My second ever tattoo is now stamped on me forever (thank you, Clover! @tattoosbyclover). It’s of a phone booth with a cape inside; the cape should be red, but I’m afraid of red ink. While I don’t think every tattoo needs to carry deep meaning, my first two do.

My second tattoo is shaped perfectly to sit next to my first, which was designed with piecing together chosen family in mind. My second tattoo is inspired by the following lyrics of Andrea Gibson’s poem, The Nutritionist:

“You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy. I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside
Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside some days…”

—

The last time I saw Andrea Gibson perform live at Thalia Hall in Chicago, I felt just about every emotion known to man in that short two(ish) hour performance. How is it possible for each word they say to hit my heart so hard? I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I see a lot of me in them: The way they embrace awkward before any one else realizes how charming awkward can be. The way they captivate the crowd with compassion, reading their poems through an empathetic lens. The way they draw in the queerest, most beautiful crowd. The way they center simple, gentle kindness.

I’ve been feeling really good about life in general lately. To the point that I’ve begun to question whether the good is too good to be true. But I will say, it took me nearly four years to feel like I fully bounced back. While I want to relish in this high for as long as possible, I can’t ignore or forget (even though I wish I could) the time when I was at such a low point that even going outside or getting off the couch felt like a chore.

When I was spending my quarantine at Galter, I would count down the minutes until I was able to use the phone. I had a notebook with my friends’ numbers written down, and I would call them from a swanky little phone booth that in retrospect, pretty closely resembles the one in my tattoo. I wasn’t actually thinking about my phone calls at Galter until after the tattoo was already on, though.

While I could hone in on the Clark Kent changing into Superman in a phone booth analogy, I think there’s more to it than that. The phone booth tattoo, for me, is a reminder that resilience, in combination with a debilitating diagnosis, is my superpower; I choose to view it that way at least, otherwise I’d be hurting a lot more. I really believe, we can break out of our hardest times somehow. And well, sometimes it takes phoning a friend to help you get there.

The closest people in my life now can attest how hard it is to actually get me to sit still these days. It’s like I’m making up for lost time by flooding my time to spend with people I love at any opportunity I get.

My second ever tattoo is now stamped on me forever. And for my third, I’m thinking of getting a stamp (literally), because I’m actually excited to send and advocate for more snail mail in this new year.

Let me know your thoughts and feelings, fam <3.

On January 1, 2024, one of my BFFs left me an already year-changing voice memo (read: word vomitted), wishing me to find the simple, weird (I think she meant “awkward”) joys this year. Before I get into the saga about my soon-to-come search for simple joys, I’m going to reveal a fun secret fact that most people, even my best friends, probably don’t know about me: I have a fear of public speaking.

Between this post and my last, I find it fascinating how even the closest people in my life are still learning new things about me. It’s not that I’m intentionally trying to withhold information. I just think it takes specific moments, relatable encounters, carefully-crafted questions, or putting me in the hot seat to dig deeper into who I am. I guess that can go for anyone though.

If there’s anything I hope y’all know by now it’s that ya girl can talk. I value honest, vulnerable conversation which is why I’m such an advocate for the occasional heart to heart. And yet, believe it or not, your very, very extraordinarily extroverted, chatty, can’t-keep-her-mouth-shut friend (me), is afraid of public speaking. There, I said it. Let that oxymoron sink in.

Maybe writing it down is the first step to conquering the fear. In the meantime, let me provide a little back story:

In elementary school, up until 3rd grade, I was one of the quietest kids in class. That lasted until my 3rd grade teacher, Ms. Donavan, sat me down next to the loudest boy in the room, Tim, who I eventually developed a huge, innocent crush on (I know, a boy crush.. another shocker). I think Ms. Donavan’s goal was for mine and Tim’s talking levels to meet somewhere in the middle, but instead, I just adopted Tim’s too-chatty ways. And it’s carried over to this day.

I went to a Catholic school, so once a week, we all had to attend Mass. Kids rotated between certain roles each week (readings, carrying the cross, helping with communion, etc). One random Mass day, my brother was signed up to do the readings. I watched as he stood at the mic on the altar, and his voice and hands were trembling; I thought he was going to burst into tears. My brother is a very strong public speaker now, by the way. I don’t know what happened to me in that moment of watching him speak, but FOR YEARS after, I experienced the same trembling any time I was put in the spotlight – even on a much smaller stage, like when students would take turns reading in class. I would do anything I could to dodge speaking in front of groups, and eventually, I think my teachers took a hint and spared me the embarrassment from time to time. At the same time, I was still really talkative and relatively popular, particularly as the sporty spice of the school. It was confusing, for sure.

Fast forward to college, public speaking still wasn’t my forte, but I had to power through presentations somehow. So I reverted to taking a shot of tequila or two before each big event. In retrospect, it wasn’t enjoyable and I have my regrets about it too.

A few days ago, I was playing the game Worst Case Scenario, where you rank five scenarios in order of which presented scenarios are your worst, and the rest of the group has to try to guess your rankings. During one round, everyone was way off on where I ranked “singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl”; it was my penultimate worst, second only to a parachute not opening while skydiving (decided actual death fell just slightly behind wishing I were dead in the temporary moment of singing on stage).

Two years (+2 days) ago, on January 2, 2022, my sidebraid sista published a blog post titled, “Fear of Flying” that I just went back and re-read. The aforementioned voice memo inspired me to start off strong with my writing this year, and it also made writing easier as her word-vomiting emphasized finding the strange, simple joys in life: like singing “Club going up.. on a Tuesday” outside of Trader Todd’s when they’re closed on Tuesdays; and FaceTiming all 30+ people in the Girlie Gang group chat, to have only the most recent member actually answer, extremely unimpressed.

It’s only the fourth day of 2024, and I’ve already had a memorable start. On New Year’s Day, I had to make a 50/50 decision on whether to keep the lid on my new coffee grinder. Unfortunately, I chose wrong and left it off. As a result, coffee grounds went flying everywhere. It was a lesson learned early in the year, and I think it can only go uphill from here.

Another year, and I’m still surrounded by people who continue to support and root for me in my still uncertain conquest to find my fulfilling career path. Slowly but surely, I’m inching my way in a better direction. Whether that comes as a result of receiving a rejection letter that gives me a bit of a reality check or receiving encouraging words from mentors and friends, I’m getting there. I’m counting on both believing in serendipity and leaning into the idea of the deserving-of-being italicized word, also appearing as such in Fear of Flying: pivoting. I have a love/hate relationship with the word [pivot]. From one end, I did play basketball (Sam – please remind Jake!), and pivoting was an important component of the game. In the professional sense, a career pivot could be a good thing too. After all, my values have definitely evolved over recent years. From the other end, “pivot” also feels like one of those overrated, overused words in the professional sense; I’d categorize it in a similar bucket as “let me circle back” or “per my last email..” But at the end of the day, I’m still going to lean into the pivot, and shoot my shot when I can. If pivoting opens up scoring opportunities in basketball, I think it could do the same for my career.

In a way, I could create some sort of a parallel between pivoting careers and my fear of public speaking. It can be scary, but also, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. I still get nervous when public speaking, but it’s gotten better. For example, I don’t mind presenting to small groups of strangers or to large groups of friends, but speaking in front of a large crowd of mostly strangers still sounds like a personal nightmare. I hope to conquer that fear one day; maybe it’ll take booking a trip and telling no one to go perform at The Moth one day (to borrow from a good friend of mine who did exactly that). Until then though, I’ll continue practicing as my friends inevitably always choose me to be the one to give the toasts at a party or the speech at other celebrations.

To wrap things up in a not necessarily succinct fashion: my plan in the new year is to continue practicing patience, embrace the idea of a pivot, and to never overlook footnotes – it’s funny how even a simple footnote could evolve into a simple joy that’s even more beautiful than where it first began*.

*1st footnote in HPP history: I love love & friend love. One can turn into the other or vice versa, and one day you can even luck out to have both. A special shoutout to the person who borrowed my shoulder one New Year, and then left me an inspiring, already year-changing voice memo another. We find ourselves on the verge of tears some days; but at the end of the day, the love and the friend love, one evolving into the other or, better yet, to both, is f*cking beautiful. Cheers to the most beautiful simple joy of 2024 that I already found: loving love & friend love.

Surprise – me, Marty again! I told y’all HPP wouldn’t be back until 2024, but here I am, blessing ya babes with the content and words y’all didn’t even know you needed.

Christmas has come and gone. I’m currently sitting at Dark Matter Coffee and actively eavesdropping (whoops!) on the baristas’ convo with each other: “What is the greatest gift that you received this year, guys?” asked the dude with the pearl necklace (edgy boi!) who took my order: iced green tea, unsweetened. One barista said his favorite gift was a hello kitty poster, the other said, “a cool shirt.” (Sorry, I didn’t eavesdrop hard enough to get the cool shirt details).

I spent Christmas in NYC with some of my favorite people and since coming back, I’ve been hanging out mostly with Katie and my two new, temporary roommates who I love and adore. I genuinely can’t wait for their permanent move to the best city, and for the bromance I never knew I needed (hi, Mike!.. & any other m&m boiz reading).

Over the recent gift-giving and gift-receiving days, I’ve been surprised to hear from a few of my nearest and dearest friends how hard I am to shop for. Sorry to break it to y’all: gift-receiving isn’t my love language. In fact, it’s the lowest of the bunch. Gift-giving, on the other hand, we can talk. There’s nothing I love more than spoiling and loving on my favorite people with thoughtful, creative gifts.

With my birthday just around the corner (February 3rd in case you forgot to mark your GCals), I’m here to give y’all yet another gift: a very not subtle hint on what I want for my 31st birthday. For those that don’t already know me: hi again! I’m Martha, preferring Marty more recently, and I’m really excited for my second tattoo ever tomorrow (*update: just rescheduled to January 12th)! Also, quality time and words of affirmation are BY FAR my top two love languages. With that in mind, I imagine y’all can take it from here…

Just kidding – let me spell it out:

All I want for my birthday is more dates with you, with sprinkles of occasional heart-to-hearts. I like long walks around Andersonville (not the beach), taking lots of pictures (selfies, especially), and just in case, y’all now already know my tea order. I don’t like Netflix (for the most part) but I do like “chill”. And well, if you really want to go the extra mile, write me a love letter & just wrap a tissue box as your gift to me.

That’s all I want, my friends. Your love, your words, your quality time, maybe a tissue box, and your undivided attention.

My roommates and Katie are back. And now I have to wrap up this post, so I could get back to engaging in quality convo. Maybe I’ll even put my phone away during our happy hour double date. But you’re welcome y’all – let the 36 day countdown to February 3rd begin!

Cheers to 2024 so soon, and to less stressin’ about what to get me for my day of birth. 😉

With love,

Marty

I live in the first story of a two-flat in Andersonville. (I think that’s vague enough to avoid any stalkers). Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been waking up around 7am, no alarm, impressively, and nowhere to be. The magnolia tree outside the window of our living room is certainly confused, sprouting buds mid-December. As I glance out the window, I’m reminded that the windows could use a good wash, and that to an extent, I could relate to the December – budding magnolia.

As the world’s Jordan year (thanks, sidebraid sista) comes to a close, I want to reflect on the trivialities I’m thankful for, the semi-existential crisis of work, the people who warm my heart consistently, and of course, my writing.

The trivialities:

◦ Bevvies: I’m no caffeine connoisseur but hot damn do I love my iced oat lattes and coffee with coconut creamer. My motto goes: two cups a day keeps me gay. After a visit to World of Coke just a week ago, I have to shamelessly admit how much I love my dabs of caffeine from Diet Coke too. Iced teas, preferably green & peach. OJ. Gatorade. Topo Chico’s from the glass bottles. Picklebacks were a pivotal part of my 2023, and they may slowly but surely be phased out in the next year (please don’t panic, people).

◦ The clutchness of coupons: I’m sorry; but if you don’t have at least 3 different grocery store or shopping apps on your phone and aren’t clipping those damn coupons, do you have a secret to spending so freely? Spill the secret if so.

◦ Jewelry: the edgier, the mismatch-ier the earrings, the better. Also pearl necklaces are what the pretty bois are wearing these days I hear. Ask me about my pretty boi swag.

◦ Trashy reality TV: shoutout, Gerry.

The semi-existential crisis:

LOL @ adulting. Just when I think I’ve got it all figured out, life decides to throw a curveball that sends me spiraling into another profesh existential crisis. Imagine this: I’m sitting at my desk, doing my very best to be a semi-responsible adult, when BAM! The news hits me like a ton of bricks. The company is going KAPOOOOOT. Cue the dramatic music and the internal screaming. So here comes a tragicomedy, with me as the star, desperately trying to navigate the treacherous waters of job hunting. The fear of unemployment is lurking around every corner, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Amidst the chaos, there are glimmers of hope. Serendipitous opportunities have presented themselves, like little rays of sunshine peeking through the storm clouds. So chin up, fellow job hunter, because this rollercoaster ride of life is just getting started. Who knows what exciting adventures await us in the next chapter? Embrace the uncertainty, laugh in the face of adversity, and remember to always update your beneficiaries: I have strong opinions about who that $200 in my bank account is gonna go to.

The people who warm my heart:

I won’t go naming you all, at least at this go around. But I will emphasize how special this year has been. One of my favorite people moved far, far away for the sake of my future startup and to preserve my liver, while still solemnly refusing to donate a kidney in the future. Another favorite reminded me how me meeting her future partner will be a BFD because of the weight my opinion of special people in our lives holds. I reunited with another favorite this year, traveling like the good ol’ days and bringing back the nostalgia of flannel Fridays (rip). My favorite person not only warms my heart but has my heart, even if I have to be her personal radiator every night. There are people that have just entered my life this last year that have already offered up their kidneys, and I just want to catch up on the 29 years of my life y’all missed. I have so many people I couldn’t do this roller coaster of a life without. Buckle up babes, here’s to another drama-full, beautiful year where I have so much love to continue to give y’all.

Writing:

I suppose the primary reason I should be writing is to share something compelling with my readers. I hope my writing resonates with some people, or at least is interesting or entertaining enough to keep them wanting more. I have exactly 12 followers on my blog, 8 of whom I don’t even know. Influencer-bound; that’s for sure. I must break it to y’all who have made it to this point: my journey with my blog has been largely inspired by my own self-interest. My relationship with writing lately has been like a never-ending game of hide-and-seek with my ideas. I’m the seeker, desperately searching for that elusive spark of inspiration, while my ideas are the mischievous hiders, giggling and taunting me from behind the couch of writer’s block. It’s like a never-ending game of cat and mouse, except I’m the mouse and my ideas are the cats, always just out of reach.

While I write these pieces largely for myself, I really do think the audience matters too. A couple dedicated friends made it known to me that they have read my entire blog, start to finish. But for the most part, I’ve never been entirely sure who reads my pieces anymore. If you feel comfy, I’d love for you to subscribe, or just shoot me a text so I know you’ve read it, or maybe even share your thoughts. It’s not that I care about the followers, I just think that if I can keep the people reading this in mind every time, writing would come a lot easier to me. As we wrap up the World’s Jordan year, I know I want to become a better, more frequent writer in 2024. And with that, I remind myself how much MJ had to practice.

I began the year by creating a window into the struggle through writing and finding myself professionally. I’ve tried to leave that window into my thoughts, feelings and experiences wide open all year. I’m looking out the window once again. It’s dark outside now, 4:24pm. Like the magnolia, I’m confused on what I’m supposed to be doing next. But I’ll continue to sprout, even if I’m a little scared to do it in a season when I’m least supposed to.

I’m most likely going to have to move again next year, with my landlord looking to sell our two—flat. But with that, I’m hopeful to have a lovely queer commune purchased by the end of 2024. A heftier goal. And becoming a better writer; the less hefty one.

Grateful for what I saw and shared, and hopeful that it illuminated something worthwhile for you, I’m closing the window — at least until 2024.

I recently found myself reflecting on the sweet things I’ve accomplished in life, all thanks to my Archrival (aka opponent by definition, hopefully turned future teammate, if you catch my drift). So, I kicked off my morning today by infusing my coffee with Califia Farms’ Pumpkin Spice creamer and by pushing my writer’s block aside to manifest Major Sweet Energy (MSE).

First thing’s first: I think “sweet” can take on multiple meanings. (1) sweet as in cool, like witnessing an alley-oop buzzer beater and saying, “that was sweet, bro,” or as the kids would say, “sick, bro.” (2) Sweet as in kind, like remembering your friend’s half birthday and hearing them go, “aww, that was so sweet of you.” And of course, (3) sweet in the literal sense, like that pumpkin spice goodness that graced my coffee this morning.

With these definitions in mind, it’s safe to say I’ve pulled off some seriously sweet moves in life. From penning heartfelt love letters to my pals on Thanksgiving, to breaking the ice by bringing Sudoku on a (nerve-wracking!) first date with Katie since she was catching a flight the next day (and feelings, am I right?!). From virtually hanging out with Obama and nearly making it to the Olympics, to witnessing the Chicago Sky become WNBA champions. From guzzling countless Starbucks’ Iced Caramel Macchiatos in college to enduring those dreaded 7:30am dentist appointments, all while blaming my insatiable daily “sweet tooth.”

As we step into my favorite season of the year, I think we could all use a little more sweetness in our lives. Here are some thoughts to consider:

1. Relish in the opportunity of Reconnection. Reach out to that high school bestie you still low-key stalk on the ‘gram. Revisit an old hobby that’s been gathering dust. Reconnecting is the epitome of cool, in my opinion. Channel your MSE by nurturing those reconnections.

2. Strive for more Spontaneity. Buy those concert tickets or book those plane tickets without overthinking it – even if that means going on your own. Solo adventures are bomb, y’all. Channel your MSE by splurging on some well-deserved spontaneity every now and then.

3. Become a champion for Change. I recently had someone confess to me that they’ve been stuck in the same job for over seven years out of fear of change. Yes, change can be intimidating, but guess what? Change can also be sweet. Take risks and channel your MSE by wholeheartedly embracing change.

While I’ve had my fair share of let downs lately, I genuinely believe that positivity is on its way. Will that mean relocating to a place like Portland or adding an extra dollop of pumpkin spice to my fall bevs? Who knows. While I can’t predict the future, I can confidently declare this: We’ve got one life. One incredibly sweet, sweet life. So, “Just make it f’n awesome,” my friends.

I’m 30 years old.

Parker is my chosen middle name.

I’m 5’5”. On a really good day.

I was the tallest kid in my class in middle school and I’m shorter than I wish I was.

I have exactly one, soon-to-be two tattoos.

This year, I had a birthday party where there was a mountain built of crab rangoons.

The two things I can actually cook are vegan chili and Kraft Mac & Cheese.

I am not vegan. I am queer.

I hate that we gender clothing, but I prefer to wear men’s.

I don’t understand why we as women still feel the need to hide tampons up our sleeves when we walk to the bathroom.

I believe that there are two types of people in this world: ones who pee in the shower and liars.

My high school basketball coach was also the disciplinary dude and thankfully, I never found myself in detention.

I went to an “elite institution.” My college Dean approved all of my finals extension requests when I entered my sad girl era junior year.

I’m the daughter of a woman who cleans houses for a living. She cooks every meal at home and the one time we took her out for sushi, she mistook wasabi for avocado. If I had a penny for every time she said “I love you,” I could pay down all our family loans. I can’t say “I love you” back.

I’m the daughter of a man who is a creature of habit. He eats oatmeal for breakfast every single morning. If I had a penny for every pill he’s had to swallow in his life, I could make retirement feel within arm’s reach.

I reach for God’s hand. He does not help me. I’m am not religious anymore but recently my chosen family has led me to believe that maybe we don’t have to die to experience heaven. Hell, I’d die for all of them in a heartbeat. Maybe I don’t need a God. Maybe I just need my gay friends and a good therapist.

I believe that every scar comes with a short story that’s meant to be heard.

I believe that strong listening skills should be listed on my life’s resume.

I believe that my work resume is a work in progress. Either that or I already peaked professionally years ago.

I want to start something and I don’t know where to start. I want to finish writing this piece and I don’t know where to end it.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe the world becomes a whole lot grayer after we lose someone we love. washed; completely devoid of color.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe the air in the spaces spent together becomes a whole lot heavier; as if the molecules in the atmosphere are now weighed down by the memories we can no longer make together.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe the hurt in a friend’s eyes is a pain we must feel too. if only our pain can somehow turn a switch to alleviate theirs.

how do we go on? how do we get used to the permanent fixture of this new world? we adjust. we somehow adjust to the new normal. we add back the color.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe our lives have been forever colored by the memories they left behind and the memories we will continue to make as we move forward.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe amongst the condolences in this now lesser, a little more lonelier world, is a cause for celebration.

if grief is the cousin of love,

maybe we experience each head on, together. grief is the cousin of love – they are family in the end.

I know nothing about Aries season other than we’re in it, and everything seems to be shaking: romantic relationships, friendships, work statuses, moods, my ass at Flannel Fridays…

Spring is here, y’all, and in the wise words of cleaning-connoisseur Marie Kondo, we must throw away anything that doesn’t spark joy. It’s not meant to be easy. After all, I can barely detach myself from the sentimental value of even the most miniscule things that should be thrown away: like, how do I part with even one of my way too many hawaiian shirts when (1) they are a part of my Hawaiian Princess identity and (2) they come with distinct memories from that one time I wore each one? Throwing things out signifies the end of an era and suggests an end to the sweet, sweet indulgence of memories that come with them. Thankfully, it also signifies the beginning of a new era, whatever that is for you. Whatever era you’re in, embrace it. Recently at a bonfire with friends, I came to the conclusion that I’m at the beginning of my “make plans every second of every day era.” To my GCal: glow up bby. 

Spring is the season of reevaluation. It provides us time to reflect on why we bought or brought certain items or people into our lives, detach ourselves from those that don’t bring us joy or provide any value, and decide how to move forward. Spring cleaning erases the clutter, the drama, the unnecessary stressors and it reinforces what’s actually important and meaningful in life. 

Believe it or not, spring cleaning the people in your life is probably the most pivotal cleanse you should do. Perhaps a good way to make it fun is to turn it into a classic game of fuck, marry, and kill. But to keep it more socially acceptable, let’s rephrase that into: keep, change, and ditch. 

The sorting of relationships can go something like this: 

1. The keep pile: this is reserved for the best of the best, the people that check all the boxes. Are they empathetic? Are they genuine? Generous and kind? Do they reciprocate the energy you pour into planning dates and hangs together? Name three specific reasons you’re grateful to have them in your life. Can’t name three reasons? Maybe there’s no reason to keep them in your keep pile. 
2. The change pile: this is reserved for the people you find yourself defending to your friends; the ones where you find yourself saying: “I promise they can change!” Let’s be real, if you find yourself saying this time and time again, the change is unlikely. Maybe they take four days to respond to your text but you’re convinced it’s because they’re super busy. Maybe the person is extra vanilla but you’re willing to do the whole therapizing thing to help them “grow.” Maybe, just maybe it’s time for a reality check, but in the meantime, you’re willing to give them another chance. You’re willing to keep them in this happy medium – between the keep and the ditch piles – at least until the next reevaluation season. 
3. The discard pile: this pile is reserved for the walking red flags. The people that you know you’d be better without. The ones that selfishly don’t think about anyone but themselves. The ones that you find yourself bitching about nine times out of ten. As hard as it may seem, it’s important to take inventory of what you need out of your relationships, to redefine your expectations, and ultimately, to inch towards a less stressful future by ditching the people that actually leave more damage in your life, despite you trying to constantly swiffer up their mess. As my Sidebraid Sister would say: “Let go.” Life will feel that much more precious when you get rid of toxic people. 

The sun is peeking in through the clouds and spring is here. Keep only the piles you care deeply about – the ones that fill you with joy and provide you energy to keep moving forward.

I started as an altar kid in the 5th grade. I was so ready for it, too. After all, unlike most kids who play pretend – pretend house, pretend doctor, pretend teacher – my brother Matt and I always played pretend church. I shit you not. It was our idea of a good time at the time. And after years of practice playing pretend, I was so confident that I’d be an all-star Alter Kid. Also unlike most kids, who dream about becoming President one day, I was convinced I would be the first woman Priest of the Catholic Church one day. And obviously, being an Alter Kid would do me well on my resume towards priesthood.

I don’t know which part I was most excited about: having another excuse to spend time with Angie, the 7th grade basketball prodigy at St. Ferdinand who in retrospect, I definitely had a major crunch on, or being able to earn the occasional $10-$25 tip “working” weddings and funerals. And so I prayed. I prayed for more straight people to get married and at the same time, for more deaths, and I was desperate to be paired to altar serve with Angie at any opportunity. Naturally, it was really cool hangin’ with a 7th grader.

My resume read something like this:

Altar Kid, Chicago, 2003-2005

⁃ Carried heavy cross down the aisle, resulting in stronger affinity towards the guy nailed to it (and simultaneously strengthened my arm muscles)

⁃ Held the Bible up for the priest, maintaining perfect posture

⁃ Assisted Priest and nuns as needed; for example, that one time when the Blood of Christ spilled

⁃ Provided excellent customer service for all church goers

What can I say? I was just your basic Catholic school girl: one who wore an embarrassing, plaid skort everyday with a white polo. Except one day a week (my favorite day of the week) when I got to wear sweats and a t-shirt for gym class. (In the timeless words of Princess Nokia, “Who that is ho? That girl is a tomboy.”) Maybe that’s why I made it a career goal to become a priest vs. a nun at the time – I’ve always been a little boy(ish) at heart.

Thankfully, my journey towards priesthood ended abruptly after just a few years when the Priest told me girls could no longer be alter servers. Jokes on you, Jesus. I’m gay and wish I were Jewish now.

I don’t know about you.. but I’m feelin’ (20)22 was a reminder that everything is going to be alright. 

Personally, my year hasn’t been full of monumental changes, yet I feel so grateful for the growth, the memories, and the miniscule changes that came my way. For example: 

• I moved down the block from one Andersonville apartment to another! I now have a really cool landlord and a really huge TV and a decorative mantle and a living room that can fit a 9-foot Christmas tree and a guest room and so much space for two monster kittens to run around when they get the zoomies and I can take baths! My lovely girlfriend and I built a lovely home that feels so homey, which makes me happy.
• I started a new job and kept it for (nearly) a full year! Imagine that… I actually learned that I don’t live to work and that work is not my identity nor the love of my life. It is an important part of my life, only because it takes up the most time in my life, and [money] is what will ultimately help me have a more financially comfy future. But that’s it.
• I went down on one of my many meds by the tiniest bit! Abilify gives me the ability to be a fully functioning, stable human, and I went from taking 1.5 tablets to 1. Is it because I complained about having to chop one in half every other day? Maybe.. But look, I feel like the more I distance myself from 2020 (thank goodness that’s with every minute that passes), the more I come closer to returning to “myself” as I said back then. I’m happy with how far I’ve come and I’m happy with how happy I feel most every day.
• I now have bleach blonde hair that just so happens to look just like Betty Who’s! Not to rub it in for those that didn’t join me, but I went to the AT&T National Coming Out Day celebration where Betty Who performed. Not only was I standing front row, but she also took my hand as we slowly fell in love… (sorry Katie!) and said, “I like your hair. It looks a lot like mine.” Then we took a picture together, (siblings or dating am I right?). And it looks like I’ll have to stay a blondie forever now. Or at least for as long as my new BFF Betty is.
• I started climbing and played beach volleyball and purchased a ping pong table! Plot twist: I have hobbies now.
• I started mismatching my earrings! Edgy.
• I got my first tattoo! Also, edgy. The tattoo was a great first tattoo and means a lot to me. Accepting suggestions for my next ones.
• I made new friends and strengthened relationships with old ones! If you know me at all, you should know that my favorite hobby is making friends at queer events around the city. So thank you queer events and queer places! Thank you slo’mo, Flannel Friday, Fletcher, Nobody’s Darling, Late Night Chicks, etc. etc. Thank you to my new friends who actually weren’t freaked out by my awkward platonic pick-up line: “Hey, we should be friends!” More importantly though, my best friends became bestier by day. I’d be a mashed potato without my friends, whatever that means.. Thank you to my friends, for keeping me smiling non-stop. I have a hard time not smiling when with friends, even when I’m trying my best to be mad for whatever reason.

I learned a lot this year too. I learned that I like my coffee with Coffee Mate’s coconut creme creamer just as much as I like my coffee plain, with extra oat milk. I learned that my spice tolerance has gone up, and I even like Cholula hot sauce. I learned that the decision of which stickers make the cut for my giant water bottle is an important one. I learned that I will forever follow recipes to the tee, even when adding a pinch of salt is quicker than measuring a teaspoon. I learned that BeReal is still staged to an extent. I learned that my “About me” section on my blog is actually outdated. I learned that setting boundaries makes for a better, more uplifting time overall. I learned that you can never have too many doctor visits, and that maybe they’ll even eliminate a diagnosis you thought you’ve had your entire life (or find a new one..). I learned the power of vulnerability: when we feel the most fragile and unsure, we have the choice to find what’s meant to be through honest, tough conversations. I learned that most everything is temporary: jobs, sunshine, grief, flowers, family…I learned just how much friendships can evolve: some fade overtime, some strengthen. Some strangers quickly turn into lifelong friends. 

Relationships – both romantic and platonic – can require different amounts of effort at different times. I had the hardest year of my life a couple years ago, and I leaned on my friends and partner more than I wish I had to. I recognize that some very important people in my life faced life’s changes a lot more than I did this year. Whether those were good changes or challenging changes, there’s something comforting in knowing that we are there for each other through it all, whenever the time comes. This year, I cried less overall, though I cried most when seeing my friends sad or hurting.

Not to put one of the most thoughtful people I know in the spotlight but here I am. Let’s call her Goosey. Goosey (a clever pseudonym that will definitely disguise this person’s true identity) read my entire blog, start to finish, when I barely knew her real name. We’ve become better friends since then, thank heavens! One memorable ice-breaker she once asked me was: What’s something positive that has happened to you recently? I don’t know why, but that question has stuck with me. I couldn’t think of a damn thing that’s happened to me. So instead, I answered about how my friend’s recent news of getting into business school was something positive in MY life. I quickly realized how important it is seeing the success and happiness of people I care about. 

This year, I have seen so many friends taking scary leaps in life and following their happy paths. I’m excited for them, and I’m excited for me to be able to witness their successes first-hand. And that, my friends, has been my greatest joy and the most positive thing that has happened to me this year.