Category Archives: writing

Game of Thrones Finale Recap

 

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Tyrion Bluth

We open in the City of Ashes. 

Tyrion and Jon and Co. stand around like human side-eye emojis and take it all in. Dead peeps everywhere. One lone flayed straggler wanders by in a daze. Tyrion makes his way to what was formerly The Red Keep.

Greyworm reminds us that he’s a hired killer and singularly-minded in obeying Dany’s managerial directions aka MURDER EVERYONE. He kills the followers of Cersei in the street.

The Imp takes a stroll down Memory Lane, then goes to find his awful siblings buried beneath one whole layer of bricks. This gratuitous b.s. brought to you by men who thought this would somehow be a tearjerker moment. NO ONE CARES THEY DIED. I would have been much happier with their untimely demise if Jaime had killed her first and then they died together. And Tyrion should be the last one crying over these incestuous dicks who did fuck-all to make the world a better place for anyone but themselves.

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SAYING GOT-BYE

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It must be Game of Thrones finale time

It’s the end of an actual decade of watching Game of Thrones together. I introduced my husband to the books many years ago, after one of my longtime besties, Kim, stayed persistent and made me read them. I refused for so long because the book jacket looked cheesy as hell — I think there was a white guy on his steed in the forest with a snowy castle in the background (Winterfell, probably) — and the first couple chapters were about spooky ghost folks in the woods, so I passed.

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Heads of Mettle

It’s been a minute since I’ve been on this thing called “Blog” and I’ve sort of missed it, in the same harmless way I miss radio even though I primarily listen to Spotify now. This is somewhat ironic since I’m volunteering twice a week for local-to-global radio station, KEXP, and listening to more radio playlists than ever, albeit from inside the booth.

I recently wrote a guest post for the Faces of Fortitude blog and forgot to post it, so here it is for your reading pleasure, if “pleasure” for you includes tales of depression and suicide. True to form, it’s not all Debbie Downer because if I can’t laugh at myself, I’ll surely drown in my own fiery, fist-sized tears. I got some fairly dramatic messages after it went live; people will make stuff about them no matter what the topic, but the joke’s on them because I invented that move. Most of the messages were supportive and reminded me I have great people in my life, something that’s helpful during the inevitable low points of this biological adventure.  

Faces of Fortitude began as what I would describe as a self-healing heart project for Mariangela Abeo, a powerhouse friend I met around five years ago. Initially, I was just glad she’d found a creative outlet for the pain surrounding her brothers’ suicide and her own attempt in high school. But then the project spread, as heart projects do when it creates a space for others to be seen, to be heard, to heal; and now it’s on a trajectory that aims to help as many people as possible. I love watching friends step into their power and make big strides in the direction of their dreams. It seems like so many are doing that around me right now and I can’t help but be inspired by it*.

 

 

 

*Doing scary shit I can’t say out loud yet because of the aforementioned scary part

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Kick The Shit Out of Life

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Maria Semple, total badass & Yours Truly, lipstick-wearer

“Maria Semple has a total boner for your writing.” So said Katty, far and away the best part of the writing workshop we finished last month. Tom Skerritt was a fellow classmate, too, because my life is just a series of What The Fuck moments held together by carbs and decorative washi tape from the dollar store. I want to say meeting Katty was nice, a word that describes nothing and leads to other nothing-words like interesting or cool, but really, it was a relief. There is so much weight lifted when you meet a kindred spirit, someone you don’t have to be anyone else but yourself around, loudly and without apology; someone who gets your language and likes making fun of the same people. Our friendship was forged rather quickly — a satirical shotgun marriage, if you will, pregnant with a friendship baby who likes yelling fuck over various dessert items. She is a curly-haired, barely-contained East Coast tornado, which works since I’m a West Coast weather system trapped in a supermodel’s body.

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