Precious Flower Lava

I’ve been living with anxiety since I was twelve.

Since then, there is almost always a rumbling that sits somewhere between my throat and the part of my stomach that senses nausea– a sensation that’s not quite like sound, but sends vengeful vibrations through my body that can ebb and flow on any given day.

They’re worse when I don’t sleep well or when I have to be social for long period of time. Which makes sense, because it takes a ridiculous amount of energy to keep them in control, or to navigate them through a channel that allows me to use them for good.


That’s right, anxiety can be a good thing. High achievers are often overcome with anxious thoughts, so they have to do ridiculous things like run marathons or hold down five jobs at a time to feel productive with their high-vibration nervous system. I have discovered that I always have to be “doing” so that I don’t feel overcome with mental and emotional energy. I desperately need it to go somewhere so I can feel balanced.


That being said… all tools can be used for good or for evil. And when we are tired or cranky or having a shitty week (or month) we get sloppy. We forget how to use the tool or get lazy because we develop a “WHY ME” attitude, and wish we could just be like everyone else who doesn’t live with a Dragon Nervous System.


I’ve gotten sloppy lately. My schedule has been off, I’ve been putting off things on my to-do list because I’m over-committed, I’m staying up late to talk at the end of show nights, and I’m trying to figure out how to fit in all family for the holidays.

Cue full day of panic.


I’m pretty sure I read in one of my soft-science-based-self-help books that an anxiety attack is the authentic self trying to burst out of a body that isn’t listening to it. It’s sort of like a volcanic eruption. My logic, responsibilities, and my burning desire to people please are trying to hold in my lava— I mean, like a really precious flower lava that needs quiet, sleep, yoga, journaling, or art-making.


Which… to be honest… sucks.

I always feel clouded in guilt when it happens. Partly because I either have to break a commitment, give my husband a reason to worry, or end up crying so hard I can’t speak/teach/sing— but MOSTLY the guilt is from knowing that ‘work’ is just how we have to live. We have to work. We have to keep our promises. We have to show up for each other. And this panic within me, forces me to create boundaries that look different from others’ and I end up feeling inadequate and covered in shame.


I said earlier I like to people please. Somewhere, deep down, I think its because it’s going to get me more love (because why else do people do nice things for each other?) or maybe I’m trying to prove that I’m nice, because I’m secretly terrified that I’m a selfish heap of garbage that uses people to get ahead. Being nice is a GREAT way to make friends, but what if my “niceness” is phony? I’m very scared that I’m actually a phony, which is why I think people are lying (or worse—deceived by my niceness), when I receive compliments.


Anxiety is very complicated. It also demands to be heard. It’s impossible to escape.

So anyway, yesterday, I had a big old attack triggered by the attempt to figure out our Christmas Eve/Day schedule. I tumbled into an embarrassing despair pit twenty minutes before I had to teach for six hours. Eyes red, voice raw, and held by the love of the man I married, I showed up, shaking and shoving my emotions down so I could play the role of “Sweet, Fun Acting Teacher.”

Later, I had to check in on the show where I work, and met a new cast member who had the same area code as me. As he was scrolling through photos on his Facebook to try and find our mutual friends, a big old picture of my ex popped up. (Cue the augmented chord) Yeah, THAT ex… the guy who I thank God every day I didn’t marry, the guy whom I blame for my vocal nodules, the guy who still shows up in my nightmares, and the guy who is the reason I struggle to believe that anyone could actually love me without conditions. (Also, the guy who I am FINALLY working to reframe in therapy so he can get the eff out of my subconscious so I can move on with my life.) 


Another panic attack. A little one. One that I let out more in my car when I was alone and it could be less embarrassing. But another one, regardless. I felt guilty for this one too, because I shouldn’t be upset over a stupid photo of someone who has been out of my life for six years. Why can’t I just be normal? 


Here’s the thing.

There is no way out, but through.

There’s no running away. There’s no “finding normal.” There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. This my life. The TUNNEL is my LIFE.

I can’t pretend like it is going to stop showing up if i just do enough yoga, or if I read this book, or fix that relationship.


It’s. Always. There.

But I can manage it. It requires focus. It requires proper circumstances. And the perfect balance will fall out of whack again, and then it will probably happen again.


I would like to get to the point where I feel like it isn’t in charge of my life. I’m not sure if I’m there yet.

But I’m working on it.


You Ever Fight With Yourself?

It’s been a long, trying, and wonderful four days.

I literally haven’t stopped. I haven’t had time to think at all about my state of being or feel anything but the place of moving, doing, creating, watching, listening, and caring for an unending list of problems.

I love being in that “flow.” It fills me up. Makes me feel needed. Like I’m somehow necessary in some way. Like my existence has a reason. It’s in a state of producing rather than consuming.

That may sound odd.

But the dragon can’t roar when I don’t have time to listen to it.

So here I am…. My first evening off in a week to just sit and do anything I would like. Relax…. Read… Fall asleep….


Not good enough. How about instead, we go over the list of things in which you COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FAILED AT YOUR FUCKING LIFE THE PAST FOUR WEEKS?


Me: But I’m running a camp of kids. And people are happy.. things are moving and we are making progress.

Dragon: Yeah but you fucked up your husband’s birthday.

Me: Actually, I thought it was successful. It was just that the date changed so much I had to do a lot of back tracking—


Me: But I planned it…

Dragon: Someone else executed.

Me: It was my idea

Dragon: Yeah, and it sucked until other people got involved.

Me: That’s bullshit.

Dragon: Nope.. you fucked up.. you couldn’t figure out how to get the right word out to everyone.

Me: I only had a week! I had so much going on..

Dragon: Oh, you mean like your call-back you were sooooo confident about? The one you completely bombed?

Me: I didn’t bomb, I just wasn’t what they were looking for, it’s not a big deal.

Dragon: It’s because you’re fat and disgusting.

Me: What? I’m running almost every day and eating nothing but fucking kale…

Dragon: Yep. While all of your skinny friends can eat whatever they fucking want, and still look perfect, and book The Little Mermaid, and work as fucking aerialists, and you still need to lose twenty pounds if you ever want to book a work in this industry. You’re NOT PRETTY ENOUGH TO NOT BE THIN. Be better at telling jokes, or lose some weight. NOW.

Me: I don’t have time for this…

Dragon: Lose some fucking weight you disgusting fucking idiot.

Me: We’ve been over this.

Dragon: Work harder.

Me: There’s literally NOTHING MORE I can do..

Dragon: Stop eating carbs

Me: You already know that’s not reasonable.

Dragon: Fuck you. Your friend did it.


Dragon: She’s skinny and she’s booking work.


Dragon: Yeah, in bullshit corporate theater jobs that no one wants. You can’t even pay your fucking bills. You have six dollars to your name right now.

Me: I JUST SPENT MONEY ON A PARTY. And rent, and taxes

Dragon: You could have gotten a job that wasn’t a fucking 1099

Me: Oh my god

Dragon: You want to make money? Get a job! You’re too stupid to be your own business! Why didnt you figure this out earlier?

Me: I’ve been making payments.

Dragon: It’s not enough. You needed a lady from the IRS to educate you because you’re a fucking moron

Me: How am I supposed to know to take the time to figure out how taxes work? I studied theater! I have four jobs! I’m spending too much time trying to figure out how to actually make money…

Dragon: That you just end up giving back to the government because you don’t know how to work the system

Me: It’s a work in progress.

Dragon: You’re a fucking idiot. Lose some weight.

Me: Oh my god. Fine….. What do you want?

Dragon: What?

Me. What. Do. You. Want?

Dragon:  …  Attention.

Me: Go on.

Dragon: I want to know…

Me: …

Dragon: I want to know that I’m making the right decisions.

Me: …

Dragon: I want to know that whatever I decide to do in the coming months is going to be fulfilling. I’m terrified.

Me: Of…

Dragon: I’m terrified that I’m not cut out for this. That I wasted too much time. That I’m not pretty and I’m not talented. And I can’t dance. And that the only reason I’m good at getting education jobs is because I’m the only idiot willing to do this kind of work… Other people would never do things like have counseling sessions with 7-year-olds… Or spend time agonizing over the right way to block 30 children in a musical number… or clean up their vomit… or fuss over whether or not they got their Camp T-Shirt in time.. or make phone calls to recreation facilities.. other people… other people book gigs… they sit around being beautiful and go to auditions, and have agents, and people that love them because they’re talented. They get paid more than I do. They get to be fussed over.. they’re beautiful by just existing… I just… I fuss over others… I go for long runs, try to be skinny, and fuss over everyone but myself…

Me: Yeah.. and you love it. Because you give a damn about people.

Dragon: Sure I do… It’s one of my favorite places to exist. But what if this is the only place I can book work?

Me: Would that be so bad?

Dragon: I have no idea.

Me: You know it wouldn’t be so bad.

Dragon: Why does it have to be one or the other? Can’t it be both?

Me: Sure it can.

Dragon: But I’m so afraid… I’m afraid I’ll blow out my voice, or I won’t give attention to the right things.. or… I’ll stop working on my craft and just spend all my time pouring into others and then my own jar will be empty.

Me: That’s an understandable fear.

Dragon: I’m so tired.

Me: … Yeah I know.

Dragon: This whole thing is just complicated. Also… I’m really really tired.

Me: I know.

Dragon: Can we just…

Me: Nope.

Dragon: But I’m so sleepy and starving. And I want to be left alone.

Me: You will be. In a few weeks. Right now you’re needed.

Dragon: Fine. But you better book work…

Me: Shut the fuck up. Go to bed.

Dragon: ….

Me: ….

Dragon: I’m hungry.

Me: Shut. The

Dragon: Fuck. Up. I know.




Oh Won’t You… PLAYYY with Me?

FYI: The title of this post is meant to be sung… in the style of Sam Smith’s “Stay With Me”… it’s musical wordplay, if you will. It’s something we use at my weird and wonderful day job… To get the full effect, read the above title again, but sing it like Sam Smith.

There you go.

That’s my intent.

Sing it again! Isn’t it fun?

 I just wanted to make sure that was clear… ok…thank you for indulging me in my nonsense…  I’m going to write the blog now…  


So…. I don’t like to ask for things. I hate making requests, I don’t ask people to come to shows, and ordering anything specific in a restaurant gives me anxiety. I don’t like to be a bother and I have a very hard time showing anyone displeasure.

I’m a worker bee as well as a people-pleaser which is basically the worst combination ever if you ever want to get sleep.

I don’t like to bother people. I like to handle things myself. I like to pretend to be Wonder Woman.

Furthermore, I have taught my Sad Dragon to think lowly enough of itself that I don’t like to bother people with my time. I don’t invite people to activities. I may have an idea to go to something fun somewhere, but I am terrified of two things, usually:

  1. They might say no.
  2. I might not be in a perfectly delightful mood, cause problems for others on this outing, and give my guests reasons to never want to hang out with me again.

(My Sad Dragon thinks it can predict the future, and it always ends in loneliness, chaos, and crying. Poor thing. It’s so dumb sometimes.)

In addition, years of emotionally abusive relationships with men confirmed the belief that my Sad Dragon was correct–  no one wanted to hang out with me, and besides, I didn’t deserve to hang out or go play. (Yeah, I’m going to take a moment to give the middle finger to those assholes. Ya’ll were douche bags. I hope you find yourself on a path of tiny pebbles in bare feet) 

Anyway… lately I’ve been trying to practice something that feels outrageously foreign.. I’m asking for people to come out and play, without warning.


About a month ago I asked my friends if they would like to join me for a drink after a long week. It was terrifying. I experienced a solid four seconds in which I was certain I was going to be denied. But they said yes, and then when we got to the venue, I again found myself in a panic that they wouldn’t want to attend this particular bar. Literally, panic.

But we went.

We had a great time.

And I didn’t die.

In fact, I felt oddly empowered.


Then, the other night I invited the online community to come out to play in a silly debate over Starbursts. Again, this worried me. What if only two or three people commented on the status, and I looked like an idiot? FOR THE WHOLE INTERNET TO SEE?

67 comments later…

People came out to play.


People actually wanted to play. WITH ME!?


My Sad Dragon is happy crying.

I know it seems ridiculous, or maybe a little dumb… but it feels really good to be the instigator. It feels good to not always be the guy sitting and waiting for someone to call. Sometimes it’s good to pick up the phone. Heck, I would be so bold as to say strong arming people into fun activities might not be so bad. Because… even if they hate me for it in the short term… they might love me for it in the end.


Wait a second… I actually cringed at myself at typing the sentence “They might love me for it.” … See? It’s still hard! It’s so easy to say that about someone else, but to say out loud (or on paper, or computer) “They might love me” feels vulnerable and almost self-serving. Calm down, Sad Dragon. You actually CAN receive love if you give it first.



This was a hard one for me.


But… I like to play. We need a lot more of it. We spend so much time arguing and working and being tired. So, don’t wait for someone to throw you the ball. Go find a ball and throw it. Someone will catch it eventually.

So… come play… I mean…

Ohhh wont you PLLAAYYYYY WITH Me?  Cuz you’re ALLLL I NEED! 





On Display

Let me be honest about something.

I have been on display a LOT.

Choosing to major in theater, to auditioning for shows, to getting the solo, to wearing costumes in public, to making jokes, to being a giantess since age eleven… I have been seen frequently by eyes. And often times those eyes belong to complete strangers.

People think this makes me an extrovert.

People think that I love being in the spotlight, and I do… but this is the thing that people don’t understand.

It is a craft. 

I have spent years developing a sense of security on stage. I have learned how to sing with abandon so I could stop being afraid of my vocal break. I have learned to get over my body dysmorphia so I could be on stage in my underwear for the sake of comedy. I have spent hundreds of dollars on learning the techniques of having ease on stage. I HAVE EVEN HAD LESSONS ON HOW TO WALK, YOU GUYS. There was a FULL rehearsal in college dedicated entirely to teaching me how to walk properly on stage. Someday I will tell that story.

See… being in the spotlight? That’s my safe place. That’s my escape. That’s where I get to pretend to be someone or something else so I can mentally get away from it all, and make a buck while doing it.

Here’s the thing… being in the spotlight… for REAL?



That is a different kind of art. I have never learned that art.


That’s why all of this “fuss” over me (#wedding) is making me sweat.

Because here is the thing… you’re not just on display for your friends and family to see you in a pretty dress and pretty make up. Oh, no. All of your shortcomings are on display as well. (I.e. not understanding why certain invitations did not make it into important peoples’ mail boxes…. or explaining that you just can’t eat bread right now because of bloating and emotional control… or having to explain that the reason your eyes are so puffy is because you haven’t slept in a week, and when someone says “Why did you run yesterday?” you panic and have to yell that you needed a safe place even though you’re really tired, and you’re going to make yourself sick… and… and… and….) You are asked question, after question, after QUESTION. You are offered food. SO MUCH FOOD. I’ve been yelled at for not eating food like six times in the last week. Sometimes, people just don’t want to eat food. Sometimes food makes you want to cry because, oh yeah YOU’RE FREAKING STRESSED AS HELL.  Also, I eat food. I eat a lot of food. I just don’t eat meals. But I eat ALL day. I’m very active. I couldn’t be active if I didn’t eat food. Mk?

And the advice… Jesus help the man who tells me one more time to take time for myself for relaxation and pampering… (So… you hand me five hundred dollars and I quit my jobs for two weeks? Great, good plan. I accept cash and venmo.)

This is the thing…

Finding the joy and gratitude in being on display is extremely difficult for me. Because yes, I’m grateful. But I’m also conflicted. I’m not the kind of person who posts on Facebook saying “Come See My Show” … it’s just not personally my thing. I prefer people to do what they want. If they want to make the decision to support, great. But that’s their choice. I’m not going to strong arm them into it.

It feels the same way with the wedding. Why can’t it be their choice? I’m not going to tell ANYONE what to do. Just because I’m choosing to spend my life with someone, does not mean a bajillion people have to do things for me like throw me parties and make me crafts. I don’t need it. Just show up if you can, have some wine, laugh with me, and then go live your life. Why can’t it be that easy?

It’s not… it’s the look, and the feel, and the family, and the money, and the photos, and the hurt feelings, and the stories, and the crockpots, and the oven mitts, and the eyelash glue, and the organizing of other peoples’ lives… (And by the way, I have a hard enough time being a director and organizing other people’s lives when I’m being PAID to do it…. so Lord knows I’m going to suck at it when it’s for free)


Everyone always says that being a bride for those last few months can be really tough. But you don’t really get it until it happens. It’s really REALLY tough. Like, I thought running 13.1 miles up and down hiking terrain was tough. This is harder. Because, when you go run 13.1 miles, or you go on stage and make jokes, or you sing a song for a special event, you don’t have to worry about anything but doing your job that you already know how to do. You can just enjoy it. On your own. And feel grateful when a friend or family member gives a shit when you did a thing. And then you move on with your life.


So…. stuff I’ve learned so far…

I don’t like the spotlight if I’m not giving a performance.

Gratitude is a practice.

Belly breathing is important.

Weddings are a million dollars.

People love to give advice because they love you, and you have to remember it’s because they love you.

Chicks dig being involved in shit.

I can throw back an incredible amount of white wine.

Family is awesome. It is also exhausting.

Weddings are weird.


I could keep going…

But I’ll save that for the next two months.







Two Things

Over the past few months my world has changed. It has changed drastically, as well as minimally.

The minimal changes? My small things… I still worry about the same silly things, like whether or not I exercise enough, whether I will make enough money in my profession, if I am getting too old not to take things more seriously… I’m still often tired. I still love big. I still would rather make others laugh more than anything in the world. I still agonize, make choices, feel concern, change a little bit here and there.

The drastic?

The drastic is harder to grasp. I may be a hard-working woman, but a smart woman I am not. I don’t exactly know how to put into words the changes I have undergone in the past few months… and it has very little to do with self-actualization, body dysmorphia, guilt, or any of the other usuals. My usuals… my minimals… they’re more of a distant echo, rather than a loud roar reverberating in my head. The Sad Dragon isn’t attacking me anymore.

It’s attacking the hate, the oppression, the devastation… it’s attacking the feeling of impending doom that I don’t think all Americans even vaguely understand. It’s attacking the misunderstandings, the breaking relationships, the family members that refuse to have respectful discussion about this ugly and confusing time in our history.

It is even attacking the part of myself that wants to bitch and complain about the minimals again, but it’s not going to battle with that part of myself. It’s just giving it a snort and a scoff, pushing it over with an eye-roll because we have much more important things to worry about.

Oh, you’re worried about money again, because you chose to be an artist for a living? it seems to say. We’ve had this conversation, and we know how it ends— YOU CHOOSE YOUR ART OVER MONEY. YOU’LL FIGURE IT OUT. Are we done here?”  

There’s just no time for that nonsense… Now we have a future, a tomorrow that can crumble on my watch if I am not careful. I have been blessed the promise of a husband, a whole new family that I get to join as well as create. It is an honor that I am able to walk into this tomorrow, and I refuse to let it fall apart on my watch. I refuse to become useless to my own cause.



If I choose to listen to the voices that tell me I am unworthy, then I am useless to my cause.

If I choose to whisper to my heart that my passions are pointless junk, not worthy of money,  and not worthy to my community, then I am useless to my cause.

If I choose to let my past dictate how I behave in my future relationships, then I am useless to my cause.

If I choose to treat my body with disrespect, lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, and lack of respect for a sustainable environment, then I am useless to my cause.

If I choose to say “no” to work that I love out of laziness, fear, or lack of worth, then I am useless to my cause.

If I choose to say “It’s Hopeless” or “No one will listen to me anyway” rather than “I can do something about this” or “I just have to find the right way to communicate” than I am useless to my cause.


My family, my community, my friends, my country. I choose to be useful to you.


Thank you, Sad Dragon, for teaching me how to be a fighter… for not letting me just lay down in comfortable indifference. I have never been able to ignore you, never been able to just sigh and say “It’s fine.”  It has to be for a reason.

And with the things that are coming..the things that will anchor me as well as try to make me stumble, I am grateful for what I used to think was a burden within me.

It’s not a burden. It’s not a problem.

It’s a fucking superpower.



Here Comes the Bridezilla

So I got engaged. Its awesome. I’m really excited to marry the man of my dreams. But that’s for a different blog. This one is for my sad-dragon-anxiety feels.

It’s only been three weeks and I was already told once that I was being a Bridezilla, though it was in jest. However, even though it was a joke, I fervently denied that I was AT ALL a difficult person, and I will ABSOLUTELY NOT be a difficult bride. I hate making demands on people. Hell, I hate asking for things. I apologize at service counters when asking for service. (God Almighty, how do I live?)

But due to the nature of what it means to be a bride in this day and age, suddenly I am required to ask multiple things, of multiple people, all of which are asking things of ME and then quickly stating “But its YOUR wedding, so do whatever YOU really want.”

This is a People Pleaser’s nightmare.

So in my very quick spiral of trying to find venue/dress/invitations/officiate/bridesmaidcolor/gifts/favors, all the while trying to people please without people pleasing, guess who turned into the biggest wreck EVER these past few weeks?!

Oh and I also have three jobs.

24 hours ago I was ready to light my car on fire so I would never have to go to work again. It was decided! I would pursue the career of laying on the floor in my wedding dress with a bottle of pinot noir until April.

Alas, I couldn’t find any lighter fluid, so that tanked. Plus, you know, this is real, so there is NO TIME FOR DRAMA M’LADY!

And speaking of reality, I’m going to be real with you for a second. I genuinely DONT CARE about a fancy shmancy wedding. I DONT CARE about all of the fluff and decorations. I have a few small desires, involving my friends and family, and some specifics with music and my favorite flower because that’s a big part of who I am. But as long as my fiance is pleased with the event, i’m not going to ask for anything more!

I have never been one to care about fluff, frills, and pristine parties so what changed? Why do I suddenly care so much? Why do I feel the incessant need to be on pinterest for five hours at a time?

Well, there are multiple people that I want to make happy– My future husband, my parents, his parents, the bridal parties, those that have to travel, those with religious expectations… EVERYONE. Because making the people I love happy, makes me happy.  I want them to feel like attending this event was lovely and worth their time. I want them to be happy!

However, making everyone happy is 100% impossible.

So…. Im in a cycle here…

What Makes you happy? Bringing pleasure to others

Well what brings pleasure to others? All the things

So how can you make them happy? By trying to give them all the things.

Can you give them all the things? No.

Then what will make you happy?  I DONT KNOW LEAVE ME ALONE!

(Cue opening a bottle of wine)


But, in addition to that, knowing that you’re about to get married sort of puts you in this outrageously vulnerable place. Suddenly you REALLY have to worry about things you never had to before. Suddenly you are a part of something so much bigger than yourself, and it’s wonderful as well as scary, and you just want to cry all the time because feelings, and you’re just so happy and also so overwhelmed and meanwhile you’re too broke to go to yoga class so you can calm the eff down, but you’re making yourself sick and you can’t go to work because of you slept through your alarm and you have crippling anxiety and then you kind of just cry forever and try to communicate how you feel, but it seems impossible because there are too many factors at play.


Did I mention I was feeling kinda stressed?


I guess what I’m realizing is that we are really unfair to Bridezillas. There’s a reason we turn into these Crying Chaos monsters, you guys. The pressure we get from tons of outside sources is immense. Plus, the pressure we put on ourselves (culturally and individually) is ridiculous, and if you are a person (like me) who naturally puts immense pressure on herself in every category possible, then you’re going to have a disaster on your hands.

So what do we do? Because it’s my and my boo-thang’s responsibility to make this thing happen, and I don’t want to be sobbing in a white heap or popping so many xanax that I don’t feel anything on our wedding day.

Aside from searching for organizational tools, the best thing I can come up with is to feel ALL of it and not lie to myself by making trivial sacrifices for other people.

I’m going to cry.

I’m going to get frustrated.

I’m going to feel immense joy.

I’m going to feel so loved, and want to give so much love.

And I’m going to do my best not to apologize for any of it.

So if I Bridezilla a little bit… just cut me some slack, ok? I’m learning how to, as they all say, “DO WHAT I WANT…. Because I ONLY GET THIS DAY ONCE.”






All I wanted to do was clean with as much impressive vigor as I could possibly muster. But this vacuum… it had so many little moving parts. I happily managed to vacuum the carpets of the house, but I needed to get the corners and crevices. I stared at the hose, pulled out the nozzle from the back of the cleaner, and pressed on a button with a “hose” symbol….

No suction came out of that hose.

Why wasn’t this working?

I stared at the couch and wondered if I could just lift the entire vacuum all the way up onto the couch… but … no… it won’t reach all the crevices in between the cushions.

I tugged and pulled and this pipe, and that brush thing, and looked for the button I was so clearly missing. I tried again.

No suction.

Joaquin was at work and we are leaving in a few days on our first week-long trip together. He likes to keep the house clean and in good, comfortable condition when leaving so that we can return without feeling stressed.

He is right. I am easily stressed. And so I agree! A clean house would be a delightful thing to return to after a five hour flight! Let us clean the house together!

You see, because I am between sources of hourly income right now– all four part-time jobs put on Summer pause… I choose to do my part in the house, something I don’t normally get to do too much of because I’m always… always… ALWAYS.. working.

But, you see, this was my choice. I chose the noble path of “following my dreams” because “It’s not about the money, it’s about what I get to do.” I put a lot of time, money, and effort into being able to live a life that is fulfilling, does not leave me sitting at a desk, and adds to my wheelhouse of all sorts of life experience! I’m a performer, an educator, a comedian, a singer, and a community outreach activist! I have three hundred dollars to my name right now! Aren’t you PROUD?


The clock showed there was about forty five minutes until he returned home and I wanted to show that I could be good at cleaning. I could be domestic.

But I can’t figure out this goddamn vacuum.

I can see that this little curved end of the hose is meant to lock into something… it’s not a nozzle… or the stretchy- extendable pipe thingy that helps you clean ceilings.

Is there a name for that?… Whatever, it’s stretchy- extendable pipe thingy now.

I push another button. Still. No. Suction.

A bead of sweat starts to trickle down my mid back as it nears noon and the house is growing hot. It’s supposed to get up to ninety degrees today… Good thing I went for a run in the early morning! I always try to run in the morning because it helps me stay goal oriented for the rest of the day. Nothing balances out a stressed out mind like a good cardiovascular workout!

Why. is. there. no. suction?

I have a degree… I am a feminist…. I believe in equal pay for equal work… I preach body positivity… I believe that I am just as smart as any man AND I CANT FIGURE OUT THIS VACUUM CLEANER.

I could wait for Joaquin to get home and help me but that would make me a failure. I would have to sit and watch him do exactly what needs to be done in 1.6 seconds while I hang my head in shame, looking dumbfounded. I can’t change a tire, I can’t remember the names of all the actors in any movie except for ‘Titanic,’ I can’t eat grilled cheese without getting heartburn, and I can’t properly vacuum my damn house.



Look, I never played with legos as a child. I never dug around in the dirt! I never really learned how to use a computer. I can’t memorize the years of important events in history. I never received any praise for taking things apart and putting them back together again… I was told to put on pretty dresses and stand there and sing songs because that’s what young ladies do…


Suddenly, the entire torso of the vacuum cleaner pops right off, the flat thingy that goes across the carpet is sitting on the floor, the rest of it in my hand… I BROKE THE FUCKING VACUUM.


And then I realize… It’s supposed to do this! I was pushing the button that separates the two pieces by accident … what a clever design! The pieces separate so that you can carry the thing around while you suck up filth out of the stretchy-extendable pipe thingy. I’ve seen white, brunette ladies with bob haircuts do this in commercials for Swiffer and Oxyclean! I didn’t know our vacuum did this! .




I’m still sweating and I still haven’t figured out how to make the suction thing happen. I’m starting to feel like the biggest idiot this world has ever seen. What a fool I have been all these years…  I am the reason America has a glass ceiling.

I notice the accordion- like hose dangling from the back of the vacuum now. It has a hole on the end. I turn the motor (is it a motor? I don’t know… a car has a motor… what is this part called? The tornado torso? The windy inner demon? … I don’t know…) Air is sucking out of an open pipe— AN OPEN PIPE.

I turn the vacuum off, and slide the little nozzle of the hose sideways, and screw it to that beautiful open pipe….

On button.





I have never been so happy to clean ceilings in my entire life! Couch crevices? SUCKED. Oh a cobweb? SUCKED. Dust around the moulding? SUCKED.

Drenched in sweat and as if a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, I used all of the little moving parts of that glorious vacuum cleaner, and BY GOD I did not ask for help!

I am a sad, privileged, woman who JUST figured out how to use her vacuum cleaner, and I will CLING to this moment of adulthood glory for as long as possible.



As a side note, I also broke my french press today while doing the dishes.

Domestic realness.


Later dudes. xoxoxo

“Die, Vampires.”

Has anyone ever been tormented in their head by the things others have said about you?

Actually, you know what, that is a ridiculous question.


We all have had this experience, even if it was back in the third grade, when Johnny called you a stupid-face and told you to eat dirt. Johnny was an a- hole. I really hope you didn’t eat dirt… I would have been the kid that ate the dirt in silence, not told an adult, and then cried about it at home. But I digress….

Anyway, this really got me thinking about the narrative we have in our heads when our tormentors, bullies, relatives, coaches, etc., tell us things that are completely detrimental to our well-being. We may not be able to control what people say or do to us, but we have 100% responsibility for the way we react to it, and how it controls our behavior in the future.

Unfortunately, I have been a pushover most of my life. I’m still grappling with the terrible things that have been said to me. But recently, I got an idea. I read in a book that if you can imagine yourself achieving a goal as vividly as possible, you’re WAY more likely to achieve it in your life. So I thought, maybe that could work the other way around as well. Maybe I could replace my responses to the jerks with something else, something I wish I had said, and that can make me stronger now.

So lately, I’ve decided to change my narrative. Entirely through the use of imagination (yay Theater Degree!) I’m working on replacing my memory with something the a stronger, older, wiser me would say the the A-holes.


The following is a list of things things that have been said to me in my past, how I responded then, and the new narrative I am now using so I can move the eff on with my life.

Hater: “You’re too fat for the standards of this performance group.”  

Old Me: “Yeah I know, but it’s fine I’ll just be in the back where I can sing. I’m good at singing anyway, I’m not here because I’m good-looking.

New Me: “Hey! F*CK you! I made it just as well as anyone else. Also, I’m a beautiful, talented goddess, and my body is not your business.”


Hater: “I’m cutting you from this dance. You look like a horse.” 

Old Me: Continues to rehearse in silence until the tears pour out of my face uncontrollably.

New Me:  “You know, it takes a really specific kind of person to look a twelve-year-old in the eyes and compare them to a barn animal. Although, horses are majestic! So I guess that means I’m majestic! Would you like to do something else in this scene? Or can I call my mom and go home?”


Hater: “Do you think you could lose ten pounds before opening night? None of these costumes fit you.”

Old Me: (Awkward laughter) ” I’m sorry. I could try? ”

New Me: “I hear crash diets are really unhealthy, especially for fifth graders. So, should I put your name down for being held responsible for my early onset anorexic tendencies? I’ll just give you my therapist’s address and you can write her a check directly.”


Hater: “Your body is fine, it could just be… you know… firmer. More toned.” 

Old Me: Oh yeah, I agree. That’s why I’ve been trying to lift weights and eat more lean protein. Firmer definitely is better.

New Me: Continuing to eat cake. We’re breaking up.



Hater: Good luck trying to find someone who loves you as much as I do. You’re a lot to handle and I doubt anyone else will understand how to deal with you. 

Old me: Cries.

New Me: Those two sentences make absolutely NO sense! And my worth is not defined by whether or not a boyfriend can “handle” me. I can handle myself, thank you very much! Giggity!



Hater: Ugh, you’re so irresponsible and dreamy. Why can’t you pay attention and be smart?  

Old me: I don’t know. I guess my mind wanders too much. I’m sorry.

New Me: I’m a creative person and I’m very smart about a lot of things. My intelligence is defined differently than yours, and maybe you would realize that if you actually attempted to listen to me once in a while.



Hater: Your involvement in the Theater Arts is making you vulnerable to Satan. You’re doing the work of the Devil and you don’t even know it. That’s why you’re not happy, and you never will be until you change your ways. 

Old Me: Frantically searches the Bible for answers, prays to God to take away my passions and to change my heart to love more “Godly” things.  

New Me: You’re insane. If you don’t have respect for my passions, then you don’t respect me. We’re breaking up.




You guys, don’t get me wrong. The experiences in our past that sucked make us who we are. They are a part of ourselves that give us the fuel to live out our passions and connect to others. But if the a-holes in your past are holding you back from anything in your present, try to change the narrative and see what happens.





Out of Options… 

Girls Be Like…