I have an announcement to make. If you’re reading this, you might have a guess as to what that announcement is. I reactivated my blog today. I haven’t posted in almost two years. My last posts are from the October I spent in Texas with my sister during the end stages of her battle with… More It sure has been a while…
Every once in a while, like when I turn a corner and an elevator opens right when I need one, I find little things that reaffirm that I am in the right place at the right time. I am where I am meant to be. I have to keep telling myself that. I hate cancer.… More Random thoughts in Houston
Imagine waking up in the morning and throwing some scraps of bread outside for the chickens. Four outdoor cats follow you around, ready for their food. A scorpion is hiding in the kitchen sink, and you blast him with hot water to send him down the drain. Just a typical morning for my grandparents in… More Texas Transformation
This isn’t one of those “omg Gen X/Y/Z/Millenials are literally the WORST!” blog posts. Although, it kinda is. I told myself I wasn’t going to jump any deeper into the “Blurred Lines” debate, but this is starting to get pretty ridiculous, y’all. Look, I completely understand the side of women who were raped feeling uncomfortable.… More Hard truth: “Blurred Lines” is not the problem. We are the problem.
Below is the letter I wrote to Dr. Ryan Lombardi regarding his decision to ask the Marching 110 to “reconsider” their choice to include “Blurred Lines” in their halftime show last Saturday. I want to preface this by saying that it is intentionally as positive and flattering as possible. I did not want to be… More My open letter regarding The Ohio University Marching 110 and “Blurred Lines”
It’s warm in Grandma’s kitchen. A small plastic fan on the counter does little to circulate air or cool the room. It doesn’t help that a pot of sauce has been on the back right burner of the stove for hours before my arrival. The smell is mouth-watering. I can almost taste tomatoes now. Grandma… More Sundays
When I was born, they called me cone-head. My mom’s water broke early. Or, depending on your perspective, I was born late. However you look at it, I went a long time without water, and the doctors had to put a needle in my head to hydrate me. They taped a styrofoam cup over the… More Random memories of my birth