I’ve been staring at this photo for a while now. The way I would stare in a mirror while screaming Bloody Mary.

Who is that? And more importantly, whose pearls are those?

A twist of fate and a scheduling conflict will take me back to Miami next week – coinciding with my high school reunion. So, in an effort to mentally prepare for the terrible community play rendition of Hot Tub Time Machine that I’m about to headline, I rummaged through a box of mementos, read cringe-worthy letters and found this, my senior year portrait.

At first glance, I was reminded that while I was taking this picture, my boyfriend was sitting in the waiting room with the promise of reaching third base on the ride home. He was adorable, gentlemanly and sweet, but terribly flat chested and had a penis, which eventually caused our demise.

When I looked closer though, the me from 1996 had a prophetic message embedded in my eyebrows – one that only took twenty years of hindsight to actually see it. Unlike what I thought about myself at the time, I was pretty damn unhideous. I would even go as far to say that I was pretty cute. Yes it’s a cliche, teens and their self-esteem issues. But I’d truly look in the mirror and see an out-of-place monster. How terribly sad.

On the bright side, if I had that face today it would be riddled with HPV, so I guess it worked out.

The other non-hideous things about seventeen were the rest of the know-nothings that I befriended. The valedictorian. The nice guy. The Goody Two-Shoes. The bad ass. The comedian. The rebel. The weirdo. The rich girl. The super rich girl. (I went to private school.) The artist. The Goth. The drama queen. My secret girlfriend. They were glorious. Each one. Raging with hormones, broken out with acne and hiding torn hymens from Jesus. Together we made up a super diverse version of The Breakfast Club that could have been made for Telemundo after dark.

But that was then. Next week we will be reunited for an episode of Oprah’s Where Are They Now, where the impulse to undo our high school stereotypes will most likely lead to boring each other with talk of investment banking, bibs and breakfast nooks. But as much as my body recoils with the thought of being trapped in a boring conversation, my FOMO is too powerful not to be there. And I’m willing to bet that in the midst of polite conversation, I’ll see a glimmer of the shitheads we once were. And I’m also willing to put money on having to hold someone’s hair back at the end of the night.

It was Catholic school for Christ’s sake.







A rocket for our pockets

I found a dollar in my pocket. We are on our way to recovery people!

With economists focused on Greece, Congress sitting on one dollar coins, and the Supreme Court defending Walmart, it seems everyone is too busy to notice that the country is minutes away from having to move in with Canada. Seriously, times are tough and I have a sinking feeling we’re about to start screening our calls to avoid bill collectors from American Express Blue and China. So, I’ve come up with a plan to save us. Sure, I’m not an expert. After all, I passed college math with a C- (on the third try). But, I’m patriotic. And that should be enough to help me help us.

Without further delay, I present my top ten steps to fix the economy of the United States of America:

1. Nationalize porn. Did you know that roughly $90 per second is spent on porn? That’s $2.8 billion per year. Politicians are equal parts perverts and hypocrites, so it makes total sense to let them run an industry they would actually be really good at. It’s an easy money-maker and the next time a politician’s package appears on Twitter, he can always say he was conducting quality assurance. With the government running the show, Homeland Security can help get rid of all that malware in internet porn and the FBI can entrap gross dudes in chat rooms. Duh, everyone wins.

2. Sports education. Professional athletes make way too much money. So, listen up members of the NHL, NBA, NFL and MLB: if you play a professional sport in the United States, you must fund at least three failing schools within the state of the team you belong to. You may also attend a few classes there if needed. If you play professional soccer, you’re excused from having to fund education, but you’re welcomed to teach Physical Education for the extra cash.

3. Credit score inheritance. When your parents die, you should have the choice of inheriting their credit score. Grieving orphans will find solace in a new credit card, while revitalizing their local economy.

4. Pot for all. I’m not sure how this will stimulate the economy, but it will help take the edge off of being broke.

5. Baby citizenship. We have a crap load of kids that need homes in this country. And, we have a crap load of immigrants that want to stay in this country. Why don’t we just pair these two up? If they keep one of ours, they get to stay with automatic citizenship. This way our kids will learn a new language and culture and they won’t feel compelled to breed their own kids so they can stay, saving us health care, court and immigration enforcement costs.

6. Legalize gay. Forget about what a boon this would represent to the wedding industry, that’s a given. What gay marriage really represents is the extra income that gay people will have once they don’t have to send donations to the HRC or the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force or Lamba Legal Defense Fund. Instead, gay people will redirect all their charitable donations to the National Endowment of the Arts, Arts in Education and every glee club in America.

7. Co-dependents. You should be able to claim dependents regardless of relation and age. I once had a friend live with me for nine months. I should’ve been able to receive a tax break for that. Even if the dependent doesn’t live with you, but comes over to eat your food, you should be able to claim them as a dependent. Oh, and parents should claim their kids until they die.

8. Bring the troops home. We need the troops here. Especially when we declare the war on gangs. Their new mission is to clean up our streets and get rid of these ridiculous morons that fight over colors of a  handkerchief. While we’re at it, let’s militarize maximum security prisons. Let’s see how much time they have to shank each other when they are in perpetual boot camp.

9. Make something. We need to make things. Let’s re-open those car factories and make time machines in them. It doesn’t matter if they work or not, we’ll sell them to unsuspecting Asians. More importantly, we should learn to make water. If we figure out a way to make water, we’ll be a superpower again.

10. Tax the rich. I don’t know what the big deal is. Why can’t rich people pay taxes? Everyone is so sensitive about taxing rich people. Do you know anyone that makes 3 million bucks a year? I do. Her name is Snooki. Now tax the shit out of her, please. If rich people don’t want to pay taxes, they have to adopt poor families. And when I say adopt, I mean adopt their debt. Find them a job and pay for groceries and pay for their uncle’s rehab and their kid’s sweet sixteen. You must do this for at least 15 families from the neighborhood you buy your weed from. Either that or pay your fair share of taxes.

Hi, school

Last week a student was fatally stabbed by another at my Alma Mater, Coral Gables High School. The story is tragic for everyone involved and although I only attended ninth and tenth grade there, I feel very attached to the home of the Cavaliers.

Well, until the reporters began interviewing the students.


          The victim was on the floor and had a womb here (pointing to his body), another womb here (pointing to another part of  his body) and here (pointing to another part of, oh you get it)…

Maybe I’m just a jerk and the poor kid has a speech impediment. Fine. But the bigger ass’ole is the reporter for broadcasting the interview – unless…

Was this the most well spoken kid in that entire high school? My old high school? Well, I didn’t really go to that school. I mean, I didn’t graduate from that school. Well, at least I know the difference between wound and womb. Jesus had several wounds and Mary carried him in her womb. Thanks St. Brendan Catholic High School home of the Sabres!

In my next post I will expand on my theory about high school mascots and how they encourage violence. For instance, if Coral Gables High would have been the home of the Bookworms, these two boys would have resolved their dispute over a girl at the library by having a read-off. But, no, they just had to be Cavaliers.