Monthly Archives

November 2016


We Need To Talk About Kanye

Okay, considering all the press he’s been getting this week alone, we really don’t NEED to. But we should.

So we are.

For the clueless, the rapper most of us hate to love has been on some serious shenanigans as of late while on tour, from announcing he didn’t vote but if he did…it would have been for Trump to storming offstage to rambling frustrations at Jay-Z and Beyonce’ for not calling him enough, winning VMAs without him and not bringing Blue Ivy to play over at the Kardashian household.


Girlfriend, please.

Kanye is like that unpredictable cousin that talks too much that’s super talented and you want to see do well in life, because you know he can. As the list of Hashtag Too Much continued to grow, the charades came to a screeching halt this week as after cancelling the remainder of his tour, and Kanye West was hospitalized for a “psychiatric emergency“.

Anyone following West’s career from the beginning knows it’s been an interesting one. From his breakthrough after surviving a damaging car wreck, his thought provoking albums, his marriage, his stage appearances, to of course, the loss of his mother 9 years ago this November. Which honestly, is when the world begin to see a very different version of Kanye West.

Death is complicated. And of course to one never experiencing that on various levels, it’s difficult to truly explain.

Thinking about it on the surface, it’s like Why?. When you die, it’s over. Done. Fineto. However, it’s in afterlife when the ones surrounding are left living to deal. You don’t realize the impact you left on someone until you are gone.
And we all deal differently. Some cry, some don’t. Some stay busy and get their best work done, some don’t do anything for some time. Some obsess over it. Some don’t deal with it at all for time to follow. Some do all of the above.
We pretend we are 100% okay because it’s the “normal” thing to do, not wanting to seem depressed or a Donald Downer in front of everyone all time. It’s been three years already, I shouldn’t be talking about this anymore. They’re not coming back so I need to get over it.
Continue Reading


The Moonlight Affect


I live for Film. As long as I’ve been alive and can remember, I always have. Growing up in a household with an alcoholic mother and an abusive step-father, it was one of my only escapes from the real world outside of a pen, notepad and playing dolls. I held on so much to all the fantasy world I could I didn’t stop playing dolls until I was about 16–the diving into a different world via writing never ceased. Clearly.

I didn’t know the term, but I knew early on both of my parents were alcoholics. If it wasn’t for alcohol, they may have never even met. If it wasn’t for alcohol, my father would probably still be alive. My father, also a businessman, workaholic and one of the boldest humans I knew next to my mother. I, for sure have some of his temperament and a lot of his mother’s looks–he caught me once as a child trying to steal her picture for my scrapbook out of his office. He never introduced me to his side of the family and although he never hid the truth I was his only child–most of my interactions with him felt like business than personal with only monetary support.  Beggars can’t be choosers, right? I didn’t genuinely feel  my father loved me until my high school graduation when he dragged himself out of bed on crutches to walk the endless pavilion just to see me graduate. What he lacked overall in family skills and the absence of his own, my mother’s parents made up for ten times over. I was seven when they moved me in with them and away from the chaos I currently knew under the roof with my mother.

My grandparents are the strongest people I know. They’re survivors, hard working and where I get my love of story telling from. You could listen to my 6’8 grandfather talk all day and my 5’2 grandmother was so loud you had no choice but to listen. They never understood my need to be creative, but they always supported down to just placing empty notebooks they found on sale on my bed. My grandmother got so curious to what I was doing with them one day she read some pieces and was honestly upset at the raw tone, but admittedly enjoyed. Our home was forever a place of realness, laughter and love. Being the new kid at 4th elementary school before second grade’s end, was not. My god-sister being the only familiar face I knew made it clear early on she was going to be everything but my friend, and thanks to her lead other kids followed suit–at school and in church, where she also attended. It wasn’t until a year later the quiet girl who always had her head in books and “the crackhead mother” punched a mouthy bully who got handsy is when it stopped. I was sent to the principal’s office, she was sent to the nurse and never bothered me again.

Continue Reading


F*ckboys: The Survival Guide


Cuffing Season is well under production and while some of us are boo’d up at least until the initial season of Westworld ends, the remainder of us are out here living the single life. And for most, it’s not that damn bad.

Your botched bangs are finally growing out.

Your skin is clearer than it’s ever been in months.

Your butt is something a peach wish it could make an emoji out of.

For the first time in a long, work makes sense and you’re completely focused on your career.

You’re closer than ever to the people who matter most and genuinely want the best.

Life. is. lit. Although lit is a term that could kind of go, but it just works.

Considering things are good and can’t go down faster than the upcoming state of America heels on New Year’s Eve, you’re okay with the idea of entertaining a companion of sorts. That is, until THEY arrive.


That’s right–you know them, I know them, and we ALL hate them.


Continue Reading