My first post in years…

Hi, old blog. It’s been awhile. I’m a homeowner now, more than a thousand miles from Florida, and I’ll turn 30 this summer in my new home state. The person who wrote all those previous posts would be ecstatic to fast forward to now, but I’m so glad she couldn’t choose that. The posts didn’t stop for lack of interest. No, there have been hundreds of reasons to blog these past few years — especially this last one — but my voice just hasn’t felt very unique or important. It felt more important to listen, to read, to volunteer, to protest. It. . . keep going

Cat bites are NO JOKE.

Public service announcement/pity party post: Soooo… yesterday morning, I tried to prevent a catfight in our car port. I was partially successful, because our two sweet daily visitors got away unharmed… but their yowling rival wanted blood, and my leg was the next best thing. After scrambling onto my car to evade an orange tornado of claws and teeth, I found four tooth-deep holes in my calf. Syringe-flushing them out with hydrogen peroxide was excruciating, but I didn’t want to be a baby (or pay a fortune), so I decided to wait it out and keep writing and hope I. . . keep going

No, you weren’t “flunked for your faith”. You were flunked for refusing to learn.

BREAKING NEWS: I’ve identified a girl who’s much more deserving of my “pupil in denial” domain name. So… a few years ago, my home county in rural central Florida opened a new college. Rather, they re-branded and renamed their community college, and it’s now a four-year public university. (Speaking of name changes, it’s the same county that wouldn’t let me and my friend start a gay-straight alliance in high school… until we changed the name to “Diversity Club”.) Alas, it seems progress still doesn’t last long in Polk County. They only made it a few years before someone tried to get a. . . keep going

Live-blogging the Golden Globes?! Stay tuned, gentleladies and gentlemen.

Giuliana Rancic can’t stop fan-girling over the prospect of Amal Alamuddin on tonight’s red carpet. Are you kidding me? This woman (human rights lawyer, bee-tee-dubs) has more going for her than a thumbs-up from your network or a stint as arm candy during a superficial industry’s masturbatory main event. Then again, maybe not. She did marry George Clooney. (Yes I realize that’s the POINT of a red carpet pre-show. I get it. I just can’t justify Giuliana’s celebrity. I can’t.) … in case it wasn’t obvious, I just remembered the Golden Globes were tonight. But! I remembered in time to catch. . . keep going

This Simpsons producer is dying, so he’s using the rest of his life (and money) to save animals. What are you doing?

Did you know that Taxi and The Simpsons owe much of their success to a hardcore animal welfare advocate and philanthropist? Until I read this article from yesterday’s Washington Post, I didn’t. But now I think this man’s story is pretty remarkable, and his generosity got me thinking about the way we value and ration our time and money. Six months to live and millions to give Sam Simon, co-creator of the longest-running TV comedy of all time, is currently making headlines for the way he responded to a terminal cancer diagnosis. He has colon cancer, but he also has. . . keep going

Failure and mediocrity, take a seat. I’m not afraid of you anymore.

At this point, everyone knows that perfectionism and procrastination go hand-in-hand. It was an epiphany the first time I figured it out, but soon it became permission to be lazy. It has now become a blog I pay to maintain but almost never update, a life still rooted in Florida despite my open-window-weather dreams, and grad school applications on some remote backburner until academic references materialize. Genuine irony is delicious when it’s not ruining my life, so I try to laugh about the fact that my own fear of failure has prevented so much success. But today, after months and. . . keep going

“Angry Black Woman”? Try Angry White Man

I managed to catch Melissa Harris-Perry on her eponymous MSNBC show yesterday, while waiting for two friends to stop by for a day of downtown Tampa sightseeing. To introduce her brilliantly titled “Now in Color” segment (which pitter-pattered my 90′s kid heart with a panel that included Theo Cosby and Harriette Winslow), she covered a recent New York Times piece that I won’t acknowledge with a hyperlink. In it, Alessandra Stanley analyzes the upcoming Shonda Rhimes production How to Get Away with Murder, starring one of my favorite (and one of the most under-used and underestimated) actresses of our time,. . . keep going

On finally appreciating Florida (and shattering those Chicago delusions) after 25 years


25 years ago today, my mom and I left Chicago and arrived in central Florida to begin a new life. I was two, she was 28 (a year older than I am now… yikes), and almost everyone we loved was suddenly a thousand miles away in breezy Chicago or its soft-grassed suburbs. I was distraught and ungrateful; she was newly divorced and brave enough to make this daunting leap alone. Almost every day since then, I’ve missed Illinois and hated this state. I never adjusted to the weather, I flew back “home” to spend every school break with my cousins,. . . keep going

Blame depression, not Robin Williams: Why suicide isn’t selfish

The sudden absence of Robin Williams from this planet has shaken several generations in a surprisingly severe way. No one’s holding back this time, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it; we’re all suffering, and we’re all reliving the childhood memories that wouldn’t exist at all if it weren’t for him. With some exceptions: those who think he deserves no sympathy because he chose the “selfish” and easy way out. Robin was never that insensitive about suicide. In fact, the movie that caused him the most pain during filming, What Dreams May Come, shed a beautiful light. . . keep going

Today, I decided to celebrate life.

Reasons: 1. Medication. I had to go more than a week without my antidepressants because of pharmacy shortages, and in that time, I couldn’t get through an episode of Rita without craving a cigarette (haven’t smoked in years, and the show definitely doesn’t glamorize it), I tried to break up with my long-term partner (who has willingly ridden this psychological roller coaster for years), and I applied for jobs in Seattle and Portland (I’d love to visit, but I’m almost positive my brain would be desperate for sunshine, even if I wasn’t). 2. Writing. The goal of freelancing was to. . . keep going