spanish slang term, “chonis”, which is underwear)   I don’t remember the backstory behind chones. We just butchered it for fun.

How to use in a sentence: “How can you forget to pack underwear? So you’re only working with what you have on right now? It’s like your playing game of chones.” 

 

Monkey Butt (Adjective for humor): To describe a person’s basic, lackluster, uninspired humor.  One of my old co-workers was trying to play a prank on my supervisor. He wanted to take magnets and spell, “you smell like a monkey’s butt.” I was appalled at how not funny he was and told him, “That’s not even remotely funny, say something about his mother.” Ever since then, Stefanie and I have used the term to describe unfunny people: Family Guy lovers, Dane Cook fans, and people who enjoy America’s Funniest Home Videos – especially the non-Bob Saget era.

How to use in a sentence: “So this guy and I have been texting. I can’t do it anymore. He’s so monkey butt with his jokes.”

Napkin-Twisting (verb): The reaction and anxiety one gets when witnessing someone do something cringe-worthy. Usually when watching someone make an ass out of themselves. I’m pretty sure Stefanie came up with this one. If you’ve ever experienced the feeling of crawling out of your skin as you watch friends and family make fools of themselves, usually through some sort of ‘artistic medium’, then you know what napkin-twisting is.

How to use in a sentence:  “oh my god, he made us sit there as he read his poetry out loud. I was internally napkin-twisting the whole time.” 

UNTIL NEXT TIME! 🙂

I’m an ENTP – Deal with it.

“You’re a Robot” – Most Ex-Boyfriends (2003- until I die)

“You’re Emotionally Gender-Queer.” – Anonymous Good Friend with a Mental Health Background (2013)

I haven’t posted in over six months. I’m disgusting, I know.  I’ve even taken ANOTHER San Francisco trip in between this time. My life has been like a snow globe that has been cracked open with shards of glass everywhere. I’ve steadily put the pieces together, and I haven’t felt like blogging this year. This is some real talk. God/The Universe/Oprah decided to throw me in to the ocean of uncertainty, and punctured all of my floatation devices. I survived, and in the process, I learned a lot about myself.

For instance, there has been some crying. The fact that I am admitting this is a big deal because I hate crying almost as much as vomiting. Both happen sometimes after drinking, and on a few occasions, both have happened in one night. Seeing me in tears is rare. If you order your meat rare and it’s still breathing, that’s how rare it is. After dipping my toe into my emotions and pool of tears, I realized that it’s not so bad. It’s like you’re a microwavable dinner, and you have to cut a slit into the plastic to let all the steam flow in and out once in a while.

During these past six months, I have been open to a lot of self-work and figuring myself out. I  took several online Myers Briggs Personality tests, and found out I am an ENTP. What this translates to is: I’m Extroverted, I am iNtuitive (abstract-thinker when processing info), I use my Thinking (decision-making process), and I Perceive (adaptable and keep my options open). Of course, I’m not a 100% of either of those items, but I am more inclined to be these things. Put together, I have the personality of an ENTP. Through this, I found my strengths and my weakness:

  • Innovative
  • Very creative; full of ideas
  • Excellent conversationalist
  • Enjoys debating topics with other people
  • Places a great deal of emphasis on knowledge
  • Dislike schedules and routines
  • Good at leading others
  • Does not like to be controlled
  • Very logical

I also found out several fictional characters have my personality type. Below, you can see that I don’t have the personality type of any of the beautiful and dainty Disney Princesses, but I have the personality type of Ursula, the sea witch, and Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean. Willy Wonka and Urkel are in there too. I found this on Tumblr, so these are scientific facts.

Maribel’s Spirit Animals

I’d also like to add, that after extensive research, I found out that Chandler Bing from Friends is also an ENTP. I admit, this makes sense because I make jokes when I’m nervous. I can also talk to a wall if I have no one else to talk to. Could I be anymore amazing?

The last time I took the test, it revealed something very interesting: I am on the fence of Feeling vs. Thinking. It means that I now consider my feelings when making decisions. Me. Feelings. Can you believe that? I certainly can’t. I used to get confused between my gut-feelings and nausea, now I get it. My goal is to access and assess my feelings. To “go with it” – even if that means I jump into things with my eyes closed and use any ounce of trust to believe I won’t die. I’m tired of being logical and using my brain. My heart is thawing out, and the icy exterior is melting rapidly. Blame it on global warming because this is an inconvenient truth. Damn you, Al Gore.

Even when I’m trying to be serious, I end with a joke…oh well.

 

 

Marb$ & $Cruz: San Francisco Edition

Last week, I visited Stefanie for her b-day celebrations! That’s right, celebrations, with an “s” at the end for the multiple times we did. We were making up for lost time! The last time we were separated this long was when she went to El Salvador. Girlfriend came back with fierce a Wesley Snipes tan in the beginning of January of 2013, but I digress.

Although I was there for her birthday, Stefanie was truly the hostess with the mostest. She had a jam-packed school schedule, and for the first few days, I followed her around like a lost puppy on the USF campus. Even waiting for her was way more fun than being at work and dealing with the rain! Portland, get it together, you weepy bitch. Nobody wants to deal with your rain and cold weather.

Below you will find my list of observations and shenanigans that we got ourselves into:

San Francisco has microclimatesI learned this while I eavesdropping on the bus like a creep.

The “Full House” house has been painted. 

Taken from Marb$ Facebook

This is a slap in the face to America. If you buy the “Full House” house, you owe it to the fans to preserve it. These people knew what they walked into when they forked over the money for this house. Painting this house is like committing domestic terrorism. How rude!

Booze is sold at your local corner market. Oregon will assist people with suicide, but they won’t sell liquor at a convenient store? I don’t understand.

Lots of beards, tattoos, and SF Giants hats on men. According to my calculations, I fell in love exactly 2,238 times.

Lots of beautiful men with basic looking women. Some guys were tens and these ladies were straight up penny pieces! Perhaps they suffer from extreme Stockholm Syndome! The girls with them wore UGG boots, too tight leggings, and an LV bag like it was 2005. It was all so tragic. I’m thinking about starting a charity where I can save all of these dudes.

San Francisco public restrooms do not believe in toilet seat covers. Living in a walkable city is great for your overall health. But more importantly, it serves as a way to build leg muscles for proper hovering. I’m too cute for scabies.

Saying your from Portland, Oregon is actually a good thing. 

Dolores Park. You are beautiful. Thank you for making me forget about the four months of my life as I watched the sunset. I plan on day drinking with you next time.

sunsetOverall, it was a wonderful six days. I did not want to leave. I caught up with Stefanie, ate tons of amazing food, and I enjoyed disconnecting from Portland. It was amazing! Until next time, San Pancho.

I’m The Worst Ex-Girlfriend

“What do you think I am, una gringa? Because that’s how los gringos are, they don’t have any morals. They all have dinner with each other like it’s nothing. “That’s because we’re civilized,” a turista once explained to me. What a barbarity! Civilized? You call that civilized? Like dogs. Worse than dogs. If I caught my ex with his “other,” I’d stab them both with a kitchen fork. I would!” – Caramelo, Sandra Cisneros

Let me just preface this post by telling you how lovely I am. I’m an absolute peach, I swear. However, if I have been crossed,betrayed, or wronged, I am the ultimate grudge holder. The older I get, the more I am willing to let go of these useless feelings. Resentment, anger, and sadness will make you rot from the inside out. In my late teens and early twenties, I didn’t know how to harness any sort of emotions, good or bad, because I hated to feel anything at all. When feelings of rage popped up, I had a tendency of hopping on them like a cowboy at a rodeo. I think the worst feeling is having someone break-up with you for good. They know everything about you, and  they still do not want you. After a break-up, they walk around armed with your darkest secrets and a list of your insecurities. This is why they must be destroyed.

Below is a list of things I have done in the past as a less-than-friendly-ex-griflriend. Most of these malicious acts occurred in my late teens and early twenties. I’m sharing these experiences with you all because I can laugh about everything now, even though back then, it felt like the end of the world.

MySpace

MySpace! Talk about #TBT! The original social platform that destroyed relationships and lives! Way back when, I broke into my ex-boyfriend’s Myspace profile and added some colorful information to his profile. You see, the “About Me” section in your profile was important because it hooked people into sending you a “friend request.” This fool’s About Me section was paragraphs long; he thought he was the greatest person ever. I decided, that it would be fun to include things like: “I used to be fat, but now I’m making up for lost time.” In my defense, this was true, and the public had a right to know this information. I also changed his sexual orientation status from straight to gay. It gave me a pang of satisfaction whenever I checked his MySpace and saw that he hadn’t realized what I had done.

You’re wondering how I broke into his MySpace? He asked me to create an e-mail account once while we were dating. With that same e-mail account, he had created his MySpace profile. Since I already knew his e-mail password, I simply clicked, “lost password” and had it sent to his e-mail. Have I scared you yet? Oh yes, and I also kept tabs on his messages for awhile. His outbox was full of thirsty messages to the girls of MySpace, and because they were so sad and pathetic, I was able to move on.

Texting

I barely remember my own phone number now, but back when I was dating this other fool, I knew his number by heart . When we broke up, I was stuck with this useless combination of numbers in my brain. After one night of dancing and drinking downtown, my friends and I were approached by Arab gentleman. One of them demanded: “give me number.” I then gave him this random combination of numbers that all of a sudden became useful. He then asked, “why isn’t phone ringing?” and I said, “well it’s dead, but text me ‘sexy’ in a couple of hours so I know it’s you.”

False Claims of Gay Behavior

The following statements have been said by me after relationships:

“I don’t know, he said he felt safe enough with me to admit that he was sometimes attracted to dudes.”

“He said when he was about 14, he kissed one of his friends. Like they did it sometimes, to practice or something.”

Both are false, none of these statements actually happened. However, one guy did say: “Brokeback Mountain is a beautiful love story.” This didn’t have anything to do with homosexual tendencies, he was trying to come across as socially progressive.

Back when I was way more immature, being with me was like being part of a two-person gang. If you wanted “out” of my two-person gang (also known as a relationship), you had to go through the gang-disassociation protocol. Instead of enduring an intense beat-down by your old clicka , you had to put up with my secret wrath. Now, the older I get, the lazier I am. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s on you, boo boo. I’m too fierce for most people anyway.

Things That Were Hard for me as a Brown Girl

My cultural identity is on a  constant Kinsey scale  continuum–some days I’m exclusively American, some days I’m exclusively Mexican (*Some of us, like my friend, who I’ll call “Tiffany News”, are not Mexican. Tiffany is Salvadoran*). One day, I’m all about listening to Selena, and the next day, I’ll say something super-white like, “hell yeah, I love 80’s music.” Truthfully, the whitest things that has ever crawled out of my mouth has been, “Yes, Frasier is funny.”  Culturally, I’m always DTF…Down To Fluctuate.

Although I am able to stand my ground as an adult, it was hard for me growing up. I’d try to pick up a hobby, or like certain music, and I’d be accused of being, “too white,” or “too Mexican.” There was no winning! Weird Brown girls that love Dawson’s Creek and Telenovelas get no love!

I’d like to also note that there was an underlying class issue here. My parents were poor, therefore, I was poor. I didn’t have access to many things because of this. For example, I get accused of being too white for being into yoga.  Yes, people practice yoga in Mexico, but of course just like yoga here in the United States, people with money can afford yoga classes. Yoga is a luxury. I just hear George Lopez white-voice saying, “OMG, LMAO, BFF…”

Venturing into unknown territory is extremely frightening. I would throw myself into things without knowing anyone who may have pioneered the way before me. Various questions run through my head like, “Am I going to look stupid if i fail miserably?” or “Do they see me and automatically think about how different I look?”

Below is a list of things I have forced myself to conquer, regardless of what anyone else thought– including myself:

Yoga

I’ve been practicing yoga sporadically since I was 18 years old, but it wasn’t until about a year ago that I decided to get a little more serious. Since I’m still a beginner, I had to self-talk myself into taking a class in the Pearl District. I was afraid of walking into a class full of ripped housewives that took yoga and pilates classes on their husbands’ dime. I remember standing in front of the yoga studio, taking a deep breath, and thinking, “You are privileged enough to do this for all the weird brown girls that can’t.” And I did it. It was like pulling a mental band-aid. Sure, I walked into a class full of hard-bodies that casually said, “Oh, I’m taking this class as a warm-up to my Ashtanga class after this,” but I was there to do my thing. Namaste, mija.

Sushi

I was introduced to sushi in high school. My best friend at the time really enjoyed it and taught me how to eat with chopsticks. Of course because I was a newbie, I ate wasabi like it was candy and instantly regretted it. It was like eating 1,000 jalapeños at once.  I didn’t know what wasabi was, but now I know what to do when I want my sinuses cleared.

Red Lobster

Since we are on the subject of seafood, its only fitting that I incorporate the Red Lobster story. Stefanie  Tiffany and I were extremely broke after college, and were collecting money to leave her sister’s house.  One day, we decided to splurge on some makeup and a delicious meal. Neither of us had been to Red Lobster, or had lobster, so we decided to boldly go forth into the world of fancy seafood. Because we are both wound up like corkscrews, we both began to panic because we didn’t know to actually eat the lobster. My mind raced back to an episode I had watched of Queer for the Straight Guy; the one where the straight guy looked like a moron in front of his lady friend as he used pliers to eat lobster.  When we sat down to eat, we YouTubed “How to eat Lobster” on our phones. True story. Below, you will see a how to eat lobster, because I love you enough not to make a pendeja/o out of yourselves. I like how the guy in the video calls the lobster cracker, “ubiquitous.” He’s like, “Oh, this old thang? pfff no big deal. I ate lobster Gerber as a baby. I’m about this life.”

College/Advanced High School Courses

My only window into the world of college was the show Felicity. I was twelve years old, and I thought that everyone’s college experience must be universal. Everyone gets a job as a cool barista in between classes, right? Her biggest problem was switching from pre-med to art, and going back and forth between two guys (Team Ben), sign-me up! What I didn’t realize was that Felicity was a white girl with money. Felicity didn’t have a dad with a pick-up truck that helped her move into her dorm, and a passerby never called her a “country bumpkin” as she was moving her shit into her college apartment. Nope, that didn’t happen to her, but it happened to this girl.

Felicity had the luxury of looking like her classmates, and partaking in the collective cultural atmosphere. It is the loneliest feeling in the world when you notice you are the only person of color in your classroom. It’s like being dropped into the sea with only your floaties. Unfortunately, the journey to actually get into college was so daunting, my classes then intimidated me. I figured if it was so difficult to get in, the classes must be hard! Nope. Everyone’s kind of an idiot. I always had to self-talk myself in class sometimes before I realized: I am just as smart as everyone else, and I have a lot to contribute. By my fifth year (See, felicity didn’t even have a fifth year) I was not contributing my opinions in class, I was barking them. It was very DMX, not so much Felicity.

DMX

Traveling/Airplane Etiquette/Fancy Hotels

Stefanie and I will forever be the two old ladies that arrive way too early. We’re like the two old muppets, Statler and Waldorf. When we would travel in a big group, we’d be the ones on time before anyone else, with our purses on our lap like viejitas. Everything has to be perfect to avoid delays, missing flights, and looking like a total idiot. Our parents immigrating to the United States doesn’t count as “jetsetting,” or “globe trotting,” so we don’t know how to travel without having our butt cheeks clenched the whole time.

My favorite part of traveling with my friends is the reveal of the hotel. Its like we were all part of the Make a Wish Foundation and our dying dreams came true. Immediately, one girl will be taking in the view, another will be walking around with a plush white robe for no reason, and then there’s one girl who will ruin it with, “you guys, I have to go to the bathroom…”

As you can see, I dive in head first to these new experiences, sin miedo. I’ve had to adapt as best as I could.

Twerking 9-5: Work Culture Observations

Since graduating with my bachelor’s degree in 2009, I have held various positions in different organizations. Each agency operates differently of course, but I have found that the way people act at work seems to be the same. Part of me is amused because I enjoy people-watching, but another part of me really wants to crawl out of my skin. I have found that a 9-5 schedule is inconvenient with the way I function, and that it makes me feel like I’m Houdini trying to unshackle himself from a straight-jacket. Boss bitches aren’t made for the 9-5, but until I find the formula to my dilemma (either a rich old man, or a legit sex tape), I have to endure societies expectations if I want to survive. Medical insurance is fabulous, so I want to upkeep this lifestyle I have been accustomed to.  Below are some of my observations that I have made while being a career girl:

People Lose Their Shit Over Food

I’m the asshole that always forgets to bring shit to a potluck. At my very best, I’ll go to the grocery store the morning of a work event with food. To make it worse, I’ll bring chips or some other basic shit. I salute the people who are thoughtful Martha Stewart types. The ladies that make  brownies filled with caramel and love, or the ones that whip up grandma’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies, these people are my heroes. At my current job, food is almost a sure thing. Once, I forgot to eat breakfast, and I secretly wished someone would bring donuts. I concentrated all of my energy on this wish, and it came true. I walked in and someone had bought an array of donuts just because. It wasn’t a holiday, there were no birthdays, just because. Fuck, yeah.

There will be that one person who will not like you. No matter what you do.

Maribel is a people pleaser. I used to win the “Best Helper” award at my elementary school many times. My pet peeve is when people don’t like me, and the vibe is off when I communicate with them. I wonder if this happens to everyone, I really hope it doesn’t just happen to me. It makes me feel like I may have done something in a past life to these people who don’t like me. Did I steal their man? Did I burn their village down? I have no idea. The older I have gotten, the less fucks I have to give.  Don’t like me? Do you, boo. 

Shade. So much Shade. People always trying to make you look stupid

People throw hella shade at work. Hella. It’s a hotbed for passive aggressiveness, as well as a place where people get off on being “superior.” The latter is the reason I hate asking questions at work. People get off on the most insignificant things. It’s like: “Thanks for explaining the cleaning schedule and the chores I forgot to do in the most condescending tone. I didn’t realize the world would end if I forgot to wipe off the counters. Please punch me in the face, because I deserve it for being so stupid in comparison to you.”

Signing birthday cards or “pitching in” for a cake for someone you don’t like or barely know

I always feel so awkward signing cards saying “best wishes” or “so sorry for your loss” for people I can’t even put a face to. One of my friends from college always writes a standard message for birthdays on Facebook: “Happy Birthday!!!” He gives only three exclamation points, no more, no less. I have taken his message (is this copyright infringement?) and used it on many cards over the past couple of years. Three exclamation points says: “I’m excited for you! But not too excited. Just right.

 

That Lady with her dog/cat/and/or Both

There is always a lady at work obsessed with her dog or her cat. It’s like the kid that wears a wizard cape to school. Every school has one of those kids, just like every work staff has this lady. I understand the importance of pets, and they can be cute, I admit this. But some people just go too far. They go into great detail when their animals are sick–to the point where I get sick. I don’t need to know about the type of stool your dog had after eating play-dough. Get it together.

The Lady with the Husband/Serious Boyfriend

You’ll recognize her. She talks incessantly about the house they just bought, or the vineyard trip they took together in Napa. She talks about eating pizza and watching “their shows” while wearing matching Snuggies. My favorite is when they talk about having children, and “trying.” I don’t need to overhear a conversation about “trying” to have kids while I heat up my lunch in the break room. The last thing I want to imagine is people “trying” while I eat.

 

I’m sure there are other gems I haven’t listed, but for now, this is my list. As you can see, I silently judge others while I make money. My resume doesn’t lie, I’m great at multi-tasking.