Spawned in Opelika, AL.
I share a birthday with Emily Dickinson (yassss) and Rod Blagojevich (eeew).
The fam moves to a little house in Houston, TX. I had chickenpox and my mom kept dabbing makeup on me throughout the flight so I wouldn’t get kicked off the plane.
Diagnosed with ADD. Parents put me on Ritalin and that shit turns me into a zombie. They decided to just let their middle kid…be a kid.
I join choir and Ms. Prescott’s Drama class because my brother was already in band and even though I wanted to play drums, my parents couldn’t afford an instrument for me, too. Birth of a Drama Kween.
Stint as Daffy Duck at Astroworld over the summer. Paid $9/hour. EPIC.
Ate something I shouldn’t have. Got food poisoning. This happens a lot so I figured I should put it somewhere.
Went to see STOMP! About 30 minutes in, I’m crying because on that stage is where I want to be. Who the fuck cries at STOMP!? (me) Sign up for acting classes. Get an agent. Become top booking talent in the wee small pond of San Diego.
Move to LA (bigger pond). After two years of not being enough or being told I’m too much, told LA bye boi. I manufacture a bullshit resume and get a gig in marketing support.
Moved to Las Vegas (where culture goes to die, but at least housing was cheaper than LA).
Lose my ass after putting everything into a startup. Crawl back from $620 in my bank account and payday loans. Sexy.
Jason (boyfriend) dies. Life goes to shit. Commence 20 months of living the unprettiest parts of a Hunter S. Thompson novel.
Write 2 books in a depression-fueled fog. Contemplate checking out of Planet Earth multiple times. Try. Fail. Thankfully.
Actively decide to get my life back. Get asked to tell a story at TEDx Boulder. Shit my pants. Got standing ovation from 2100 people. NIFTY.
Single. Talking to a therapist seems smarter than texting one-night stands.
Moved to Chicago to return to writing and performing. Commence 5 years of trust issues with the weather and an unnatural relationship with a North Face parka.
Fall in love with Clark Kent (not his real name). Write a solo piece about Clark Kent that Clark Kent never sees. Which sounds creepy. But it’s not. (Really, it’s not.)
Mom died. Had a horrible incident with a funeral director named Zelma. Married my person in pants with pockets. First 2 items: 0 stars. Last items: 5 stars.
Said farewell to Chicago. Put a moving truck into a ditch in Madison Couty, Iowa during a blizard. Fuck those bridges and that entire county. But delighted to be back in LA!