slowly but surely, I am losing my mind.

whether I am surrendering it over to a more intelligent higher power, or wasting it away with html & alcohol. … I don’t really know. either way, …

talk about a pressure cooker.

anybody been in my mind lately? holy shit, you could roast a fucking ham in this thing. it’d take you just minutes!!!!!

OK. SO. life continues on. lessons are always learned. I’m still straddling this line, this line of mine life in between: “#whatthefuckamidoingthisislunacy” andddddd “thisissomewherenearnirvana,too close!jesuscomehelp.”

ha. ha. thanks for deciphering that, if you did. if you didn’t. stop being lazy and try.

I’m legitimately drunk. just like I write all my entries!!!!

I don’t even need brass knuckles. my knuckles are fucking huge.


TODAY. I went to the exBOY TOY PRANKSTER HOUSE. and guess who I see? none other than the two merriest alive. a friend I am fond of and another friend who is …. interesting – unloading things from their van for my dear friend, who is not my boyfriend anymore.

I felt so. trapped. in that relationship. like more than I think I can eloquently describe. I stayed and smoked a bone with them though. they’ve never pushed any kind of control on me. quite the opposite actually. They don’t have any idea that I’ve been up til 3am crying the night before and just choking down tears now, cleaning my stuff out of his closet. I didn’t even tell them anything about the troubles. I just left it at “I’ll see you soon.”

Because… I don’t really know what is happening. I love him. More than Big. I already know that I do. He’s not that cute, he doesn’t have a savings account, no health insurance. but something about him just puts me at ease. … USUALLY. on the other hand he drives me wild to the break of madness with adrenaline and grief when we fight. its the most passion I’ve felt since even before I even knew who Big was. Who by the way, can eternally fuck himself, in the butt.

Do I live for this kind of life? yes. I want it all. but can I really have it and keep my sanity and soul? I don’t know.

I guess that’s what we’re trying to figure out.

I edited my sister’s college admission essay and she didn’t even say thank you. instead she said “I didn’t read it really.” If people don’t appreciate what you do for them. DON’T stop doing those things for them. The world needs more people like you. You’re an angel. you’re selfless, you’re brave. we’re one.

Keep strong

praise your god(s)((ess))(((esses)))

and I love you



quarter life cri$is


Obviously, I’m in a quarter life crisis. And so in the midst of this I’ve ordered takeout for the second night in a row. On my way out of rehearsal I call it in to the authentic as fvck irish pub on the corner. I drive. I burn. I wait in the parking lot.

I always get high and try to convince myself that I’m actually not hungry. I needed to eat dinner. But I try to convince myself the burger is a bad idea:
“i totally just have beans and broccoli I heat up.”

“what ever happened to eating clean?”

this is the second day in a row man.”

“you can totally just drive away right now and forget it.”

needless to say I faced my fears and exited the vehicle.

I walked into the pub and was transported immediately into a small town in Ireland where an 8 piece string band was playing. The bartender recognized me because I’ve turned down a few men there in his presence. The waitress had the thickest Irish accent, red curly hair, name was probably Sarah. I was all like. “how did I transport through time.” and she was all like, “thank you, here’s your burger.” tipped her and left.

Its a true sin and a shame against my fathers’ country that I did not stay and enjoy a guinness with this amazing masterpiece of Irish pub food. Good God. Praise the motherlands.

Speaking of motherlands, what the fuck does that even mean.



Screen Shot 2015-03-10 at 10.21.06 PM

“REGULATING” INTERNET. thanks america. How dem tit pics?


I’ve been playing that whole comparison game with what I imagine other people who graduated high school with are doing. Obviously I imagine they all are doing dramatically better than me. But I think that might be dramatically contradictory. I’m 24 and I’ve already done pretty much everything I’ve really set my mind to. I’ve explored my soul a pretty fair amount. I’ve traveled moderately. I can do the crow pose, so there’s that. I also now own a version of Final Draft and I’m on the Adobe Suite. I’ve completed a nearly total feature. So there’s also that. I guess you could say I’m a moderate professional.

where’s da dough at doe?

not at my expressionistic ass its not.

TCA turned out to be a whirlwind of amotherfuckeridkwtf is it even is anymore. so its just going to be a fcksin daydream.

got me there, i can still get you there.

But honestly, and especially with regards to this creatively adventurous, increasingly terrifying lifestyle choice, idea thing, I wonder from time to time, more oftener now during my quarter life crisis, if my soul is one cut out for this sort of whirlwind. And then I think yes. I think fuck yes.

So what if this first film was a hiccup that came with a little bit of puke. THAT’S ALRIGHT. there’s a steep learning curve here – being it was a two man show trying to put jello through a cheese grater. just, why, and, how, and, too, many, commas. So what if I’m a bridesmaid in one of my best friend’s wedding and in the throws of a sometimes ok and something emotionally unstable relationship. THAT’S OK. Honestly, its strangely exciting and mildly dangerous. I  have been really lucky to be, able, to explore, myself, do, you, see, what, I-…. funny. So what if I go back to waitressing. I think that’s exactly what is going to inspire and BREATHE LIFE into my next project.!!!!!!!!! THAT’S GREAT.

not so bad.

not even halfway there.


love, relationships

big, baby.

Guess who’s back?


Back again.

LIKE CLOCKWORK. I’m not sure what it is with this guy, if I threw a signal up somewhere in the universe. If by saying his full name out loud I conjured him back into my reality. Maybe he could feel a little bit of space opening up in my heart again. Maybe he felt the scars softening. Maybe he was drunk and lonely. But Big’s back in the picture, like always friends.

I haven’t finalized the severance package for the Dead Head yet, but its really on its way. I had a terrible dream about him last night. And I’ve just been feeling that awful kind of drowning feeling when I think of how our lives could be some day. I feel like he just wants a pretty little lap dog to follow him around to all the festivals that he gets in for free. Like, is that supposed to impress me? Because he’s going to just get me in for free and then walk away from me all night – go talk to the other drug lords in the place and act like its all somehow over my head….. -___- I can’t live like that. I’m a panther – like does anyone remember!? I cannot be caged!!

Am I insane? Or is it really possible that maybe Big wants to be with me some day? If I can cut back on the crazy, I think its possible. We have history, and you can’t get rid of history. But you can work through it and overcome anything if you want it bad enough.

He’s got some kind of sick love spell cast on me and I don’t know what it is or why. No one can hypnotize my heart like this. And I do think sometimes, maybe its all in my head. Maybe this sense of security and desire is only on my end. Maybe he just got drunk and wanted a cheap tit pic. WHAT AM I DOING?! I didn’t send any tit pics, its just chit chat. But WHY, are we even chatting?

This is just one of those wild kinds of rides you aren’t able to explain. And you can’t get off, because its just too goddamned rare and interesting to miss out on. I’ve got my seatbelt on this time, so if I crash, at least I’ll be somewhat safe.

til next time.


love, writing

roses are red, take care of your spleen



Buy yourself roses when no one else will. Remind yourself you are beautiful, you are loved. Even if its only by yourself.
home again

Sorry baby, but this feels like a break up.


When you leave, take everything with you. Tie up all the loose ends. Because its going to be a while if you’re ever together again. But Do Not go back just because you get lonely. Only go back if you can’t go forward. But me, I’m going forward. I’m going to try.




I’m not sure he knows I really even broke up with him yet. But I’m sure that he has the idea. He won’t be home for a week and when he returns, his world will be as he left it. Except in tiny ways, ways he might not even notice; I’ll be gone. I really don’t think it matters much to him though either way. And that’s why I had to leave. Because I started not to matter as much to him.



If there is one good think about baddie grannie winkle out there – don’t think you have a wordpress, but holla.- Its that I learned  I am a pink fucking starburst. And I should always be treated like a pink starburst. I’ve been feeling like a yellow one lately. And that’s gotta change. Hell, by the way he’s been looking at me I might as well be an orange starburst. A fucking purple one if they had it.



Actually, I love purple. But anyways that’s not the point.



The point here is that, your standards for who you love should be high. If someone drops the ball – yells at you til 3 am about band practices, ever invalidates your feelings by calling them ‘fucking ridiculous’ or EVER says something like “I used to like you a lot more before you started talking so much.” Girl, YOU LEAVE.


You pack up all your shit while they’re at work. Say goodbye, clean his dishes like he asked you to, take that $40 he offered you for doing them; you fill up your little free weed containers, keep the key to his house in case you need more, and you hightail your pretty little tight ass straight outta there.


Because for as fu$king crazy as men think women’s emotions are – they are just as much real as they might seem ridiculous. When I ask you to just hold my hand more, or like say nice things once in a while. That’s not really hard. I’ve had guys write me poems and love letters and drive through the night to come see me. Maybe I’ve been spoiled? No. I’ve been treated like a golden fucking goddess of love. And I earn it.



There is so much love that I just want to give, but when I don’t get it back it gets tiring.


Don’t wear yourself down for anyone. Not even if they can give you all the free weed you could ever smoke. Nothing is worth settling for less than you deserve.


Ah, but alas. Every relationship still serves a purpose. And I think this purpose might play out a little  bit longer than this blog entry. But no matter what I will not back down. I will stay posted up here on my pretty little pedestal until I’m wooed to come down. Because if you’ve ever been knocked down, torn down, or beat off it – you know how hard the climb back up it can be. And that’s a path I’ve taken just a bit too many times.




Roses are red, money is green
Boy are stupid and girls are mean.








smoke and mirrors
alternative media, writing

women in film

Most particularly I mean women making film.

producing, directing, writing.


and also award seasons. … why?


With a BIG OLE fat stinking CAPS LOCK W. why?

and where?

It has occurred to me, that yesssss the practicalities of this business I’ve embarked myself in provides deep canyons and hurdles along with massive onslaughts of gender stereotypes. And why is that? Well, its just, well you know that, you know, nobody had many women around “back in those days” of traditional indoctrinated values.

But, its not back in those days anymore.

So what’s up?

So what’s up?

I hope to think its really only award seasons. I know there are eons of talented women out there making real good stuff and getting real good stuff from it. That’s what’s important. What’s wild to me is that our mainstreamed media (which is all most of the sorry population ever sees) is shut off to a lot of these avenues of film and prefer to sit cozy in the boys’ club. Ok. That’s fine. Make your money makers. But for Pete’s Sakes, move over sometimes.

for the peoples’ sake I mean.

I’m getting pretty good at HTML so, government come find me! LOL. I will make too many political memes and Biden will call me a terrorist.

Really? swaying peoples’ opinion is now a terror threat?

holy fuck. forget women in film.

forget award seasons.

that’s a real talk to have right there. shit.

ANYWAYS. I’ll conclude with this. On my research to drop some dope knowledge about this subject I google search (god help us) “oscar winners directing” then as I’m typing “Women” FASHION started pouring and pouring into the stream. I couldn’t believe it. But it happened twice.

So ladies, here’s a thought. What do we want? Because if we keep feeding money attention and google searches into what women are wearing instead of what women are saying and making in film. What kind of role does that leave us in the conversation?

And, do we like that role?

Thanks for listening. This was a doozy.

Keep yours eyes on Biden.

Don’t let him touch you.


alternative media, mercury retrograde, relationships, sex and the city, writing

boys with blunts

Hello internet. I’m sorry I’ve been gone.

These past few months of hibernation hiatus have done me well. I’m back and with the realization that if I want to journal and proverbially vom my feelings into the internet – spare any followers and just do that shit at home.

I’m a writer. Like the Ms. BShaw. And holy hell, have I been writing. Scripts, stories, HTML, emails, everything. Every night. I come home and I type a fury like a motherfucker. Because eventually you have to wind up with something good right? Isn’t that was Ginsberg said? To be a good writer, you should just write constantly. You’ll come up with a lot of shitty shit, but every now and then you can hit it just right and make that paper sing. hell, even dance if you get it going a second time.

So I’ve been getting it a little right, a little wrong. But I like to think that’s how I live my life anyways; a little right, a little wrong. And I like it like that.

And hey – any time I get a discouraged about my writing. I just think- well fuck, Drake made it in the rap game. So I just need to sit tight and keep on working for mine.

Mr. Big. … that sonnofagun. Our souls are tied in the strangest way. To be honest. I’ve found it hard to have that kind of penetrating, permeating, crazy psychic kind of obsessed in love with anybody else but him. Is that right? Is that love? Or is that psychosis? Because we don’t speak. So how do I even know that he feels this way about me.

He’s in a whirlwind. He’s an aries, so the only person that he is psychically, cosmically in love with is himself. I’m his Libra side chick for life. Is that an honor? To be a lifey side chick? They still need you in a way, yeah? Don’t know. Can’t understand. Don’t care. Can’t be bothered with it anymore.

Speaking of can’t be bothered with it anymore – how about this Mercury Retrograde. Jesus, Lord, Goddesses of the Mother Earth – please save me. Its just about over now. We’ll feel lingering effects until the second week of March, but Holy Yeezus Lord above. This was a tough one.

I’ve unofficially moved back into my own apartment from the merry prankster man cave. I think that life can work that way. But for some reason I’m just not entirely ready. So I’m livin. I out here.

I found myself doing his dishes more than I even do my own. I have a dirty coffee mug in my sink probably from before I even went to Hawaii. Just kidding, that’s gross. But – really. Maybe a wine glass I don’t know. I’ll probably got ebola from it. oh well.

I was domesticating myself and he wasn’t even asking me to. I thought that’s just what I should do. I thought – well he goes to work and works hard with his body and paints things and moves things and fixes things. So since I’m staying at his house and smoking all his weed – I should cook or clean or fold and put away his laundry.


– _ –

Amy Poehler would be so disappointed in me.  Wow, spellcheck corrected her name for me. You’ve made it Amy. I idolize you also. ok awkward.

So disappointed. Looking back on my madness I’m a little disappointed in myself. Like, who do I really think I am? I can’t be some kind of happy housewife, I’m a motherfucking lunatic!!!! and it drove me mad. it drove me absolutely mad. We almost broke up. I blamed it on the retrograde and his psycho hotmess ex gf (who tried to fight me BTW and got it bad in the face instead. PWND) But really it was all about suppression. I was cooped up in a house that wasn’t even mine! It was the worst feeling. And I can’t pin it on him. He’s great.

I felt like a caged bird, but I put the bars there myself. I would think “well this is what you do for love. you compromise. you sacrifice.” and yes. that’s true. but uhhhhh we’ve known each other only like 3.5 months. I do not need to be fucxking doing your laundry.

SO. to save my sanity and see if we can save this relationship. I’m not doing it anymore. I might not ever want to do it ever. Because why? I’m a lunatic. I don’t need this shit.

I gotta keep it going with the writing. A lot of times when people learn you work from home, they look at you a little different. Its like public school kids who thing that homeschooled kids sit on their ass all day and play video games.

Now if they really doing that, how’d they beat you in the spelling bee?

south park.


social media

what the fuckbook

like, really bitch? really?

that’s to nobody in particular. stop sweating. but really. really. really

is it just me or is social media getting to be  the drunk friend that won’t leave? Really?!

Between crazy exes and long lost loves. I’m just about ready to pull the plug. Not to mention that my used to be best friend works the fuck out of her pages to make her life seem like its just going on perfectly forward without me. Not even like the slightest flinch of a tear. No time wasted. On to the next.

so I’m a little sore. about a lot of bitches doing a lot of stupid shit. I’m one of them. I’ve been missing my best friend and adjusting to a lot of new patterns in my world. I can’t say its been entirely easy.

Social media is honestly becoming almost as strong as television with its brainwashing techniques. But what the trippy thing is WE are brainwashing OURSELVES. We project these perfected and rehearsed words and images to our instashams, our fuckbooks, and we convince others who look at our stuff – that Yes. This is my life, and it does look this perfect.

But its not. Its really, fucking, not. Its selective sharing. Unless you’re a true psychopath- power to you- you’re not going to post about getting too drunk and screaming at your friend who just tried to throw you a fucking birthday party, you’re not going to post about your debit card getting declined, and you’re sure as hell not going to admit, that you have any experiences that aren’t, weird, hip, interesting, and cooler than everybody else.

But you do. We all have buttonholes, and shit does in fact come out. Except for mine, of course.

I shit rainbows.

its on my blog

believe it.