Everyone comes into themselves in their own time
Notes: I’ve received permission to write about this subject. For a dramatic reading of the piece, click play below.
I’ve asked myself this question how many times, but do you ever wonder what your younger, more ambitious self would think of you right now? If you’d have told little me that at thirty-two, I would be staying with my twin instead of being the actor/writer/whatever I wanted to be (or at least independent), I might’ve been embarrassed enough to say my first curse word.
But it’s just the way life needed to turn out. (Isn’t that the case, like, 99.9 …
Just because it ends, it doesn’t have to end “like that”.
(Notes: I’ve received permission to write about this subject as long as he’s unrecognizable so I made him a ginger ❤ Figured that was a fun tid-bit. For a dramatic reading of the piece, click play below.)
My ex-husband and I are still excellent friends. I’m not quite sure how it happened. When we divorced over a year ago, I didn’t expect we’d be sending funny memes to each other or playing video games online. To be truthful, I’d never expected to talk to him again — period — because this is how I imagined splitting up worked.
Didn’t we all, or am I standing alone here? …
Texting and driving just isn’t worth it.
Though it happened ten years ago, I still remember the exact moments before the crash. My phone was in my lap when the notification came in — a picture of a hat for that year’s Halloween costume.
Yes, I totaled my car to the point of pile-of-twisted-metal status and could’ve killed someone over a text about a hat. And no, it wasn’t worth it.
Did you know 77% of adults and 55% of teenage drivers say they can easily manage texting while driving? I used to think I was one of them until this day in question. In fact, I’d be one of the first people to cringe or turn my nose up should I see another person driving while distracted. In that holier-than-though passive-aggressive fashion coined by the ignorant, I’d grip the seat; lips pinched as I gave the driver some serious side-eye. …
Relationships are never just about you.
A lot of mouths dropped when my husband and I broke up for good. The two of us never fought, went on dates every week, shared the same sense of humor. As for the man himself, many considered him cute, sweet, attentive — a 10/10 catch. I grew accustomed to saying, “I’m aware,” when people commented on my luck.
“Plus, you’re going to make some beautiful babies with that one,” they’d add.
And this presented as the crack in our “pristine” foundation — kids.
Not children in a direct sense, no. Communicating took first place as the real issue. (Surprise, surprise— Poor communication is the number one reason couples break up, according to a survey of 100 mental health professionals). I didn’t want them and never will. …
Why hide it? The graveyard’s been full for years
I’ve been thinking for the last few months now how many “difficult” individuals are out there. And how, to many people, I’m one of them.
Why hide it? The graveyard’s been full for years.
The first time I realized my behavior’s affects six years ago, I got myself kicked out of a lead role in a theater festival mid-run and replaced — and everyone knew.
And I can’t say I didn’t deserve what happened.
Maybe you can relate to the “difficult” part. (It’s not the worst thing people have called me).
Let’s be real. You either are hard to be around, or you know someone who is. …
Is “yeah, it is kind of cold today,” code for, “spank me, daddy!” or am I missing something?
Note from the author: For a dramatic reading of the piece, click play below
While I’m not always nice, when I am, I’m very friendly. It’s a trait I’ve come to accept.
And all my life, my friendliness has often been, we’ll say, “misconstrued”.
I know I can’t be the only one this happens to.
So, you might understand what I felt as I blinked at my sister after her special announcement.
The nice people downstairs redoing her kitchen wanted to have a foursome with me.
Yeah, I’d thought, “where the hell did that come from?” too.
Accounting principles 101 says, “don’t assume unless otherwise stated.” You’d imagine everyone understands “101” means basic knowledge, but that’s the point of all this — people make assumptions about others. …
and a lot of men didn’t call for “just sex”
Note from the author: For a dramatic reading of the piece, click play below
When I worked for an escort service, I figured out men so they’d book a date. I was damned good at it, too.
I’d started at VIP ESCORTS-L.A. — the company’s tenth name change — and it only took me typing a few dozen false Google reviews reading: “Super HOTT girls! Loved Candice, will book again! A+++” to receive my promotion.
And it didn’t take long for me to become a top employee because I’d learned to use (AKA exploit for $10/hr. …
Spooky Mysteries
The 165-year-old unsolved mystery of “The Devil’s Footprints“ in Devon, England.
Note from the author: For a reading of the piece, click play below.
165 years ago on a snowy and particularly cold February night, (The 6th of the month in 1855, to be exact), East and South Devon, England experienced a strange phenomenon. One that will not only remain unsolved but repeat itself more than a century later.
A dark visitor in Devon?
The morning of the mystery, which would come to be known as “The Curious Case of The Devil’s Footprints” or “The Great Devon Mystery of 1855”, the townsfolk of Devon and far out as Dorset, woke to a brand new blanket of snow. …
and we need to have a little chat about our roommate situation.
Note from the author: for a dramatic reading of the piece, click play below
Hi, it’s good to see you.
I’m sorry I made you scream, but frankly, you know what I look like and that I’m self-conscious about my eyeless sockets, so get your shit together and stop the tears, it’s insulting.
We need to have a discussion.
Can I sit on your bed? I’m gonna sit on the bed.
Look, I’ve been your monster for how long? You moved to this house when you were five, right? And you’re what age now? I’m sure I heard Violet — how is your mom by the way? …
Here’s the question I have for you: Why do we care so much?
I met Veronica in junior college. Ivory-skinned and dark-lipped, she’d waltzed into advanced improv wearing a burgundy gothic gown, pointed chin held high, and waist-length brown waves swinging in a delicate arc against her back.
It’s important to note that, even without knowing Veronica, I could tell she took a lot of pride in being slender, and more power to her. I was obsessed with her lady Macbeth vibes.
Veronica wasn’t the nicest girl, but I followed her wherever she went (being “friends” while young can be so strange, can’t it?).
We’d sit in the quad or at one of the more visible tables in the cafeteria, and I’d listen to her brag about the “art gallery” her boyfriend owned in the basement of his dad’s bar where she and some friends still in high school would get together to have painting parties and roll on E. …
