The Awkward Handshake, Wizards, and Sailing.

Only The Graduate had the balls to talk about the post-college malaise that settles in after Graduation Day lunch has been eaten and all the family is gone. Well, maybe a few other media texts have offered up their opinion on the matter, but I’m no expert on that. Oh wait, my degree is in Film and Digital Media. I probably should be. At any rate, here I sit in my smoky sanctuary at an undisclosed location (for anonymity reasons), and the excitement is gone. I’ve crested the wave. I’ve peaked. And oh my God, look at that downhill. Emotional nuclear fallout, and I’m pretty sure there are disfigurements.

I just read what I wrote. Holy shit, that sounds depressing. Continue reading


A Nightmare With a Happy Ending.

My sister, my mom and I had spent the evening packing boxes for troops. I was neck deep in beef jerky, Crystal Light packets and playing cards. Story of my life, right? I left the ladies to finish the work and went home to go to sleep. It had been a long day. I crawled all 180 pounds of my 9-month pregnant body into a very cozy bed and fell asleep…for about two hours.

Something was burning in my back. It was a waving ache, vibrating out from my spine. It woke me up, but I figured it was from all the work I’d done that day and didn’t immediately freak out. I tried rearranging my body, hugging the stupid pillow that helped me feel less like a loner. That dumbass pillow never even took me out to eat or told me I looked nice. It’s OK though. I burned it after I gave birth. Continue reading

Congratulations, you didn’t die.

Lots of people don’t participate in the graduation ceremony that’s held at the end of four years of college. My mom was one of those people. This has always baffled me. Why wouldn’t you celebrate such an arduous journey with a ten second stroll in the spotlight? Hell, I’ll take a spotlight any way I can get it. I’m just relieved this one isn’t attached to a police cruiser. Continue reading

Exclusive interview with Perry and Co.

After several phone calls, emails, post-it notes left on his window, cryptic messages spelled out in Gak on the lawn of the Governor’s mansion and only a few veiled threats, I was finally granted an interview with Rick Perry and his elected official colleagues. This gang of rag tag legislative lone rangers has been quite busy over the last several weeks working valiantly to pass one of the most restrictive anti-abortion and pro-gay bills the Capitol has ever seen. Senate Bill 1, slated to be discussed and possibly voted on tomorrow, has sent shock waves through the streets of Austin and been the impetus to many a hard on for those with a financial interest in the matter. Continue reading

Why I’m Going To Austin.

I wanted to let the debate air itself out in the realm of social media without further clouding the process. But clouds be damned! Fortunately this will be one of only two official statements on the matter. I just can’t stand these stereotypes. I’ll try not to fulfill one while dispelling these myths.

No one likes abortion. Let’s be clear on that. Pro-choicers don’t throw abortion parties nor are they Satanists.  Equally true, not all pro-lifers are churchy, close minded bigots with their noses stuck in the Bible. Continue reading

Temporary feathers.

DISCLAIMER: The nature of this writing is more personal than social graces might allow. I would apologize for my candor if I meant it, but I don’t. In addition to warning everyone about how weird this is going to be and providing those disinterested souls an opportunity to get the hell out of here, I wanted to finally clear the air about why I started this mostly ignored blog in the first place (it ties in later, I swear). I suffer from severe self-doubtitopia. Left untreated, it can lead to paralysis of the brain, and in rare cases, genital warts. So my remedy included various vulnerability exercises, one of which included starting a stupid, stupid blog. There’s a green bucket in my office filled with writing I’ve done over the years that I never had the balls to show anyone. Some of that actually worked out for the best because that hidden writing includes “poetry” I wrote at the start of my teenage angst and it is some of the most pathetic, poorly written literature ever conceived. That’s not even self-bashing; that’s reality. I still think I’m a pathetic writer (not an invitation for support), and when the weight of this fear began to grow so heavy that I started thinking of a career change, I mustered up all the boldness I could manage and decided to submit my work to the most vulnerable place on the planet: the INTERNET. So here I am, in the throes of some emotional fire, stripped to the nerve by life and its happenings, writing some personal editorial for no other reason than to expose myself to the whipping wind of the public and hopefully dig a little deeper into vulnerability.

This is going to get weird. Continue reading

Please don’t feed the animals.

When my oldest brother was an infant, my parents decided to join a church so that he would have some kind of religion in his life. They have stayed members of the same church for nearly thirty years now, a much larger Baptist church than the ones they grew up in. We have never been an overly religious family, but throughout my childhood we maintained consistent Sunday morning attendance and each kid was baptized at some point by the same pastor. Growing up in this church, I always felt like an outsider looking in, like someone merely passing through to be viewed but never known. Words from the bible twisted up in my mind and I created a warped, terrifying view of the Christian God which I fled from at the earliest opportunity. This was the context under which I ventured away from the church house, leaving behind all those well dressed, holy people. After all, they and I were only there to view each other from our respective posts in the pew, and never to get to know each other as fellow travelers. Christians, as a result, became like inhabitants of an exhibit at the zoo, with placards of misinformation progressively written with my own hand in crayon, glittery pink gel pen and black sharpie. “Look here, the Christians, residents of Stupid Town. It says they feed on judgment and the weak, their natural habitat remains the brick and mortar houses of ridged doctrine and their population has dwindled as a result of the plague of hypocrisy.” This exhibit is boring. Let’s move on. Continue reading