2023 Thanks for the Memories

2023 Thanks for the Memories

What am I thankful for this year? Having spent the holiday in Barcelona, where they call it Thursday, I found I didn’t reflect in quite the same way. So here goes nothing.

Time
This was a tough year — friends were made, friends were lost, friends showed up and showed out. It feels risky writing this before the year officially ends, but I’m rolling with the rule of threes.

I like weirdos. A lot. Deep down we’re all weirdos, some of us just choose to fly that flag a little louder. I like them all. “You’re weird” is the greatest compliment one can give and receive because it’s means you are seen.

“People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.” I’m terrible at sourcing and the Internet is a minefield… so to whoever actually said this first, thank you.

When people come into your life you never know what their impact will be. Nor do you ever really understand the ways you touch their lives.

Sometimes, they just assign you a shared cubicle and roll the dice. One day they fall out of their chair and you laugh so hard there’s snot coming out of your eyes, and that’s all it takes for a lifelong friendship. No matter the ups and downs, you never expect that lifelong really means until one of us parts.

Other times they are assigned to work with you and even though at first they don’t make sense, one day you realize they’ve become an essential part of making the game work. You don’t talk often, but when you do you know it means more than sum of the words. One day a box filled with kitschy dish towels arrives on your doorstep on just the day you need to be reminded how other people truly see you.

Then there are others, and you don’t remember exactly when you met, but it’s silly to think they ever weren’t there. Someone so authentic, so full of life—in the saltiest way possible, so genuinely interested to see you. And not just you, literally, everyone. But its not fake, it’s not even always delivered with a smile and a positive attitude, it’s just real.

So, I’m thankful for the time we had. Each of you could live 100 years more and it would still never be enough. Thank you for the laughs; thank you for the tears; thank you for the fucks not given.

Adventure
Pirates and cults and punk shows…Oh My! The introvert in me really likes to say “Nah, I’m just gonna stay in,” more often than I do. But, most of the time when I ignore her, it’s the right idea.

Three cheers for friends who say, “I want to record this book,” and answer texts that open with “I have a weird idea…” Friends who show up to work in a parking garage (again) because it’s better than chilling alone. To comedy shows in backyards. To rocking out so hard you can’t walk the next day. For friends who come over and cook in your kitchen using teeny tiny utensils. For friends who send “We’re ordering pizza and we’re in our sweats, come over” texts.

To random tattoos around the world. To dragon mask mid-afternoon living room raves. To punch and brunch. And sneaking into R&B shows. To rollerskating and improptu dance parties in a speakeasy. For excessive sushi dinners after a hard day’s work with professional athletes. To live music—no matter what language it’s in. For photo shoots with well lit trees at Pride.

Weekends in wine country and getting buried alive together. To sharing a show week desk with the exact right person. Getting caught in rain storms and creepy toddlers licking windows. To wrecking this place, 20+ years later. To disco fever and trombones and skeletal adventures. To high seas adventures and upside down pineapples. To Wombats and Nelly and the ghosts of Vegas past. For birthday reunions. Haunted weddings.

To working in other countries and eating things you don’t understand. To drinking with Jesus and dancing til dawn. For celebrating small wins with vodka and big sunset energy. For magical pumpkins and new roommates.

Space
After everyone came raging out of the Covid closet last year and blowing their budgets on events, it was nice to spend a lot more time this year just being creative. To writing. To drawing. To always having a balaclava handy.

Spending time thinking about and debating our fictional book children feeds my soul in ways I never would have imagined.

Rage-venting through new ideas for our television show with people who you just met and can’t imagine not talking to every day.

And to shedding innumerable laughing tears while crafting the craziest horror movie ever made. And then eating a sandwich.

That’s Just My Face

(I’m not doing it on purpose!)

I went to a wedding recently. More accurately, I was in a wedding, part of the bridal party.

And, I just had to explain to the bride that I swear I wasn’t trying to make those faces—the ones captured in photos.

^^^^^Zoom is the Devil’s creation.^^^^^

The photos have started to circulate in the group chat. I had a lot on my mind. My dress lining is long. The ground is wet. I haven’t worn heels in a hot minute. Keep it together, and don’t ugly cry. Try not to do anything awkward. Oh, I know this song! Am I sweating through my dress? Did I remember to put deodorant on? I’m not sure the pasties were the right call; I really wish I had a bra on. Don’t trip. Don’t make a stupid face. Smile. Not a weird smile, a normal one.

The problem is every one of those thoughts can be read on my face. The photographer might see “Oh I know this song” which comes with a pleasant smile, but by the time they click, I’m already trying to sniff without making it look like that’s what I’m doing.

I am very expressive. The face. The hands. I laugh loud and with my mouth so wide open I could trap small birds.

Everyone else apparently got some “How to Pose for Photos” training that I did not. I always look like I’m angry, or pooping. My eyes aren’t looking the same way as everyone else even though I’m looking at the camera. And, despite all attempts (and copious amounts of shapewear), I can only manage to stand in the most unflattering position. I’m like a human Picasso. Sloth has nothing on me when there is a camera in the room. There is no part of me that doesn’t look uncomfortable, even though I swear I’m posing like the others. There are so many things to concentrate on—how do you people look normal?

I used to think candid photos were my jam—and with a skilled photographer who knows me—that is occasionally the case. If you catch me in an unguarded moment, you stand a better than 1% chance of taking a decent picture of me, even if I’m doing something ridiculous.

Don’t even get me started on selfies. I don’t understand how everyone has figured out their angles and can just quickly snap a pic. There is no angle in existence at the end of my arm that doesn’t make me look like some kind of bridge troll.

This was try 17. We gave up after this.—>

There’s a strong possibility I’ve pissed off a bridge troll somewhere in my travels and been cursed to take terrible photos for the rest of my life. Honestly, that makes the most sense.

<—I looked fantastic in that moment. My hair was spot on. The lighting was good.

Now, I want to be clear: this is not a me being down on my looks thing. Most days, I look in the mirror and I’m like “Yeah, girl! All that boxing is paying off.” Or “Makeup is on point. Glitter is your color.” I think I look fantastic and then I see a photo. “Who the F is that, and why is she wearing my outfit?”

Even my shirt thought, “how can we make this worse?”
—>

Most of the time, when someone yells “Smile,” I stick my tongue out to ensure that the photo won’t go anywhere. Ironically, cruelly, hilariously, often times, those are some of the best photos of me. IMHO.

The camera loves some people. I am not one of them.

No one keeps me around because I pretty up their pictures. But the way I see it, twenty years from now, when people are looking through your albums (assuming they still exist), they’ll point to me and say, “What’s going on with this woman?” And you’ll say, “Oh, that’s Tarrah. She was a trip.” I’m totally okay with that.

^^^^^ Props and Funny Faces ^^^^^

Congratulations, Melissa and Greg! Look at it this way: a picture is worth a thousand words, 900 of them are coming out of my face, and I left all the good ones for you guys! And if you need to Sharpie a mustache on my face, that’s cool too!

Being Remembered

I’ve had the occasion, more often than I have wanted to lately, to think about being remembered. The permanent kind.

Two friends have passed recently, and the experience of death as an adult in California vastly differs from my experience of death growing up in Massachusetts.

I grew up in an Irish-Italian Catholic community, which is to say that more times than most of my friends from other places was spent attending wakes (or viewings, as I’ve heard them called). Someone you knew (or more likely your parents knew)—and we’re using knew very loosely here, it was often someone’s third cousin you met one time at a backyard party one Fourth of July—was being waked at one of the handful of familiar local funeral homes. Everyone in the family would go, dressed up nicer than a regular school day, pay their respects, and hobnob with the others doing the same. Old people, most of whom I’ve come to realize were then the age I am now, would tell you how much you’ve grown since the last time you saw them and ask if you remembered them. You’d smile politely, or as politely as you could muster to avoid a parental pinch to the arm fat, and let the old men kiss your cheek. Well, that’s where it was supposed to land. Then you’d go out to dinner at one of the local Italian restaurants, where you would again bump into many of the same hobnobbers.

It was so routine that death almost didn’t feel real. Funerals were like a super goth-themed party that happened on the regular.

There were only two things that could make it real real.

1. The Wailers. Not the band. A professional, a hired mourner.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/bjqbxq/the-women-who-crash-funerals-to-loudly-cry

Wailers provided the soundtrack of mourning, and let me tell you, Stephen King’s got nothing on those people. It was mostly women. They were bloody terrifying. The sounds they made gave the funeral parlor its haunting ambience. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that their echoes are heard at night when no one is there.

2. When it was actually someone you knew. A grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a parent, maybe a close family friend. It was (I suppose it still is) customary to wait in line to kneel before the body and pray. Prayer hasn’t really ever been my jam, so I usually just thought about the person for an “acceptable” amount of time while staring at the waxy figure before me to see if they were breathing.

Those two sensory elements hung with you longer than you wanted, no matter how hard you tried. There are still some images seared into my brain matter.

Since I’ve lived in California, I have been to considerably less of that type of death gathering. And I’m thinking, for me, that’s a streak I’d like to continue.

People have passed, and there have been wakes and funerals I should have gone to. One I distinctly remember trying to go to, but obligation succumbed to fear, and the car pointed itself in the opposite direction. I just wasn’t ready. Others who have passed either opted more for celebrations of life, a repass (which was a new term to me), or some other gathering honoring their memory.

Most recently, I went to a “let’s fill the house with love,” and honestly, driving there, I was terrified. I had no idea what I was walking into, and I couldn’t yet comprehend the reality of what was coming. It was heartbreakingly lovely. I think if it were up to me (and we all know how the universe laughs at our plans), that’s what I’d want. One last wild party on the way out.

That’s the way I want to remember the people I love. That’s how I want them to remember me.

No one knows me as a corpse, and frankly, if that was something they wanted to know, we would very likely not be friends. I’m not a headstone. I was adamant about my father not being cremated, but I was the first family member to decide the cemetery wasn’t for me. I don’t feel him there. I don’t have memories with him there. I feel more connected to him at Fenway Park than at his graveside.

The thing is, when people pass, there are so many traditions and beliefs that the living project onto the process that are more for them than the person they are supposedly honoring. Though whoever came up with the idea of having everyone kneel over their corpse and stare at them really could’ve used some therapy. Thanks for the trauma.

If I’m fortunate enough to have a heads up on when I’m going to go, then I want to be there for the party. If my fate is more sudden, then honor me in a way I would have enjoyed. (For the record, a giant party where I’m the center of attention and people make speeches––not what I’m talking about. Some people would absolutely love that—I am not one of them.) I’m saying, keep it weird.

Wear stupid costumes to a bar on a Tuesday and hoist a drink in my honor. Relish in the stares from the normies as you interrupt their weekday melancholy. Dance around a beach bonfire and write my name in the sand, only to be lost to the high tide. Institute a weekly Office Dance Party and play my favorite terrible songs. Go to a concert of an artist I love that you can’t stand. Rent a cabin in the woods and sit around reading books and drinking wine together. Sing terrible karaoke. Take a boxing class. Visit a dude ranch. Have a frosting bake-off. Throw the most massive cookie party yet!

That’s how I want to be remembered.

(Or I’ll come back and haunt you! Just kidding… I’m haunting you all either way. We’ll be roommates! IYKYK)

That Perfect Spot

Why is it so hard to pull yourself out of that perfect warm spot in your bed? And, why is it even harder to re-create it?

I’m not a scientist… there are no helpful hints here.

You wake up, on your own (maybe to an alarm), and as you let your brain catch up, the first thing it notices is that your body has found its way to perfection. While you were asleep, an arrangement was reached between you, the bed, the sheets, and the pillow. It’s exactly the right temperature (you can’t even remember what cold toes are), none of your limbs have fallen asleep, your aches and pains and old sports injuries are all muted, and the birds outside the window have temporarily relocated. You are in what I have to assume is the closest thing we’ll ever come to heaven on Earth, and undoubtedly you have somewhere else you have to be.

A cruel twist of fate.

Something I think about this a lot when I find myself granted a few moments of vacation to the Perfect Spot; why, if I know exactly what this looks and feels like, can’t I recreate it?.

You dip even one toe past the edge of that heat cocoon, and it’s game over. No matter how fast you pull that toe, that finger, heck, that earlobe back into position, it’s gone. Like you’ve left a window open in the middle of a snowstorm. The Perfect Spot fills with chill faster than you’ll ever troubleshoot the problem.

The next night, you wonder if you’ll be able to recreate the magic. You can’t. Not even if you had the perfect chalk outline of your position to guide you back. It’s not the same. Never again will you be able to slip back in time to euphoria.

Balance, I guess. That’s how one of the most sublime places a human can experience is also the most dreadful. If you wake up there, you know it will never last, so you have to enjoy it while you have it (and apparently wax poetic about it while you wait for your coffee).

We should all be so lucky.

We should all be so lucky to have a friend like Michelle Williams is to Busy Phillips. Or like Busy is to Michelle.

Much has been made, said, reported about their friendship over the years. Since they started bringing each other to events.

It was one of the most interesting highlights of my first Oscar® season, it was the 78th Oscars® — Brokeback Mountain — and coming down the red carpet towards me were Jen Lindley and Audrey Liddel. My love for Dawson’s Creek does not end, and I’m not afraid to own that. All those Oscar Nominees, movie stars, celebs, you name it, and my head was spinning over 90s teen drama stars.

Then Busy approached me.

My heart stopped, I really hoped my bubble wasn’t about to burst when Busy told me she needed a favor.

Worst-case-scenario Tarrah kicked in (She’s really the worst.) and began processing the myriad ways I was about to be disappointed. All the illusions that would dissolve around me in the middle of what should have been my proudest day too. (I’d left Boston telling everyone I was going to plan the Oscars. They smiled, laughed, and wished me luck. But I was there, standing on the red carpet.)

I tried to avoid eye contact, but it was too late. My walkie. My clipboard. My repurposed bridesmaid dress. Something made me look official and, apparently, helpful. (Same thing happens when I go to Target. I don’t get it.)

In a second, Busy was whisper-yelling in my ear. I made her repeat it because I honestly couldn’t understand how that was the favor she needed. Especially given where we were standing.

For her friend.

This was easily the biggest day of Michelle’s career to date. And that, without exception, without jealousy, with nothing but genuine love and respect, was why Busy was there.

My appreciation for those two women blossomed that day and has only continued to grow. Female friendships like theirs are rare—rarer than they should be.

The way these two seemingly opposite women treat each other is how we all should treat each other.

I read every interview where either of them talks about their friendship. I love talking to people about it because it defies all the stereotypes of Hollywood, and women.

A couple of days ago, Busy posted a picture of herself on the toilet on Instagram. Naturally, I paused to read the caption, unprepared for what I found.

🌟My forever moods-for today anyway… 🌟Michelle said this great, really lovely and helpful thing to me tonight on the phone, she (more or less, I obviously wasn’t RECORDING the call😂) said, “You know Busy, all you have ever been as long as I’ve known you is exactly yourself- it’s why I loved you immediately. And for some people, it’s why they love you at first too but then it just ends up shining a light on their own inability to BE their true selves- or they start to think that they’re less than because of how much you are. And it makes them feel bad and they then think they have to BE MORE or they start to wish you were LESS. But they won’t be. And you can’t be. Because you’re just you. You’re not trying; you just are. And honey, that’s on them, not you. So. Fuck ‘em. Truly. Fuck. Them.” And anyway, it made me feel a lot better and I’m putting it here so I can remember it for myself and in case maybe you need to hear that and also so I’ll know what to say to my daughters one day when they need to hear it. Also, best friends always know what to say, when to whisk you out the back door of a place, when to cry with you and always ALWAYS when to take a picture of you glamorously peeing in their bathroom.

It was a love letter. An appreciation of individuality. A celebration of being seen—truly seen. Michelle’s words that Busy shared were a perfect illustration of seeing someone as they are and loving them in all the ways.

This morning, following Michelle’s fifth Oscar nomination, Busy posted another one.

BRB- I’m just gonna go back in time and tell this kid that she’s going to have 5 OSCAR NOMINATIONS in the next 20 years. 😭 And a BEAUTIFUL family. And be surrounded by love. (And GORGEOUS CLOTHES) But tbh- that’s probably along the lines of what I was saying to her then. I love you MW. Proud of you forever for building the life and career you dreamed of, even though the absolute overwhelming grief of being human had you wondering if you could at times. But then you would dig deep and try again. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You have never NEVER stopped trying. A new way, a new recipe, a new parenting style, a new author, a new approach to work, a new love, a new role…but always the same loving brilliant gentle sensitive funny wild thoughtful beautiful beautiful BEAUTIFUL you. ❤️🌟

We should all be so lucky to have friends—a friend—that loves us like that.

I know I do. I hope you all do.

And I think that’s why I love Busy and Michelle so much, they remind me of the women in my life who see my weird and still stand next to me. The women who continue to inspire me, join in on the shenanigans (sometimes we even get paid for them), and who are laughing along with me when I take a wrong turn. It’s a mutual admiration society. I love you all more than I love Dawson’s Creek! And you all know how truly deep that is.

❤

Positive Vibes Only… an unpopular take.

Positive Vibes Only — A sexy beast of a motto. Enticing. Seductive. Welcoming.

And totally unrealistic.

It makes nice wall art, but it’s corrosive to our hearts and souls. IMHO.

It’s entirely unattainable.

There has been a trend lately in corporate takeovers where the new Powers That Be (PTB), all dew-faced and open, promise Positive Vibes Only (a.k.a Solution Based Thinking; Proactive Creative Processes).

Sure, it’s a great motivator, for like five minutes. Reality eventually creeps back in, and it morphs into Positivity Theater. There’s nothing on the other side of that door except holey sandbags and a flickering ghost light.

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to have a Positive Attitude. Absolutely. Keep an open mind and go in emanating Good Vibes. It’s the ONLY I object to.

When you hit a stumbling block, a limitation, or a gut check (natural, man-made, or anxiety-driven), you deserve to feel and acknowledge those moments too.

All the positivity in the world will never be able to make up for the fact that you are human. That physics and logistics are real. And, that time travel (as of yet) is not.

Until time travel becomes available to the masses, you will have limitations. (And, no, we aren’t going to discuss the myriad problems that time travel for the masses would bring. At least not today.)

Limitations are not inherently negative. Or positive, for that matter.
They are.
They exist.
Period.

The best way to tackle limitations is to acknowledge them. If you accept their existence, you can solve for them, work with them, and create despite them.

(And, spoiler alert, some limitations can change. Some can’t. But if you never acknowledge them, how will you know?)

No. Can’t. Won’t. Don’t.

No one likes hearing these words. Some people actively hate these words. 100%, including me. (I’m working on it.)

In my experience, the humans who hate them the most fall into one of two categories:

They didn’t hear them enough as children; or
They heard them too much as children.

In the first case, they need to hear them more now. They need to hear them until they acknowledge them with the same ease of acceptance as they do the latest weight loss craze.

In the second case, they need to be reminded that those are just words and don’t imply negativity, failure, or insurrection. They don’t determine worth. Most importantly, they don’t mean an awesome outcome doesn’t exist.

NO:
“No.” Is a complete sentence. It can mean you’re standing up for yourself and setting a positive boundary about what you are willing/able to do. It should always be respected. It can (probably should) always be followed up with what is NEEDED to change the outcome.

CAN’T:
I am positive I can’t drive an SUV through a concrete wall without negative repercussions. Extreme, sure, but 100% accurate. You can’t make more hours in the day. Or burn the candle at both ends without it taking a measurably negative toll on your health and mental state (and probably making your work product trash.) You can’t be in two places at once. Choices are real and need to be made.

WON’T:
Unwillingness is not a sign of insurgence. It’s a positive example of someone making a choice and standing by it. Whether theoretical or moral or a different idea, it’s a positive confirmation that someone has considered options and come to a conclusion. These people are leaders. Why don’t they want to do it? I wonder.

DON’T:
DO NOT should always receive a follow-up.
“I do not want to do this.” — “Why are you uncomfortable with this request?
“I do not understand.” — “Where are you hung up?”
“I do not feel [insert feeling word] about this.” — “What would make you feel differently?”

If you were reading a book or watching a show, this is the moment heroes and villains are made. It’s the drama.

Why assume that moment works differently in real life? That depiction, almost definitely, positively came from real life.

Positive vibes are outstanding when they happen. We should cherish them, embrace them, and release them. We shouldn’t hoard them. We shouldn’t demand them.

Real vibes happen — They aren’t all positive. And we should see them, hear them, feel them and release them.

We will never learn if we pretend that real vibes don’t exist. We will never know how to get over them, dig under them, or take the long way around them if we pretend they aren’t real. But if we do, we learn how to build stairs, carve tunnels, or take steps. Each one of those is a positive victory we can celebrate.

We should be focused on FEELING THE VIBES, then maybe we’ll create some MAGIC from them.

2023… Looking Ahead

I haven’t a clue what 2023 is going to look like. But if it’s anything like 2022 it’s bound to be filled with some unexpected surprises.

I’m here for them.

Things on my Adventures List for 2023
* Roller skating — Thanks to Pink I literally can’t stop thinking about it. Will most likely land on my ass and laugh like hell about it!
* Paint Ball — This one has been on the list for a while, but life. So, if you are interested, let’s go.
* Axe Throwing League — Because why not?
* Go on Tour — I’m just gonna keep putting this one out there until it happens, but I want to work on a rock tour for the summer. 1. I would be exceptional at the logistics, and I have the industry creds to back it up. 2. I think I might have been a roadie in another life. #roadieforthesummer

Goals for 2023
* Drink the Good Wine — What exactly are these special occasions I’m saving those bottles for? Good friends and good conversation are all I really need.
* Say “YES” more –The introvert in me just lost her damn mind. More. I’m not quantifying or qualifying this any further.
* More Concerts — More live music in general. I did pretty well in 2022, but we can do better.
* Write More — I always want to write more, it’s not like I’m slacking, but if I could clone myself, I’d send the clone out to work. I’d spend all that extra time writing.
* Land a Literary Agent — Yup, this is happening this year. #manifesting
* Books will be read — I’m going to make some progress on cleaning out my Kindle but realistically speaking, there are 220 books in my Kindle Library and I read 150 books (according to the Goodreads challenge) this year. So, I would like for there to be less than 220 books in my library at the end of 2023.
* Still NOT buying any more office supplies — We’ve used a bunch, but I could still keep a small office afloat.

2022: Falling in love with my bookshelf (again!)

2022 is about to end, and I’m closing in on 150 books, according to Goodreads (There are some duplicates I can’t seem to shake). It might happen, it might not. My reading rode some waves for sure this year… and I could handle more surfing books. More stories set in New Orleans. More falling in love and not sacrificing yourself. More meeting people where they are at novels. More friendship stories. More Dave Grohl reading to me. More recommendations from friends.

I should explain my Goodreads Ratings are all about MY enjoyment level. I’m not a book critic, I’m a book lover and an avid reader, and this is my gut response the instant I finish a book.

***** 5 Stars – For whatever reason, I got something more than I was expecting. I loved it. I hated the characters. I wanted to throw the book across the room. I wanted to read it again.
**** 4 Stars – This book was exactly what I expected—be it thriller, romance, or sinfully smutty. I was along for the ride and got my money’s worth.
*** 3 Stars – Sometimes I just wasn’t digging it, and that’s cool. Other times, I was enjoying a book, but there was something – typos, questionable word choice, etc. that jarred me out of the story.
** 2 Stars – I don’t think I’ve given any of these…

The books below are the ones that stuck with me in 2022 amidst nearly 150 other stories.

Seven Days in June – Tia Williams @tiawilliamswrites
This one just sucks you in and plucks at every emotional chord. Second chances. Secret letters. A past that can’t be forgotten.

You Can’t Be Serious — Kal Penn @kalpenn
As if I needed another reason to love Kal Penn. This memoir had me in stitches more often than not. I maintain the man is an underrated genius.

Star Fish – Lisa Flips @authorlisafipps
This was my first novel in verse. I’m honestly still pissed off at Ellie’s mother. Heartwarming, frustrating and ultimately a celebration of self and friendship.

Kiss Number 8 – Colleen A.F. Venable (Author), Ellen T. Crenshaw (Illustrator) @colleenaf @etcillustration
My first graphic novel. I honestly just loved it. Growing up is all about testing boundaries and figuring out all the ways you are you and this story hits the mark.

An Unexpected Kind of Love – Hayden Stone @haydenstoneauthor
Since I have the unpopular stance of not liking Notting Hill, I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed this spin on the movie star and the bookshop owner.

Book Lovers – Emily Henry @emilyhenrywrites
Same review as last year, different book! Emily Henry get out of my head! She’s got my number, and she keeps calling. It freaks me out how eerily matched her books are to my life at the moment I pick them up. I just want all the more from her.

If This Gets Out – Sophie Gonzales and Cale Dietrich @sgonzalesauthor @calerdietrich
To be honest, I was in at Boy Band. The secret romance, the crazy fans, and evolving friendships were a bonus. Sometimes you just need to dip into someone else’s world and enjoy the tour.

Icebreaker – A.L. Graziadei @a.l.graziadei
I can still smell the hockey bags. I love unexpected tension boiling up inside already tense situations. It’s no wonder it’s gloves off.

The Surprising Power of a Good Dumpling – Wai Chim @onewpc
Sometimes you pick up a book based only on the title, and it’s so much more than you expected. Family is awesome and brutal. Growing up is hard but also an adventure. See people for who they are and ask to be seen in return.

Funny You Should Ask – Elissa Sussman @elissa_sussman
I’m so glad this was more than just a wide-eyed reporter falls in love with a hunky actor story. More importantly, I love the genuine friendship between the “rivals.” More male friendships like this, please.

And we have to talk about Meghan Quinn. @meghanquinnbooks

You can’t NOT notice how frequently she’s on my list. I’m equal parts; how the f*** do you write so many damn books, and could you please write like ten more a year I’m starting to have to ration. In my 40s, this genre—what I fondly refer to as Housewife Porn—holds more appeal. It’s a little snack break from the real world, and Meghan Quinn’s my favorite chef.

It’s time we talk about Orville Peck. Pull up a chair.

This is now the [insert outrageous number]th time I’ve attempted to write a blog post about Orville Peck. Let’s hope this one isn’t a 10,000 word opus. (However, if you are interested in reading that, DM me. Only kind of kidding.)

We’ll start with the housekeeping:
* Am now an OP Evangelist – Jobs I took in 2022 that I didn’t plan on.
* I fell into the rabbit hole… I live here now. It’s weird. I like it.
* Don’t tell me you like all music, but not country. Just give OP a listen. We’ll talk about that voice, and the range, and the insane list of obvious influences. Then tell me you like music again.
* Be glad you aren’t my neighbors. Those peeps have been listening to not just Bronco, but the entire catalog since April. On loop. Several hours a day. And my door is always open.

And now for the Thank Yous:
** Huck thank you for adjusting your Coachella schedule to check OP out on my behalf. Even bigger thank you for sending me the video that convinced me drive to San Diego after a delayed red-eye to see him in my new favorite music venue, Humphrey’s.

**Pawntra, you find your way onto this blog for some hilarious reasons and I live for it. Thank you for being my ‘live music of any variety at anytime’ buddy, for being patient when I told you we could chill in the picnic tables at Palomino Festival and then low-key freaked out and needed to be like 7 feet away, and for taking that sneaky-ass video of me having the best day ever! Also, for being total Event People with me and discussing everything that was done well and otherwise at the inaugural festival. And for introducing me to jalapeños in rosé!

Palomino Fest at the Rose Bowl, Pasadena, CA (July 9, 2022)

**Malty, thank you for entertaining (and hosting) a late-night Stagecoach Livestream that included more laughs and nipples than I’m certain either of us would have guessed. Vudoo I’m sorry that you missed likely the only Sunday Night Dinner that’s ever going to include “your music.”

Where was I going with this?

Right, right, right. This is my… “It seems ridiculous that I haven’t done an OP blog post yet, so these are my favorite songs off Bronco” post.

Favorite is kind of a silly word… on any given day any song could be my “favorite.”

“Hexie Mountains”
Maybe you’d learn to live with what’s inside your head.

We’ll just pretend that I really dig the bluegrass and skip over the feelings part cause I’m the poster human for Virgos. So, yeah, favorite.

“Trample Out the Days”
This song absolutely destroys me. Wrecks me. Dead. And listening to it on loop (I did spare the neighbors here and used headphones!) I wrote one of my favorite scenes that I’ve written. So thanks… and also FU dude!

“City of Gold”
All that I want is a kind heart to haunt

My only connection to Johannesburg is having been trapped in Heathrow during an airline strike with a bunch of private school kids. They were delightful. All I Can Say–don’t be surprised if there’s a tattoo in the near future. (Also, yes, I know what I did there. It’s not even the lamest thing I’ve done today.)

I don’t know if this post makes any more sense than the others I wrote but if you need to talk to someone about Orville Peck, I’m here.

And for the love of art — go to a show. It’s some of the finest musical theater I’ve seen. (Also, shoutout to the queen Bria Salmena! Massive #girlcrush)

And, with that, I end with some @tlcurtis #srirachaart.
Because when your whole wheat lavash bread sriracha swirl looks like a cowboy hat, you just have to lean in!

No snacks were wasted in the making of this image.

Sounds weird. I’m in!

In my personal opinion… friends with weird ideas are the best friends to have.

Actual conversations with my weirdos:

Me: “I don’t know he’s really not into gorilla suits and I just don’t get it?”
Friendly Weirdo: “Who doesn’t love gorilla suits?”
Me: “Right?”

A brief contemplative silence.

FW: “Oh, you know what we should do, gorilla suit pub crawl.”
Me: “Hell yes!
FW: “This summer, texting [Friendly Weirdo #2] now.”

FTR: They already exist…

As do… you guessed it…

Banana Suit Pub Crawls.

I do hope they take place at the same time. That would be awesome!

(The fact that I haven’t stumbled into either of these scenarios in real life honestly upsets me. What gives Universe?)

Several weeks go by…

Me: Killing time disrupting the Instagram algorithm, stumbles across a black-and-white picture of nuns drinking in the streets. Immediately sends to friends. “After the gorilla suit pub crawl… this.”
FW: “Ummm yes of course!!!”

Couple more weeks go by…

Me: Sees horoscope ice breaker on Co-Star: YOU WON THE AWARD FOR FASTEST MARATHON DRESSED AS A NUN. (Nun humor is always a winner!) 100% this is getting posted.

DM from FW: This is so you!!!
My DM: It’s so on point it’s terrifying. Also, have been in a nun costume and have run a (half) marathon… sadly not at the same time… but now I know where I went wrong.
FW: Right?! I think we really need to push for a nun pub crawl.
Me: I’m 100% in for this. No questions asked. Let’s do it.
FW: Amen 🙂

10 minutes later, driving home from boxing.

Sign/Advertisement on the side of the road: Sounds Weird.

Conversations that involve the words “sounds weird” are my very most favorite. Every. Single. Time. These conversations have landed me in the following:

Glass Blowing class
Lesbian comedy night in a raffle to win free Egg Harvesting (of the human not chicken varietal. I did not win.)
Swan Boats in Devil Horns and combat boots following a consultation with a psychic on Halloween
Bollywood Dancing in the Park while unknowingly crashing someone else’s date
Working out with Richard Simmons
Watching a Woman play a saw at a hipster talent show
Listening to Lisa Loeb cover Wonderwall (which, BTW, THE thing I didn’t know I needed!)
Watching an Arnold Schwarzenegger Tribute Band
Masquerade Bachelorette party
Working a Mattress Convention where your favorite band of all time is performing (so naturally you push the salesmen out of the way for a front-row seat!)

(And that’s just the stuff I can remember right now!)

But I can’t wait to see what’s next! Feel free to submit ideas!