During this scene, Jo leaned over and said “you’re MY strawberry giggle” and now I will remember it for the rest of my life. One of the things we used to talk about a lot when we first met was songs that made us cry as kids, either because they seemed scary or because they just made us really sad even though we didn’t have the words or experiences to truly understand why yet. Long Long Time by Linda Ronstadt was always one of mine. So, naturally, this episode took me all the way DOWN in so many ways lol. Do you have one? Side note: if you’re not watching The Last Of Us cuz it’s not your thing, you could still watch episode 3 (Long, Long Time) because it stands alone imo. Side note 2: I feel I owe an update, and it’s that I’m grieving for so many people and things but trying to do life stuff, which makes me feel even more broken, but also there are things that keep me just afloat, and a lot of you are part of that and I thank you ♥️
During this scene, Jo leaned over and said “you’re MY strawberry giggle” and now I will remember it for the rest of my life. One of the things we used to talk about a lot when we first met was songs that made us cry as kids, either because they seemed scary or because they just made us really sad even though we didn’t have the words or experiences to truly understand why yet. Long Long Time by Linda Ronstadt was always one of mine. So, naturally, this episode took me all the way DOWN in so many ways lol. Do you have one? Side note: if you’re not watching The Last Of Us cuz it’s not your thing, you could still watch episode 3 (Long, Long Time) because it stands alone imo. Side note 2: I feel I owe an update, and it’s that I’m grieving for so many people and things but trying to do life stuff, which makes me feel even more broken, but also there are things that keep me just afloat, and a lot of you are part of that and I thank you ♥️
During this scene, Jo leaned over and said “you’re MY strawberry giggle” and now I will remember it for the rest of my life. One of the things we used to talk about a lot when we first met was songs that made us cry as kids, either because they seemed scary or because they just made us really sad even though we didn’t have the words or experiences to truly understand why yet. Long Long Time by Linda Ronstadt was always one of mine. So, naturally, this episode took me all the way DOWN in so many ways lol. Do you have one? Side note: if you’re not watching The Last Of Us cuz it’s not your thing, you could still watch episode 3 (Long, Long Time) because it stands alone imo. Side note 2: I feel I owe an update, and it’s that I’m grieving for so many people and things but trying to do life stuff, which makes me feel even more broken, but also there are things that keep me just afloat, and a lot of you are part of that and I thank you ♥️
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
I don’t have a map–paper, digital, celestial–that has a single road that doesn’t lead back to Jenny. Before I knew her, I didn’t know it was not only ok to be unique, but was preferable. No children’s book or song could reassure me of this like the sight of her at freshman orientation with her cropped, bleached hair and oversized red satin shirt. We were 14 and no one I knew looked like that, nor anyone in the group of girls whose rapt attention she held as she spoke, smiling warmly. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t seek her friendship for a whole year. I don’t remember how it happened, but it was certainly based on mutual roasting. She was a brilliant artist, accomplished student, beautiful, magnetic, but she never took herself too seriously. As a friend, Jenny never held back from telling you exactly what she thought, but she was also incredibly nurturing. I’m trying so desperately not to make this about me, but grief does that, you know? And the plain fact is that there is no me without her. I have over the years come to joyfully accept the knowledge that the inverse isn’t true, because there has to be people who are naturally one of a kind, no bullshit, to teach the rest of us how to at least try. She taught me. What was supposed to happen was whatever put us on a path of mostly texting on special occasions, birthdays, a random thought or meme, was going to melt away. Because it’s not just that the roads lead back to her–she’s been in every mile marker, and a friendship like ours is a destination. We are maybe 45 years old and we are laughing on porches how we used to laugh on rooftops. We go on vacation together. I have inside jokes about her with her son, Paul. She says something bitingly hilariously true about me at my wedding. And it’s teen girl friendship, the purest, most potent, perfect thing in the world, all over again except we are grown enough to know not to turn away when things get hard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, but it was going to happen for sure, I know. Jennifer, my heart is completely broken that I won’t get to you again this time. I love you and you are more magical than I can write, but I’ll keep trying.
This is me with my Uncle Adrian (Nino), Grandma, grandpa (Poppo) at the Apple Farm in San Luis Obispo in the early 90s. This trip was a happy, complicated family tradition. Complicated for me because I loved it, but there was part of me that felt out of place all the time, everywhere. I didn’t know what depression was or what it meant to feel this way so young, so it was confusing to be with people I loved so much and who I was sure loved me yet be so sad and lonely a lot of the time. I didn’t often feel like I truly belonged to anyone or anything until much later, when I started building familial friendships, particularly queer ones. But I am part of my family of origin, and they are part of me. My Nino (who was also my godfather) passed away suddenly a month ago. The day this happened, my whole immediate family and more were at my aunt’s house for two days, nearly around the clock. When I left to run some errands, I found myself rushing back and paused for a moment, because there wasn’t really a rush. Plenty of people were there to be with my aunt. But, I realized, I longed for them. I longed to be near them, I still do after all this time and all the necessary, often exhilarating, and just as often heartbreaking change that comes with growing up. This is because of who they are as individuals but also because of the family they built together, the home there. My Nino was always joking around, but he was sweet and sentimental too. I will miss him as I miss my Poppo being silly and giving us little gifts we maybe didn’t deserve, and my grandma playing straight man to all these antics because, after all, someone had to, but she always gave the warmest hugs. Feels crazy to think no one in this photo is here anymore except me, but I have plans to see my family tonight and I am excited for that, so I guess in that way, in the longing and the comfort, they actually are.
Call me lazy if you want, but I don’t have a costume for tonight, and restricting my precious calves is about as spooky as I can bear at the moment! #femmefriday
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
The mood? SPOOKY*!! Swipe for it and come to my show THIS WEDNESDAY 7:30PM at the Elysian Theater (link for tickets in bio, use discount code CHICAS for a sweet discount)! The lineup is truly bananas 🍌🍌🍌 with hilarious people. See you there!! *despondent
Imagine being a 20-something bro with AirPods in at the Vegas buffet actually being the one cutting the crab leg line then having the nerve to accuse an innocent middle-aged female comedian with gorgeous curls of trying to cut you because she quickly reached backward for some lemon wedges?! He should be ashamed, not me! And yet.
When I went to see Tori in June, I realized I’m in desperate need of a Tori friend who is exactly on my level. Cuz I have a lot of friends who like and even love her music, but they don’t wanna like nerd out on it. Then I’ll go to shows and realize that even though I consider myself a superfan, I am actually not anywhere near the level of some of those freaks following her from city to city and analyzing her body language loudly behind me. I’d also like to quell the rumors swirling that CG (while timeless and perfect) is my favorite Tori song. It’s just the easiest to find at karaoke that won’t bum everyone out! What is your fav album track and b-side? Mine are a tie between Caught A Lite Sneeze and Tear In Your Hand (album) and Honey for the b-side, which I realize is a bit basic, but the body wants what it wants (to cry in public).
MEME UPDATE: Some #partygirlofacertainage things change, some things stay the same, and some I guess are the same but feel different. Most news on the aging front as always is bleak (p sure I have a bald spot in my bangs??) but that thing is happening at…my…new age…that happened in my thirties where I expected to feel different (better) like everyone promised right away but it took a second. All of a sudden things from my early 30s that seemed normal or whatever seem so stupid now. And I guess part of growing up is just a race to see how quickly you start to find your former self a fucking tool. Doing pretty great on that part!
