Doo Wop (That Thing)


Most of my stories, the really good ones, start like this:

I got drunk at a friends birthday party one night in August 2015.

I was sitting in a couch, three drinks in and talking to two friends I hadn’t seen in eons because I’m a hermit shut in who was working long strange hours on weekends so being social was always a challenge. Also, I’m a hermit shut in. While chatting, I was approached by a woman holding a bottle of wine the way I hold a bottle of whiskey.

With fucking conviction.

She tells me (and I’m a bit of a haze because exhausted and damnit whiskey) she’s a divorce attorney right off the bat and I nod how impressed I am because a) a bit tipsy b) that’s forward c) she’s pretty young. I’m drunk and don’t know I’m being flirted with. I’m also dumb and don’t know when I’m being flirted with. It’s potent concoction.



mood forever

I proceed to have a good time playing a very complicated game of Exploding Kittens (I’m not crazy about it you know? Give me Cards Against Humanity anyday) while doing pulls and my eyes get bloodshot and nothing hurts and it’s 1am and I’m in a basement party listening to Skrillex like I’m 19 and I know I’m being watched.

I vaguely recall sauntering over and talking, god only knows what I said but I’m pretty sure I was engaging. I was being grilled by other friends because I get loud and obnoxious when I’m high, drunk and exhausted. I do my best not to text Waffle and I realize with every cloud of smoke that I’m not even thinking about Waffle anymore. I’m not thinking about anything. I’m talking to this girl and can’t remember a goddamned thing but I’m Skippy peanut butter smooth and it probably is working but my close friend, let’s call him The Vet is sideeying me because he knows I’m drunk and I’m torpedoing my chances at anything remotely resembling a normal social human.



Hey lil mama

I go back to the game and see Her standing up to go and I drunkenly declare “I’m supposed to go with her.”

I have no idea why I felt the compulsion to do that but yeah, there you go.

So we’re outside and this is where, like most of the things that happen after a good night out I don’t remember shit.

I get home and find a message on Instagram.

Someone slid into my DMs.

If you’re one of those people who lives under a rock or is just not hip to things (or a proper hermit who doesn’t follow whatever is going on in the world) it goes down in the DMs. A direct message on Instagram is like opening the Ark of the Covenant at the end of Raiders; it could be face melting.


It goes down in the DMs. People confess things, send you messages make you wonder what is going on in the world or with you that someone wants to just slide in and start chatting. I ignore it at first, mild interest compelling me to give one word vaguely flirtatious answers and all the while, my mind is drifting to whether or not this girl is someone I want to talk to because my heart is still stuck on stupid with Waffle. I let the conversation die…after giving Duck my number.

The texts come in, simple, occasional and flirty. I wind up reading them, low level checking out Instagram and keeping tabs. Duck is fond of selfies. VERY. Fond of Selfies. And food. It’s interesting. There is something alluring about the nearly hourly updates of selfies because the eyes tell a story that was still very interesting.

Duck gives good face.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

That thing.

I’ve found that I’ve an uncanny ability of having strong feelings towards people with very simple features that seem to just be otherworldly if you know how to look for them. With Waffle (I can barely recall it now which, shoutouts to me for having the ability to kinda worm my way out of that right? Nah.) it was the eyes and smile. Still gets me. I noticed with Duck, it’s the jawline and curve of the lips. Go figure. It’s that thing. Everyone has it. That quirk that just makes a person perfect and unique to the beholder. I am compelled to tease Duck and text “You take alot of selfies.”

“Feel free to unfollow.”

Simple. Challenging. Confident.

What a little shit.

We flirt on and on and as Waffle drifts farther and farther away from me, the loss feels less and less like a loss and the hole still feels like a hole but it is what it is, I accept that this is just how things are going to be. Waffle isn’t coming back and Waffle is totally fine with never being anything to me.


I end up texting again with Duck and we make plans. I put them off. “I’m tired.” I put them off. “Come hang out.” I put them off. I get a call. I’m a little buzzed (naturally) and wind up making plans to meet.

That. Thing.

I sit in a car with Duck from 11p to 4:30a and sleep like a toddler til 11a the next morning. It’s a Sunday and I wake up with a text message.


We make plans again and again and I don’t break them. The experience is unique. We’re trying to understand each other; both of us are victims of circumstance with relationships with pieces of metal fragments still stuck in soft part of our hearts and bodies. Her way of coping is with the selfies, mine, uhhh well, you know what mine is and we’re two people who are just trying to figure it all out. The strange thing about meeting someone and getting along with them is how often you see layers of other people on them. I don’t mean their pasts or their exes, I mean people you’ve met along the way to meeting the person in front of you. You see the person you had a crush on but were to afraid to approach, the person you were with and it all fell apart, you see the elements of someone you want to be in them and that’s when the layers fall away and you see it.

That thing. The thing that makes that person stand out in a crowd, how you can pick them out and know that they’re the one you want to spend time with. It’s not always sexual in nature, not at first because like anything, that takes time, especially when you’re talking about two people who are still very hurt by the way other people treated them. That thing is what keeps you two moving around each other, slowly orbiting until you’re comfortable enough to atleast broach the subject of whatever else you want, whatever else you need. It’s that thing that makes us all a little more curious to get closer in an increasingly isolating world of dating apps and casual connections; that thing that makes you crave human contact when you’ve adapted to life without it. You find yourself wondering how their day is, you stop thinking so much about the person you were with someone else and the person you might be with the person in front of you.

That thing.

You weren’t looking for anything but it sneaks up on you and that’s it.

The trick now is, how to not fuck it up.

What I Learned: October 23


I’m going to do something different.

I’m going to pick my highlights from the week.


I got a new tattoo. By new tattoo I mean a monstrosity on my forearm that took three and a half hours to do and swelled up once I took off the bandages and let it air out. Then it stopped swelling and I felt awesome because awesome. I’ll be continuing to finish it off in the upcoming month. Should be a good time. The reactions I got from people is amazing though. “Holy shit is that new?”

It’s pretty sweet.

#Patterns for today at @8ofswordstattoo. For booking info visit #ladytattooers #bettyrosetattoos #8ofswordstattoo

A photo posted by BETTY ROSE Tattoo Artist (@bettyrosetattoos) on Oct 19, 2015 at 10:19am PDT



A shoot day with Joe Budden. No one asks him for beard tips.


Amazing live. Also boobs.

Waffle….siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. So much sigh. heart eyes for days.


I’m off from work and wind up impressing myself by breaking my personal record in walking to the post office to pick up my LootCrate for this month. It’s pretty decent, the Bill and Ted shirt is probably the highlight. And the Sonic Spork. I prep for a road trip and wonder, is this what is to come? Fun in the field?


Field trip.

What I Learned: October 10

This week, I return to my comic book roots, get optimistic about text messages and try to not lose my head.

Last week was pretty busy and I’ve noticed that I’ve completely lost control


After driving round in the rain yesterday and finding two action figures and buying two bluray movies at Target while hoping that Waffle would reconsider saying yes to me and a rainy joyride, I wind up at my brother’s house to deliver passes for NYCC. The college trip to Howard is cancelled thanks to the looming disaster that is Hurricane Joaquin and I’m allowed to sleep in a little bit, which, given how badly I’ve been sleeping is basically like being given a golden ticket.


I’m up early for no good reason other than I’m now waking up before my alarm clock. Either because I’m not sleeping right or because I know the sounds of shitty top 40 radio enrages me more than the braying sound the alarm makes so to avoid being cranky, I just wake up.

I’m feeling more and more tired as of late and it’s due to large part that my brain is screaming at me about the sleep thing and the fact that I’m just working nearly every day. The funny thing is that I’m also PAINFULLY aware of how close New York Comic Con is and all I want to do is spend time with Waffle in the confines of the smelly aisles of the Javitz Center because in my head I’ve made it my mission to win that heart back and I think that Stockholm Syndrome is a legitimate means of making someone fall back in love with you.

it worked for these two right?

I head to work and get in early enough to walk and watch something on Netflix before settling into an awkward work flow where we all want to be somewhere else and debate the merits of covering the Chik-Fil-A opening.

Mostly for science because supposedly it’s the greatest chicken ever but I feel a little weird wanting to try chicken as supplied by hyper religious bigots who would sooner throw said chicken at me for being bisexual.

I have fast hands and would catch it and eat it with joy but also that’s too much work.

Either way, we finish and walk over to see what the fuss is about and let me tell you, it’s a mile long line, no exaggeration.

I wind up getting Wendys.



Sunday is much nicer weather wise than Saturday or Friday.

It might also be because I got an early morning text message from Waffle.

It’s sickening how my mood, my entire brain chemistry changes once I get a message from her; it’s almost as if I could take on the entire world with an arm strapped to my back, win and be home in time for Once Upon A Time with Waffle and chill. This kind of thing can kill me. In any case I enthusiastically answer the text with the kind of eagerness that basically is embarrassing.

Tramp Stamp

So we agree sorta to meet after work which mercifully goes by quickly.

Netflix and chill is not to be.

Waffle basically slept the entire day away.

I’m not crushed so much as I saw it coming because I’m pretty good at predicting that kind of thing. Either way, the little tingle still lingers.

I wind up doing laundry, eating a sandwich and watching last week’s Grey’s Anatomy On Demand. I wind up making gagging noises while Callie flexes on Arizona and her ‘new girlfriend’.

legit my OTP fight me

It’s like, c’mon man, fucking support the love and just…fix it.


They let all the other trash OTPs get atleast fifteen sporting shots before one of them dies or something Shondalandy happens. Callie goes through a fucking windshield, delivers her premie baby, survives heart failure and physical therapy, MARRIES Arizona who then loses her leg in a plane crash THEN cheats on Callie THEN buy a house together then…

the fuck man?!

Love works somehow in all of this and then they’re like, nah they’re good let them date other people.

My skin crawls.

it’s like no one knows what goes into being that open or vulnerable with humans. They’re awful. They’ll maim you. I believe that love works like a stronger friendship. I call you bro. My best friend. Not because I don’t respect you or don’t love you. You’re the best friend I have. Everyone else is trash.

Anyways. I continue with laundry and prepare myself to throw socks at the TV during Once Upon a Time.

Once Upon a Time and let me tell you…

If they’re not angling Regina and Emma together, they need to tell the production staff because for fuck’s sake, you don’t romcom zoom and light two people who are supposed to be plutonic bros. I mean if you casually cruise the Tumblr tags, it’s basically going to make you a believer.

also I just happen to think that chemistry is something you can’t fight.


They’re totally bros. They watch out for each other in ways that other people don’t.  It’s fuckin’ beautiful.

In anycase, I wind up watching that, getting caught in the feels and watching Fear the Walking Dead.

Then I get another text.

We wind up talking throughout the episode and I gotta say (I also have to admit that I know you’re probably reading this and if you are, well, hi.) it’s still a really nice feeling. I’m still optimistic as hell as evidenced by the most vivid dream I’ve had in a long time that only makes me feel like the universe is listening and for that, I’m thankful.


The world is a blur and I’m told I have an insane task to pull off. Plan a massive field trip, plan an NBA interview, chase after Jack Hanna and his people for paperwork and keep my wits about me while balancing multiple shoots on one day.

It all falls into place somehow.


I honestly don’t remember what happened but there was candy and everyone was happy about that.


I’m in Brooklyn working on this project and I’m wandering the halls of the a government building and I can’t help but wonder if in another life, could I have actually gone into politics.


I live in my head.

We have a great conversation about art and gentrification and I hope that I can find the brain power to really put together something dynamic.

In the meantime, two other shoots go off and I have to pat myself on the back for not completely melting down while exchanging confusing text messages about the status of comic con passes that have suddenly come up as available.

I’m good at multitasking I really am, I may be short circuiting a little because I can’t even come up with a good enough logical answer so I tuck my phone in my pocket and work work work.

I leave at 9.

I get home and watch TV and color. Yes. An adult coloring book works wonders. I have a decent talk with Waffle and for some reason, all the ghosts of the past drift into my mind and I’m immediately reminded that despite the petty arguments and sniping, we’re two people overworked, decently paid and sexless. I wonder if trying to diffuse the tension would help or only throw gasoline onto an already raging nuclear aftermath that is our lives. At this point, given my ranting on Sunday about OUAT all I want to do is find a goddamned happy ending.


Emergency packing and lunching for what will be the best weekend ever.


Jack Hanna planning.


Special edition.

What I Learned: August 28

This week, I spend the weekend in a Chevy Tahoe, change my name to Uber, operate in a COMBINED EIGHT hours of sleep and navigate the strange streets of this city.

Friday (Continued from here):

After driving from Conneticut in the aforementioned Tahoe, meeting Nikki Bella and sneaker gawd Masch, I do my best Uber impression and drop off everyone AND then  pick up new gear.

I start a group text for the ages and plan for the next day. Always have to think of the future at least professionally. Personally, again, walking shitshow.

I then head back home where I circle like a large shark in this beast of a vehicle. I accidentally look like a fed doing laps in this car.

I find a parking super late at night and zombie shuffle home.

I learn that I really enjoy nice fancy cars, good music and wonder if I’d be your favorite Uber driver.


Early morning for back to back shoots.

I’ve named the Tahoe Brenda and she and I drive off to Brooklyn for the finale of a micro opus; the pirate black yeezys.

As it turns out, the super lousy and much maligned Adidas Reserve app blessed a few people with a pair of expensive Roshe run water shoes.

Again. The entire team is wearing Nikes.

We’re awful at branding strategy.


We knock that out and climb back into Brenda for a drive out to Long Island for the Billboard Hot 100 Festival.
The drive out is facinating though. We’re cruising through Queens in all its multi leveled confusing street named business before its transformed into wide suburban wilderness. We wind up in Roosevelt Field Mall for meal and really, it’s like walking into the mall from Clueless.

My fat ass gets a Charley’s steaks sandwich and I savor every second with it because I know it’s going to be the last meal we have for a while.

Jones Beach is a big lovely piece of sand and water on the edge of the madness that is New York. Breathtaking. All that sun, wide open sky, spotty cell service, no shade, nothing for miles…no actually it’s hell adjacent. We pull to the Nikon Theater (we shoot on Canon cameras and glass by the way.) and park Brenda. I make long range Hail Mary lobs for interviews with big names and know they’ll fall very short of their mark but sometimes you just gotta try it y’know? I’m now in that elite circle of people who’s had Jason Derulo (you sang his name admit it) management team say, “Nah.”

We divide and conquer; shooting everything, slowly wilting under the August sun while every kind of could be, will be, top 40 music blares everywhere.

I get to film Halsey (weeps)

Some Betty Who (weeps again)

Micheal Braun (EDM tears)

Jason Derulo (because my mom is weirdly a fan)

Interview Trinidad James (don’t believe me? There’s a video. just watch)

We get an interview Natalie La Rosa and Justine Skye.

I film Lil Wayne’s performance.

Here’s where it gets to be funny though. During Wayne’s set, I mean, you have to know his music to get this but, just…picture a front row of white girls, chanting, sweaty excited about life suddenly yelling Wanye lyrics.

Including n*gga.

I mean.

I’m with a crew of African American dudes and we’re all standing there looking like Patrick Star completely stunned. We knew it was gonna happen but to actually bear witness to darling Becky, Lisa, Heather and Stephanie (names I pulled out of my butt) screaming

Uh, real nigga fuck these haters
These hoes got pussies like craters
Can’t treat these hoes like ladies, man!
Pussy, money, weed, codeine
She say my dick feel like morphine
I hope my name taste like sardines to these niggas
She wake up, eat this dick
Call that breakfast in bed


I mean, “Bitches Love Me (Good Kush and Alcohol)” Is totally a deep piece of music but we stopped in our tracks and stared for a good minute before realizing we had to leave.


We do interviews on the beach and are promptly eaten alive by the adorable ants and bugs that live on the beach and crawl out at sunset because why not? It’s summer.

We get our faces melted by Axwell and Ingrosso which, if I may, was almost a religious experience. I forgot how much I truly love house and EDM music. There’s something beautiful in computers and synths making you feel something the same way real strings can. We pile up into a long media line and prep to shoot the last act of the night.

The Weeknd.

Remember that line of screaming girls? Still there. All deaf from Axwell and Ingrosso but they’re holding strong and immediately complaining about the press arriving in the front for photos. Guys, if ever you’re at a show, enjoying your night, drinking, laughing smoking and just being you in the moment, don’t bitch about or at the people working a show; we are in a place you want to be and we can go anywhere. You’ll live if my body blocks your view for ten whole minutes. Besides, watch the stage, not me.

Anyways, he’s great live and performed “Crew Love” while we were up there.

the hook.

I get it, it’s music and people are allowed to do and sing however but it’s SO FUCKING WARPED when twelve year olds are screaming ‘THERE’S A ROOM FULLA N*GGAS WHATCHU BOTHERIN’ ME FOOOORRRR’ with conviction.

In anycase, we stick around for another two and beat the traffic.

I venture deep into Queens on personnel delivery drops on some Uber meets GTA mission level stuff, wall eyed, exhausted and trying to figure out how to process the day.

I park outside Waffle’s building, figuring reckless charm is all one needs to make things work. I text and send a hilarious video of myself bopping around in the car and receive a text that is both mixed and positive. “You should’ve text me earlier, it’s too late now.”

so you’re saying I have to ask earlier in the day?

By the time I arrive home, it’s well after one am I’ve been up for 18 hours and not really fatigued so much as just…


Recovery sort of happens. I still have the boat I spent at least 20 minutes battling for parking (seriously, it’s competitive as all hell) manage to park the boat and work out a few things. I get pizza for everyone because pizza forever and wind up taking some home in a box that’s almost novelty in its size. I climb into the car again, mutter ‘One Last Ride’ on some Vin Diesel shit, place the box in the passenger side and roll out.

It’s an American truck so I guess this is appropriate

I will now add pizza delivery service to my list of things I can do.

So many hats.

The boat goes back to the rental service and as I leave Brenda, grateful for her service, dependability and rear camera system, I’m greeted by one of the clerks who walks around the truck with big wide eyes.

“How’d you like the car?” she asks.

“It’s great. A little much but I had a good time.”

“Is it the one you ordered?”

(I didn’t order it, it just popped up on me) “Yep.”

I watch as she climbs in and turns the car on to check the settings. “Oh it’s like, you didn’t do anything with it.”

*in my head* You’re right I didn’t do anything but shuttle people and gear around for three days. I didn’t sit in it for awhile blasting music and staring out at the traffic ahead of me wondering about my place in the universe, if I should pick up new comics this week and if Coldplay will go on another world tour. “Oh I kept it clean before bringing it back.”

“I appreciate that!”

*in my head*  so do I get a break on this discount or nah?

I shuffle my exhausted ass back to the train, which, given how much driving I’ve been doing feels incredibly weird. I’m one of those assholes with a box of pizza on the train and I can feel everyone judging me; I’m holding the box correctly. Cold pizza or not, you do NOT under any circumstances hold pizza under your arm like a surfboard. I sit down with this stupid box in my lap and just think about how my life as flip turned upside down. I can be as tired as I want but being broke is even more exhausting.

The interesting thing is as I continue to work and get farther away from my last self (the struggling to make ends meet freelancer me) I find that I’m still trying to figure out which me I am now. I believe that we are born and reborn over and over again, given different lives to live in the moment we walk into that timeline and this timeline is almost new, the entire experience unknown and I can’t parallel it with anything I’ve been through so far. I don’t want to be an asshat but it’s so strange and I guess its kinda cool that way. Scary but cool.


It’s funny because given how eventful this weekend was, Monday feels like another random ass day where things happen. We had cookies so, that’s always a good time. I actually leave my house at a decent hour and spent some time with my mom before holing up in my lab to write and stare at Monday Night Raw.

Mostly because I hadn’t seen Nikki’s sneakers in action.

Fun fact? We’re the same height (5’7) and shoe size (8) BUT definitely not that good looking.

Also fun fact? She wore the sneakers again.


A delightful flurry of activity happens and yours truly basically does her very best to keep up with the everything going on. I’m overseeing a project on a group, The Bushwick Collective and as it turns out, there are great supporters and even bigger obstacles they are facing. You can be so good at your job that other people want to take it from you. It’s a big piece and with everything going on…well…I hope it’s straight napalm and melts faces.

I randomly text Waffle and ask if dinner is an option.


It is.

basically what happened

We have a quiet dinner where Waffle rails on everything happen while I politely shovel pasta into my face hole and try my best not to stare lovingly at that face.

It’s kinda embarrassing how big a loser I am.

I wind up picking up some CDs: Florence + The Machine, The Weeknd, Halsey and Tove Lo. I have all them in digital format but The Weeknd and Halsey were ill begotten advances because physical stores haven’t caught up with the digital Friday releases…haha. fight me.


A day off doesn’t mean you’re actually allowed to unplug and it DEFINITELY doesn’t mean life won’t throw many nasty curveballs. I’m told to continue to persevere but that’s easy to say when you’ve been getting square meals, sleep and feel appreciated.


Waffle needed to get some dental work done and so, me and my white knight ass volunteered to meet her and shuttle her around.

oh is there a problem?

oh is there a problem?

I finish my book, Shadowshaper, and watch as Waffle emerges from the room bleary eyed and puffy. Extractions are the least fun thing ever. We spend the early afternoon shuffling between pharmacies and I endure increasing levels of grump bitch before getting an apology text.



I’m running errands because taking a break isn’t a thing that I know how to do.

I spend the day with Waffle and basically do the worst job of covering up my heart eyes.

It winds up being a good day.

What I Learned: August 21

This week, I get my cowgirl on (not in that way) and wrangle up some coworkers for micro tour of New York, get some damn fine barbecue in Brooklyn and discover that the joys of running and gunning is only as good as the subject you’re shooting.


Starts with a groan since I’m convinced I overslept and continues with a WHAT THE FAK as the trains decide, ‘girl, you’re not going to go no place on time today’ I arrive to one of the cooler venues to shoot in, The YouTube Studios and do my very best to not cartwheel all around the place. (I can’t do cartwheels so it’s fairly easy to do) I’ve booked a guy who’s basically the shrunken stocky version of John Lequizamo as our driver for the day and that basically means, you’re gonna have a good time.

We’ve packed in all the talent into one studio space and they’re basically the goofiest group of mixed gender kids that I’ve encountered. It’s like S Club 7 without the British accents…sigh…I miss SC7.

I’ve no idea what happened to them (this is also not my group)

We pile into a fifteen passenger van like a bunch of exhausted school kids and head off to a space in Brooklyn that’s covered in artwork, some of which is related to the group that I’m working on my first production documentary on. It’s kinda magical how all of these lives and strings start threading together the way they have. From there, we shuttle to another place that’s lowkey nice and do another round of photos and some people do some power napping.

For someone who theoretically had 8 hours of sleep and is currently running on hour 12 by the time we wrap, I’m feeling ok.

I’m also off the next two days and when you have that kind of luck, you really wanna go all out y’know?

We wind up at Mabels for dinner and have a massive family style barbecue sitdown where I discover that I have serious maternal issues; I kept making sure everyone was eating, watered and taken care of before shoveling atleast a pound of various meats in my face. (Pause)

It should be mentioned that I wound up squaring up various bills and tabs, signing off on various pieces of paper and getting a free shot of whisky because I took care of our one bartender and the manager was super delighted with my automatic running around like a chicken with my head cut off tendencies.

There’s still tons of food left and I’m EXACTLY the type of person to ask for doggy bags and boxes. I ultimately pack up two large boxes of ribs, pulled pork, cole slaw, mac and cheese and some potatoes. I SAT ON THE TRAIN ON MY WAY HOME LIKE A BOSS with my food because…

Why not?


I stay home, eat some leftovers with mom and process the paperwork from the night before. I am nothing if not completely obsessive and slightly workaholical. I go to the gym for once and manage to impress myself by not being too winded or flabby. I am however, exhausted and cut it short. I go home and get into a text talk with Waffle and it sounds like dinner was going to happen but I fall asleep for four hours and wake up to a ‘I’m going to work, talk to you later text’

you used to call me on my cell phone


I decide today’s the day that I’m going to treat myself and I wind up going to the movies…and comic books. BUT FIRST. Let me look like a human female and get my eyebrows done. I wind up on Union Square, fraught with memories because I brought Waffle there all the time and it always sucks to do something when you know it’s much more fun with someone else. I go see Ant-Man which is pretty funny and enjoyable and for god’s sake would you look at Hayley Motherfuckin Atwell as Agent Carter in 1989.

stop being so awesome you savage

If I may…

Hayley Atwell is one of those people that’s just naturally charming and strange enough to make you wonder why God would be so cruel as to make a person witty, generous and hot. I mean there are goddesses and there’s this woman.

Shakin my head.

Anyways. I wind up not buying any comic books (I get them through Comixology) and pick up a Doctor Strange shirt because let’s face it, this guy is the gnarliest of the Marvel superheroes because he’s basically a creep magician.

I like that shit.


Did you know the thirst for Yeezy Boosts is real?

Did you know that raffle contests are the cause of passion and dedication?

Did you know that I spent five hours in the middle of a heatwave working on an internet banger?

The more you know.

The fun part of it was both of us were walking around looking for Adidas sneakers in Nike kicks.

I’m no hype beast but I gotta tell you, them kids are dedicated and for a moment, I almost caught the fever.

i need to go the gym. seriously.

When I get back, I get info on another shoot tomorrow afternoon. It’s in Connecticut with a major sneaker designer…and Nikki Bella.


So this is where the week felt like a lifetime of experiences in one day. I start super early because, like I said, my personal life is a mess and I’m late to places but my professional life is as close to decent and timely as possible. At the start of the afternoon I’m told “It’s a Chevy Tahoe.”

I’m 5’7.

I’m not a Tahoe sized person.

I started to call myself an Uber

We load in for a fun-filled road trip to CT, where the app Waze (I’ve named her Laura) gets us from NYC to location and we spend time in a sneaker head’s fantasy.

I also take a rare selfie and hold the Diva’s championship belt while wearing a Xena shirt.





Video’s coming soon.

I may have also missed on an opportunity to go to SummerSlam.


I get back to the city, swap gear and prepare for the next day: the Billboard Hot 100 Fest.

In. Jones. Beach.

There are times where I feel like I can do anything and other times where I’m like, ‘shit shit shit’ and just go with it. These are the times where I’m glad to be where I am and even more impressed that I’ve done what I have done in what feels like a matter of seconds. I have a hard time processing things because I unpack but the real take away is that I’ve really achieved something that borders on insane.

I spent a lot of time watching TV with strong characters and want badly to be like them because I’m just that kind of girl. I pulled a lot of inspiration and strength from them because they were role models that I needed and still need. I have to know that what I’m doing matters; what I’ve accomplished is important and that I’ve been delivering on what I’ve been tasked to do. I’ve been told I’m a warrior, I feel like I fight a dozen wars and I want to make this life truly something impressive. I just want to feel like I’ve done something and as of late, I’ve been scratching at that.

I just want to ease the anxiety and accept things for what they are.

Wondrously strange collection of experiences.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

What I Learned: August 14

This week, I spend time in Tarrytown in a rental car listening to trap music, complete the lap that made me almost weep, learn that technology is not your friend and that being a workaholic is a better substitute for alcohol.


I’m up with the birds and armed with Apple Maps (which, fuck you by the way) I climb into rented Ford Focus and feel like I’m in a jet because I’m doing checks like a pilot. I have about 120,000 songs on an iPod and wind up listening to of all things…Fall Out Boy. Don’t judge me, it beat the radio at 7am.

It’s true what they say about driving, your mind completely blanks out and you focus more on piloting a massive machine through highways built years before you were a thought by people who didn’t think those roads would even be traveled for as long as they have been.

You get super philosophical.

I find parking relatively easy at 7:30am (I was in traffic to boot and DIDN’T drag race once it cleared up…) and run upstairs to make sure that everything is where it’s supposed to be. Again. My personal life, total shitshow, professional life sorta put together.

The team shows up and we load in for our epic journey to the most magical place on earth: the MSG Training Center in Tarrytown NY. While on the way, we encounter the fail that is Apple Maps.

Have you ever driven in near circles in the middle of a scenic part of a town and immediately think, we’re a car full of minorities, isn’t this is how horror movies start?

drive faster

I watch too many movies.

Anyways. We make a few turns and wind up where we’re supposed to be…fuck you Apple Maps…sincerely.

I’m about 5’7 which in the WNBA makes me a guard and probably a decent prospect; in the NBA that makes me the water girl. We arrive and check in and walk into the Liberty side of the basketball court.

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been there before but I still kinda swoon because that’s what I do.

We land some hilarious interviews and shoot what could be the hit of our mini summer vacation.

We climb back into the car, strangely inspired by the entire day (it was two hours that felt like less than that which is saying something) get 5 Napkin Burgers (which is a miracle) and pile into the office for a late shift.


Even if you want to play a game of treat yo self, you still wind up being incredibly responsible and climb into the fray super early and with a box of bagels for your mom. You also want nothing more than to get another win in terms of getting that date to happen.

The date doesn’t happen.

The sobbing continues.

On the upside, we get two great videos lined up and good to go and I land another byline for work.

I learned that I have to master the art of multitasking.

Also. John Wick is awesome.

Adrienne Palicki, Bridget Reagan and Keanu Reeves carrying guns and being complete assholes. this is basically porn.


Screaming matches over stupid things are always fun.

Driving around late at night is even more fun.

I tackled the FDR to the West Side Highway and like a superhero, sat and listened to Kid Cudi wondering about what the hell life is doing with me and my fate these days. I miss the opportunity to get Waffle for a drive around because Waffle being Waffle kept being Waffle and wiffled on me. I was tempted to be a creeper and sit in the car outside waiting but decided that I can’t keep reeking of desperation. The fact that Waffle would’ve gotten in the car with me for fun while I said nothing and blasted music and driven around until drop off at work. These are the things that make me feel all kinds of funny to be honest. I learned that I should just trust my lack of impulse control when it comes to these kinds of situations. Especially when I want to share views like this. IMG_2932

My drive looked nothing like this but I did in fact blast Steve Aoki, so I guess you could say, we were on track.


So I had rum and cokes.


Multitasking is multi-taxing but it’s done and honestly, I keep telling myself, I was unemployed last year. Stop bitching so fucking much.

I mean it’s one thing to be overwhelmed and completely burned out but it’s a whole other level if you’re completely like…miserable.

I can’t be miserable.

My brain can’t process that correctly.

My brain shorts out actually.

I know I’m due for a meltdown but I’m also due for an upgrade so I guess you have to burn things down to build something new from it.

I wind up in Jim Hanley’s Universe and have rather interesting conversations about some of the plot fuck ups in X-Factor (which I have admittedly not been keeping up with) but apparently, it’s a big nasty soap opera. I love the fact that out of many of the shops that I’ve been to, this is the only one that actively keeps you in the store with shit talk and comic gossip rather than aisle after aisle of things to look at and maybe consider buying. There’s a strange comfort in the nerd herd. Unsurprisingly, I pick up a bunch of titles that will take me until NEXT WEEK, to read but fuck it, I mean it’s what happens when you work; you get to do things you love.

One day I will write and work for Marvel.

It’s on the list of things to do before I die.

So’s a trip to London.

Fuck it, let’s do both.


Accomplished many a thing, including successfully feeding myself at a decent hour, addressing stuff and things and planning planning planning.

I wound up getting a preview screening pass to see Straight Outta Compton through work which was sweet. It’s insane that all this happened in my lifetime and I’ve basically grown up with this music; I lived through the of many anti-establishment movements fueled by music and made by people who just wanted their voices heard and the vision to just make shit happen. That doesn’t work anymore does it? That unyielding sense of success and self confidence that is needed to take what sounds like a failing idea or a longshot and make it actually happen. Think about it. Ice Cube was the hardest rapper in the game (still is) at the time and just transitioned because he just wanted to do it. Dre just wanted to make music that didn’t suck and E just had the momentum to bring everyone together. It’s probably one of the best made music biopics and some of the moments that happen made me oddly nostalgic for the time where my mom said I couldn’t listen to Metallica, NWA, Public Enemy and when she caught on, The Beastie Boys. Kids aren’t told ‘that’s bad for you’ and if they are, they don’t give a flying fuck. Go see it, it’s worth it.

It’s also creepy how damn near EXACT O’Shea Jackson Jr. resembles his father.

Best cosplay ever.


For Whom The Bell Tolls indeed.

In on time despite a late start, doing a bunch of things for the next three days and eagerly anticipating…I dunno…a small moment to think, read a comic book and do more writing because I owe some people some of my letters rearranged into words.


I had a salad. That’s not interesting until you realize and understand that my fat ass wants a burger and booze and to be left alone with Waffle on a romantic dinner date where all we do is talk shit and laugh at things.

I’m seeking a gal pal at this point.

An Angie to my  Peggy.

A Sandy to my Danny.

A Laura to my Carmilla.

Basically I’m just rehashing old feelings.

The weekend should be spectacular. Stay tuned.

What Romantic Movies Get Wrong About Romance

So, it’s not real secret that I’m in an awkwardly estranged relationship with Waffle. It’s going on two years I think and I’m still very much traumatized by the entire ordeal. I say estranged because we didn’t break up it was a break and we just kept staying very close to each other. Like, seeing each other every other day close. Waffle’s logic was being unhappy because, admittedly, we were fighting a lot but I challenge anyone who’s been in or is in a relationship to say you didn’t bicker. I’ll call you a liar. THE GRANDADDY OF ALL LIARS. Our arguments were typical, “What do you want to see?” “Why don’t you want to leave the house…” Waffle is a homebody and I’m pretty active so when it came to Netflix and chill, I was cool for awhile but then I wanted to be outside. Irony being what it is, I don’t want to be outside anymore because that means being alone and I can’t stand my own company.

-In all honesty, Waffle is a gift because of all the time we spent together, I felt like maybe I could be by myself but then was like, hell nope-

Romance is a strange thing. I’m romantic in a strange nerd way; I see something in a store and I pick it up and surprise you with whatever it is because I was thinking of you. I don’t do flowers because I tend to be allergic to them so by the time I deliver them my eyes are swollen and my nose is runny; I’m not very pretty so becoming the Zicam snot monster is kinda like…well…it’s just unpleasant.

I spend a lot of time secretly watching romantic comedies, especially off-beat ones where they’re so formulaic I can write them on a post it, mail it to some studio in LA and it’ll have Kiera Knightly or some other white girl in role with up and coming middle of the road sort of attractive twenty something male lead with an upbeat soundtrack and that one song that radio overplayed ad-nauseum. I’m obsessed to a degree with the movie “A Lot like Love” because at one point, I had a relationship like that. I use the word loosely in that regard; we were never going to be anything more than people who depended on each other until the right one came along. Charlie was already into someone else and I was just the support system until the other person got a hint. I haven’t seen Charlie in years and that was when Waffle and I started. My absolute favorite, kill me I have feelings movie is “Imagine Me & You” where the above header gif is from. Second place goes to “Saving Face” which perfectly captures the “holy shit I’m in love with you but I can’t really be all gay in everyone’s face about it but girl the world is yours” essence of just absolutely clicking with someone. Each of these movies have created an unrealistic view of love. They’re also INCREDIBLY gay but, whatever. It works in stages. You’re happy, madly in love, here’s a middle plot point that’s kinda meh (wanting kids, being out etc) and then someone makes the grand gesture.

Disney movies messed up other girls while I’m like, nahhhh kid, chill.

Just climb onto the roof of your parents Range Rover and yell:

I’m Han Solo in Star Wars; shooting the stormtrooper and winking.

I’m the guy at the end of whatever movie running in telling whoever they’re marrying the wrong person. (with my luck I’m the wrong person and that movie ends awkwardly)

I don’t date. I can’t. I don’t like people. I don’t trust them. Call it a survival skill. The farther away from them I am, the safer I feel. They’re savages. They just want to fuck and get it over with. I’ve only ever bonded with one person (which backfired after two years and resulted in the most abusive relationship I’ve ever been in) and the one person that I genuinely believe my soul is stuck with is Waffle. I just knew.

I do big things. I have done big things to get Waffle back because movies have made me think that these things are the things that need to be done to make it known that I’m not going anywhere. Sleep on the porch like Zac Braff’s character in “The Last Kiss” until his fiancé opens the door and let’s him back in even though I didn’t even cheat. (Sidebar: Waffle started listening to Coldplay because of this movie. First concert I took her to, Coldplay. DO YOU SEE?!) I’d fight bears, lions and tigers in Street Fighter. I’d cross oceans, roam caves, climb mountains just to make it known that I’m serious about this. I’ve messed up with our disagreements and think that not all horror movies are created equal and can love you better.

I probably told the story before of how we met so I won’t go over it again but the problem isn’t that the break was the most awkward thing in the world it’s that movies have made me think that time, patience and the belief in love conquering all can fix this. I’m a mess. Full disclosure. I’m working a great, stressful job, doing my best to keep my manic depression in check without medication, failing at a proper sleep schedule and the gym and I aren’t even talking to each other (it’s on the list of things that need to be fixed along with doing laundry regularly and not buying new bottles of whiskey) BUT this thing with Waffle is the thing that consumes me to the point of madness. I feel like utter shit because in all this time, the work, the effort, the achievement, means nothing compared to being able to look at Waffle with big stupid heart eyes and have them returned in kind. I’m jealous of celebrities and their romances. I never posted photos of us online because that was for me, for us. I didn’t want to put that out there where other people can judge and talk shit and throw comments. I was Waffle’s and Waffle was mine and that’s what mattered. What matters.

I sound insane.

I relate so hard to this

Romantic movies tell you that it’s all fixable. That you recover from heartbreak and fall in with someone else when you’re ready. That you’ll be sitting somewhere ready to move on and there they will be, standing there with a smile asking forgiveness and saying they want to try again. Romantic movies tell you it’s fine to lay in bed a few months and cry about it, know that they’re doing their own thing and they’ll regret it. They tell you get a revenge body, get even but the reality is, you’ll spend more time crying and more time eating and more time trying to understand why you’re so broken up about it that you’ll forget to think about them having a life and wonder what your own life is. Romantic movies have fun soundtracks and good lighting and sex scenes that make you miserable.

Infinite tenderness my aching ass.

Romantic movies complicate everything.

That’s what they get wrong.

They make it seem like within 90 minutes or three hours, you’ll have a solution. People just fall back into place after falling out of sync. They make it seem like there is some kind of solution and that everything works EXACTLY like this and you spend all this time looking for the signs to find your personal solution and resolve your own issue. You spend all this time analyzing and overthinking and dismantling and repairing before you can just admit it, you’re a mess and that person is the only one who can fix it so you wait and wait and wait for them to come to the same conclusion because that’s what happens right?

Romantic movies say that someone has a little lightbulb go off and they run run run run run back to you. They run and they catch you just before you get on the train, before you get on the plane before you leave them behind because you just can’t do it.

Nobody does that.


All my OTP’s are a total mess because nobody does that.

They won’t swallow their pride and try again and Waffle says there were attempts. (Odds are there were and I was too hurt to see them and fix them but to be fair, they weren’t identified as such). Nobody admits they were wrong and they want another shot, not in the way that romantic movies say they will. (I’m actually doing that all the time. My dignity can’t keep taking those hits but I have no shame or dignity and honestly I don’t have much else) No one fights for love anymore. They say it’s dead but that’s mostly because we’re all walking around broken from not trying; we let someone else beat us up and didn’t bother to fix any of it.

thanks Rick

Romantic movies, are garbage. They make you aspire to things that don’t exist. I’m here, literally and figuratively pouring everything out for Waffle and it’s not doing anything. I know there’s a million things happening in both of our worlds but it’s hell doing things alone and the thing is, neither of us have to be alone.

They can guide you, inspire you, they make you forget the world is trash and make you believe that you’ll find the one, make it work and get that happily ever after.

Love is compromise. You have to suck up certain things, concede other things, win and lose. You have to accept that the other person writes terrible Facebook posts, takes duck face selfies and has done the hip out, hair flip pose. You have to understand that they’re not as tech savvy as you are and that they don’t pay attention to the world the way you do. You have to accept that you’re both different and that kind of different is why you work. You can’t yell at them about something stupid, then demand a ring back and when they hand it to you, you can’t start crying and shove it back on their finger and tell them don’t be stupid and muttering I love you repeatedly into their mouths while you’re kissing them. you can’t. It’s why they leave you. It’s why you have to fight to get them back because it’s a compromise and you can only argue with yourself about nothing for so long before it starts to get painfully lonely and you stare at photos of the two of you wondering why you completely fucked up the best thing in your life. Suddenly you’re not the one wanting to chased, you’re chasing, even though you do. Love is desire. The need to be loved and love someone in the same way so it’s mutual and it works.

I still believe in us and that’s the saddest part about it. Maybe because it’s a movie and they’re supposed to kill time, the time that’s kill me  is the muddling middle of those movies; the part where the music swells and the tears fall and we just keep missing each other until we connect. Maybe I’m just a terrible optimist and I just keep holding onto the hope that it’ll all make sense that it’ll all get better and that things will end just like they do in the movies.